Combined Naval Operations of the Royal Australian Navy, 

Canadian Navy, Royal Navy, and United States Navy, 1991–2003

You Cannot 

Surge Trust

Gary E. Weir, Principal Investigator 

Sandra J. Doyle, Editor
You Cannot Surge Trust
You Cannot Surge Trust

Combined Naval Operations of the 

Royal Australian Navy, Canadian Navy, Royal Navy, 

and United States Navy, 1991–2003

Gary E. Weir, Principal Investigator

Sandra J. Doyle, Editor

DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY

WASHINGTON, DC

2013
Published by

Naval History and Heritage Command

805 Kidder Breese Street SE

Washington Navy Yard, DC 20374-5060

www.history.navy.mil

Book design by Guy Tom

FRONT COVER: USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76) leads a formation of ships from several allied navies in the Pacific 

Ocean during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC), the world’s largest multinational maritime exercise, 24 July 2010. MC1 

Scott Taylor

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is is the Ocial U.S. Government edition of this publication and is herein identied to 

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Weir, Gary E.

 You cannot surge trust : combined naval operations of the Royal 

Australian Navy, Canadian Navy, Royal Navy, and United States Navy, 1991– 

2003 / Gary E. Weir, principal investigator ; Sandra J. Doyle, editor.

 pages cm

 Includes bibliographical references and index.

 ISBN 978-0-945274-70-4 (paperback)—ISBN 978-0-945274-71-1 (PDF)

 1. Blockade—Case studies. 2. Navies—International cooperation—Case 

studies. 3. Combined operations (Military science)—Case studies. 4. 

Naval history, Modern—20th century. 5. Naval history, Modern—21st 

century. I. Doyle, Sandra J. II. Title. III. Title: Combined naval 

operations of the Royal Australian Navy, Canadian Navy, Royal Navy, and 

United States Navy, 1991–2003. 

 V180.W45 2013

 359.4’609049--dc23

 2012048421

 e paper used in this publication meets the requirements for permanence established by the American National 

Standard for Information Sciences “Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials” (ANSI Z39.48-1984).

For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, U.S. Government Printing Oce

Internet: Bookstore.gpo.gov; Phone: toll free 866-512-1800; DC area 202-512-1800; Fax: 202-512-2104

Mail: Stop SSOP, Washington, DC 20402-0001

ISBN 978-0-945274-70-4 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-945274-71-1 (PDF)
CONTENTS

Foreword ................................................................. vii

Henry J. Hendrix II

Preface

An International City at Sea ..............................................ix

Gary E. Weir

Contributors ............................................................ xiii

Introduction

e Combined Framework: How Naval Powers 

Deal with Military Operations Other an War ......................... 1

Sarandis Papadopoulos

Chapter 1 

e U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 

Operations in the Arabian Gulf Region, 1991–2001 .................... 23

Jerey G. Barlow

Chapter 2 

Royal Navy Operations o the Former Yugoslavia: 

Operation Sharp Guard, 1991–1996 .................................... 45

Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

Chapter 3 

e U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Operation Sharp Guard .............. 83

Sarandis Papadopoulos

Chapter 4 

e Combined Naval Role in East Timor ..............................101

David Stevens

Chapter 5 

A Limited Commitment to Ending Civil Strife: 

e U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise ...................................149

Sarandis Papadopoulos

Chapter 6 

e U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 

in Operation Enduring Freedom, 2001–2002 ..........................167

Jerey G. Barlow
Chapter 7 

e Canadian Navy, Interoperability, and U.S. Navy-Led 

Operations in the Gulf Region from the First Gulf War to 2003 .......189

Robert H. Caldwell 

Summary ................................................................279

Edward J. Marolda

Conclusion ..............................................................295

Sarandis Papadopoulos

Acronyms ...............................................................309

Index ....................................................................315
vii

FOREWORD

As our nation and our Navy shi their focus away from the land 

wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that have so dominated our internal 

conversations for more than a decade and pivot toward the Asia-Pacic 

region, it is most appropriate that this study, You Cannot Surge Trust, 

should make its appearance. e assembled authors, under the assured 

editorial hand of Sandra Doyle, bring forward a series of episodes that 

demonstrate the evolving and increasingly important nature of maritime 

coalition operations around the world. Beginning with a look at maritime 

interception operations in the Arabian Gulf during Operations Desert 

Shield and Desert Storm, this work moves forward through the post–

Cold War era to include recent operations in the Middle East and central 

Asia. Written from a multinational point of view, the analysis suggests 

that nations, even superpowers, are increasingly dependent upon each 

other for support during major combat operations and that only by 

frequent consultation, exercises, cooperation in technology development, 

and understanding of force structure capabilities will future maritime 

coalitions be successful.

is study also advances a larger argument regarding the relevance of 

naval and maritime history in defense policy development. e challenges 

faced by coalition forces during the 1991 to 2005 period are not so dierent 

from what confronted those who sailed before. e crews of Continental 

Navy ships during the American Revolution had diculty keeping up 

with French ships owing to dierences in the size of the respective eets 

and individual ship design. During World Wars I and II the U.S. and Royal 

navies consistently had to overcome problems inherent in dierences in 

classication and communications. Lastly, in the increasingly geopolitical 

complexities of modern warfare, illustrated by our experiences operating 

alongside allies in Korea and Vietnam, history reveals that the dierent 

rules of engagement under which nations exercise their forces can cause 

conicts within a partnership—even as the partners prosecute a conict. 

Each of these issues has been raised before, each is examined within You 

Cannot Surge Trust, and each will raise its head again in some future 

hostility. To the extent that decision makers review history and anticipate 
viii Foreword

the future they can anticipate success. Ignorance of the past necessarily 

results in a painful fate of rediscovering lessons hard learned. 

It is through the eorts of such distinguished historians as Randy 

Papadopoulos, Jerey Barlow, Stephen Prince, Kate Brett, David Stevens, 

Robert Caldwell, and Edward Marolda under the research direction of 

Gary Weir that the lessons of the era encompassing my own operational 

career have been captured for those who follow to study. Given the steadily 

shrinking periods of peace between conicts in the modern world, “those 

who follow” should begin reading now.

is work, as well as many others, would not have been possible 

without the concerted eort and the deep well of experience that Ms. 

Doyle brought to the task. is past January Ms. Doyle closed out a 31-

year career in government service. During that time she had a hand in the 

publication of more than 70 printed works which were a key component 

of the Naval History and Heritage Command’s (and its predecessor, the 

Naval Historical Center) mission of creating and delivering relevant 

historical knowledge to key decision makers. at Ms. Doyle did all this 

while operating quietly behind the scenes to help scholars and analysts 

present their work in a professional and polished manner is to her innite 

credit, and to our collective benet. 

Henry J. Hendrix II

Captain, U.S. Navy (Ph.D.)

Director of Naval History
ix

PREFACE

An International City at Sea

With the opening of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) in 2003 and the 

subsequent debate in the United States about the coalition of the willing, 

a group of historians at the Naval Historical Center (now the Naval History 

and Heritage Command) joined the discussion by reecting on the nature 

of eective coalitions. As head of the Contemporary History Branch during 

the opening phases of OIF, I asked the historians to consider recent coalitions 

engaging in combined naval operations. Under what circumstances did various 

national command authorities adopt a combined solution to an external threat 

rather than acting alone? What did these international coalitions look like? 

What assets and talents did the combined force need? Did eorts of this sort 

in the recent past work eectively given the mission? What critical factors 

contributed to the success or failure of the combined eort? 

We soon realized that historical analysis, approaching problems as it 

does from the humanities perspective, could address these questions in an 

informative, unique, and stimulating way. us the growing public debate 

presented us with an unexpected opportunity to apply history directly 

to immediate naval needs in an age dened, in part, by 11 September 

2001. In the end, the subject matter, the ongoing public debate, and the 

opportunity to apply historical methodology proved too compelling to 

remain as an informal discussion of combined operations. 

Although initially conceived as an American project, it seemed 

counterproductive not to seek out other naval history programs ocially 

pressed and intellectually stimulated by the same issues and possibilities. 

I asked a good friend, Michael Whitby of the Directorate of History and 

Heritage (DHH) in Ottawa, to reect on the possible prot in informing 

the present by evaluating naval coalition experiences of the recent past. 

Together, we and other colleagues might examine a few select combined 

operations as case studies. Did he think my scheme worthwhile given 

the current interests of his navy and, perhaps more important, would the 

proposal interest his director, Dr. Serge Bernier? 

I laid before him a plan to initiate a project involving four national 

navies, frequent allies, to examine historically the nature of naval combined 
operations. e project would endeavor to derive conclusions and lessons 

that serving naval ocers might nd immediately useful in their eorts to 

address their missions in the Near East. My plans called for participation 

by Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and the United States. 

Dr. Bernier emerged from his discussion with Michael and DHH Senior 

Historian Dr. Steven Harris convinced that the proposal had merit. He assigned 

one of his more capable people, Robert Caldwell, as the Canadian member of the 

team. With the credibility provided by Dr. Bernier’s generosity and willingness 

to take a measured risk, I recruited the balance of the team in 2003: Stephen 

Prince, who came to us courtesy of Captain Christopher Page, RN (Ret.), 

then the director of the Royal Navy’s Naval Historical Branch in Portsmouth, 

United Kingdom; Dr. David Stevens of the Royal Australian Navy’s Sea 

Power Centre in Canberra; and Drs. Jerey Barlow and Randy Papadopoulos 

from the Naval History and Heritage Command, Washington, D.C. 

Dr. Bernier’s faith also helped me achieve two important goals. I 

convinced then Director of Naval History Dr. William Dudley of the 

viability and value of the applied history project we proposed. With his help 

we made a successful application to the Naval Historical Foundation for a 

grant that sustained this eort and made the collaboration possible. Retired 

Vice Admiral Robert Dunn, president of the foundation, and his executive 

director, Captain Charles Todd Creekman, USN (Ret.), smoothed our way 

and contributed substantively to the positive outcome of the project. 

An inaugural team meeting in 2004 hosted by DHH on a cold winter 

day in Ottawa determined the best and most evocative cases for study. 

Within the 1991–2003 timeframe, our historians would look at maritime 

interception operations in the 1990–1991 Gulf War and in Operation 

Enduring Freedom, 2001–2003; Operation Stabilise, the United Nationsmandated action to bring peace to East Timor in 1999; and Operation 

Sharp Guard in ethnically torn Yugoslavia through 1996. 

We designed this study to remind policymakers, strategists, and 

operators living in a 21st-century coalition world of the very human

nature of combined operations. While technology enables naval action, 

combined operations emerge from these pages as a human endeavor, 

based upon personal and professional relationships formed and reformed 

by sailors of all ranks across national and cultural boundaries. 

x Preface
In these pages communication and trust become paramount. Without 

the trust engendered by eective, well-trained liaison ocers and frequent 

collaborative exercises at sea, combined operations become an exercise in 

futility. Deliberate and frequent contact allows people to broker the mutual 

understanding that served Admiral Lord Nelson so well within his own eet 

two centuries ago and has become even more necessary given the potential 

contemporary barriers of language, culture, technology, and operational 

experience. e history of recent combined operations repeatedly speaks 

to these critical, but oen overlooked, personal characteristics. You Cannot 

Surge Trust brings history to engaged naval forces as an essential professional 

tool that can help address current operational problems by more completely 

revealing the nature of coalition war. 

National navies of the 21st century rarely look to history to provide this 

service. us historians recall with some envy the role played by historian 

and strategist Sir Julian Corbett in educating and advising the leadership 

of the Royal Navy at the turn of the 20th century. His applied history 

became critical to understanding the adversary and planning accordingly. 

Considering a formula in 1914 that might lure Kaiser Wilhelm’s High Seas 

Fleet out of its secure bases and into a decisive defeat, Admiral Sir John 

Fisher repeatedly looked to Corbett for insights into German military 

behavior that extended as far back as England’s participation in the Seven 

Years War (1756–1763), a conict once described by Winston Churchill 

as the rst true world war. Fisher concluded that only by actually or 

apparently threatening the German Baltic coast would Great Britain 

pose a threat sucient to precipitate a decisive encounter at sea between 

the two major eets. Drawing much of his preliminary planning from 

historical analysis, Fisher then asked his historical partner to prepare a 

paper on employing the eet to gain control of the Baltic. With a nearly 

unrivaled knowledge of history across the entire Royal Navy experience 

and access to both Fisher and the sources emerging from the current war, 

Corbett complied. He provided the admiral with a conceptual foundation, 

resonating with past experience, which supported eet expansion as well 

as the distribution and commitment of valuable assets.* 

e relationship between Corbett and Fisher proved not only 

constructive but essential to the Royal Navy. e team composing this 

Preface xi
xii Preface

volume suggests that this relationship remains every bit as essential in this 

new century, in spite of a reluctance within modern navies to follow Fisher’s 

lead in permitting past human behavior to inform the present. In our own 

time, advanced technology and its solutions represent the present and future 

in an immediate and dynamic way. For many, history pales by comparison. 

Indeed, to use history a la Corbett and Fisher implies that the participant has 

become an artifact rather than a modern player. In response the historian 

asks, can technology provide an understanding of our own professional 

behavior and that of our adversary, as well as insight into the very nature 

of a war currently claiming precious lives? Is our capable technology truly 

eective without such understanding? Naval ships and weapons systems 

can only serve as outward tools and choices. Only sailors and their support 

cast form the substance of any naval endeavor. Our team created this volume 

to demonstrate that through humanities analysis the historian can make 

common human experience speak in ways the contemporary sailor can 

immediately apply at sea. If those who waged the Seven Years War can 

inform and inuence naval strategy nearly two centuries later in the Great 

War, who are we to ignore an invitation to have a historical conversation 

with those involved in combined operations over past last two decades? 

e proposed 1,000-ship navy coalition, this international city at sea

so essential to the vision of the maritime future rst embraced by Chief of 

Naval Operations Admiral Michael Mullen, will not take shape without the 

aforementioned historical conversation. e level of international professional 

intimacy required to achieve or even approach Admiral Mullen’s goal makes 

implementing the conclusions of the present volume necessary. If navies intend 

to keep the ocean open in an age of pervasive terrorism, combined operations 

regularly informed by ocial and professional historical perspective must 

become a permanent and essential part of naval practice. 

Dr. Gary E. Weir

Chief Historian

National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency

*e discussion of Julian Corbett owes a great deal to email exchanges with Professor 

Andrew Lambert, Laughton Professor of Naval History at King’s College London.
xiii

CONTRIBUTORS

Dr. Jerey G. Barlow of the Naval History and Heritage Command 

(NHHC), Washington, D.C., graduated in history from Westminster 

College (Pennsylvania) and in international studies from the University of 

South Carolina. His 1981 Ph.D. dissertation analyzed the role of the U.S. 

Joint Chiefs of Sta during the Kennedy administration. Prior to coming 

to NHHC, he served as a defense analyst with the Heritage Foundation on 

Capitol Hill and as a military analyst for the National Institute for Public 

Policy/National Security Research. For the past 25 years he has been a 

historian at NHHC. e author of the award-winning book Revolt of the 

Admirals: e Fight for Naval Aviation, 1945–1950 (1994), he has written 

more than a dozen chapters for books dealing with World War II and the 

Cold War. His book From Hot War to Cold: e U.S. Navy and National 

Security Aairs, 1945–1955, was published by Stanford University Press in 

January 2009. 

Kate Brett is Historian and Curator at the Naval Historical Branch, Naval 

Staff, U.K. Ministry of Defence, based in Portsmouth. She graduated in 

English and German from the University of Exeter and completed a master’s 

degree in museology from the University of East Anglia before joining the 

Naval Historical Branch as Curator in 1998. Working both with headquarters 

and the front line, she manages the Royal Navy’s operational recordkeeping 

system, providing comment and analysis on the most recent phases of naval 

history and contributing evidence to support significant decisions on policy 

and procurement. She conducts research on the Royal Navy’s contemporary 

role in offshore patrol, counterpiracy, and counternarcotics operations. She 

also has a leading role in unifying Royal Navy scientific and historical research.

Robert H. Caldwell of the Directorate of History and Heritage, National 

Defence Headquarters, Ottawa, Ontario, served in the Canadian Army 

for 35 years. He completed technical and general sta courses at the Royal 

Military College of Science at Shrivenham, the British Army Sta College 

at Camberley, and the Joint Warfare Establishment at Old Sarum. He 

passed the Master of Arts program in War Studies at the Royal Military 

College at Kingston in 1987, and thereaer was employed as a researcher 

and historian at the Operational Research and Analysis Establishment, 
xiv Contributors

followed by the Directorate of History and Heritage, in National Defence 

Headquarters. Mr. Caldwell has been a member of the Naval History Team 

for 17 years, and he is a contributing author for two books comprising 

the ocial history of the Royal Canadian Navy in the Second World 

War. He has completed several studies for the forthcoming postwar naval 

history. Since 2006, Mr. Caldwell has worked with the Canadian Forces in 

Afghanistan on the preparations for the ocial history.

Sandra J. Doyle, senior editor of the Naval History and Heritage Command 

(NHHC), graduated in history from Marymount College, Tarrytown, 

New York, and trained in professional editing at the George Washington 

University and EEI Communications. During her 30-year career, rst as 

a naval historian compiling a history of U.S. naval operations in Vietnam 

and then as a writer-editor, she has guided through the publication process 

more than 70 works on 20th- and 21st-century U.S. naval operations, 

strategy, science, and policy. Authors of 12 of these works have received 

book awards from academic societies. She is coeditor of the NHHC series 

on the U.S. Navy and the Vietnam War. Ms. Doyle retired in January 2013.

Dr. Edward J. Marolda retired in September 2008 aer 40 years of federal 

service with the Naval History and Heritage Command, Washington, 

D.C. Dr. Marolda served at one time or another as Acting Director of 

Naval History, Senior Historian, and Chief of Histories and Archives 

Division. He graduated from Pennsylvania Military College in 1967 with 

a bachelor of arts degree in history and served as a U.S. Army ocer in 

the Republic of Vietnam from 1969 to 1970. He completed a master’s 

degree at Georgetown University in 1971 and a doctorate at the George 

Washington University in 1990. He has authored, coauthored, or edited 

12 books, including By Sea, Air, and Land: An Illustrated History of the 

United States Navy and the War in Southeast Asia (1994); Shield and 

Sword: e United States Navy and the Persian Gulf War (coauthor Robert 

J. Schneller Jr., 1998); e U.S. Navy in the Korean War (editor, 2007); and 

e Approaching Storm: Conict in Asia, 1945–1965 (2009), the rst issue 

in a series on the U.S. Navy and the Vietnam War, which he coedits with 

Sandra Doyle. Marolda serves as an adjunct professor at Georgetown 

University, and as a consultant for the Cold War Gallery of the National 
Contributors xv

Museum of the U.S. Navy. His latest book Ready Seapower: A History of 

the U.S. Seventh Fleet was published in 2012.

Dr. Sarandis (Randy) Papadopoulos is the Secretariat Historian, Oce 

of the Undersecretary of the Navy. Before assuming that position in April 

2010, he spent ten years as a historian in the Contemporary History Branch 

of the former Naval Historical Center, now the Naval History and Heritage 

Command, Washington, D.C. He studied at the University of Toronto, the 

University of Alabama, and the George Washington University. His Ph.D. 

dissertation, “Feeding the Sharks: e Logistics of Undersea Warfare, 

1935–1945,” compares the German and U.S. submarine services. Between 

1999 and 2010 he taught history at the George Washington University, 

Norwich University, and the University of Maryland University College. 

He is a principal coauthor of the book Pentagon 9/11 published by the 

Historian, Oce of the Secretary of Defense in 2007, and the author of 

several journal articles, book reviews, and contributions to reference 

works. He is the Region III Coordinator for the Society for Military 

History and chairs the Military Classics Seminar at Fort Myer, Virginia.

Stephen Prince heads the Naval Historical Branch, Naval Sta, U.K. 

Ministry of Defence, based in Portsmouth. He is a graduate of Warwick 

University and King’s College London, where he received the Russell 

Prize for the best M.A. performance. He has been Sir Robert Menzies 

Scholar at the Australian War Memorial, lecturer at Britannia Royal Naval 

College, Dartmouth, senior lecturer at the U.K.’s Joint Services Command 

and Sta College, and a historian in the Naval Historical Branch. His 

publications include articles in the Journal of Strategic Studies, Defense 

Analysis and the Royal United Services Institute Journal, as well as his book 

Raiding Zeebrugge (2010). He has been Directing Sta for more than 50 

British and International Defence training exercises from the Falkland 

Islands to Turkey. In 2006 he was deployed as the War Diarist for NATO’s 

International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan.

Dr. David Stevens is Director of Strategic and Historical Studies within 

the Sea Power Centre–Australia, Canberra. He has contributed articles 

and essays to many publications, and his work has been translated 
into several languages. His most recent publications include A Critical 

Vulnerability: e Impact of the Submarine reat on Australia’s Maritime 

Defence, 1915–54 (2005); e Royal Australian Navy: A History (coauthor, 

2006); Australia’s Navy in the Gulf (coauthor, 2006); e Royal Australian 

Navy in World War II (editor, 2d ed., 2005); e Face of Naval Battle: e 

Human Experience of Modern War at Sea (coeditor, 2003); e Navy and 

the Nation (coeditor, 2005); and Sea Power Ashore and In the Air (coeditor, 

2007).

Dr. Gary E. Weir of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) 

served a year on the U.S. Naval Academy history faculty, in 1986–1987, 

before joining the Naval History and Heritage Command. He served 19 years 

as a historian and then head of the former Contemporary History Branch. 

He is the NGA chief historian, a professor of history with the University 

of Maryland University College, and a guest investigator with the Marine 

Policy Center of the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. His published 

works include An Ocean in Common: American Naval Ocers, Scientists, 

and the Ocean Environment (2001), winner of the Organization of American 

Historians’ Richard Leopold Prize; and Rising Tide: e Untold Story of the 

Russian Submarines that Fought the Cold War (coauthor, 2003). Dr. Weir 

created and led the Combined Operations Project from its inception in 2004.

A word about usage and editorial decisions 

In general American English is used in the text except when it comes to 

formal names of Commonwealth institutions, titles of source materials, and 

Operation Stabilise named by the Royal Australian Navy. National denitions 

for the term MIO alternate between Maritime Interdiction Operations and 

Maritime Interception Operations. For purposes of clarity, note that these 

terms are used interchangeably throughout the work. U.S. sources oen use 

the term Persian Gulf War to refer to the First Gulf War (or simply Gulf War) 

of 1990–1991, but in general the latter terms are used herein. For operational 

purposes, the U.S. Navy and its allies refer to the body of water geographically 

known as the Persian Gulf as the Arabian Gulf, the Northern Arabian Gulf, 

and the Southern Arabian Gulf to describe operations in those waters.

xvi Contributors
1

INTRODUCTION

e Combined Framework: How 

Naval Powers Deal with Military 

Operations Other an War

Sarandis Papadopoulos

I

n the aermath of the Cold War political leaders and other analysts 

in the developed world suggested the rise of a period marked by a 

relative quiescence. e end of the East-West rivalry oered a diminution 

of military activity, resulting from the lowering of tensions, and a “peace 

dividend,” with money saved from lower armed services’ budgets. Despite 

such hopes, the decade of the 1990s and the rst two years of the 21st 

century saw an intensication of activity for military forces, specically 

the navies of Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United 

States. Operating “combined,” that is as parts of multinational forces, 

three or four of these services enforced United Nations sanctions against 

Iraq for more than a decade, did the same against the former Yugoslav 

republics during their breakup between 1993 and 1996, landed and 

supported ground forces in East Timor in 1999, and in late 2001 launched 

a new worldwide campaign to combat terrorism. ese navies worked 

continually alongside one another, sometimes operating within coalitions 

of more than a dozen allied nations. eir capability to do so reected a 

longstanding commitment to developing the methods, technical needs, 

and exercises required to make complex naval operations work.

In studying the spectrum of armed conict below major combat 

operations, analysts of naval operations contend with a signicant 

constraint: their most common subject of study, the elements of sea power, 

loses autonomy. e focus on the primacy of the warship, or of sea battle, 
fades. is constraint applies to a greater degree when considering the 

post-Cold War period as established military forces witnessed their 

operations become even more political.1

 On the one hand, maritime 

commerce assumed greater importance with the end of superpower 

confrontation and the rise of international trade. Merchant shipping 

traveled throughout the oceans, carrying ever-increasing amounts of 

cargo.2

 Yet, following the close of the extended superpower rivalry, the four 

navies under discussion here proved busy despite facing no competitor 

for control of the sea. Instead, their ocean access provided them an 

opportunity to shape events on land, whether applying armed force from 

the sea or using the sea as a barrier.3

In contrast to the engagements historically characteristic of naval 

warfare, the four post-1991 cases took place with command of the sea 

assured. ey discuss naval responses to trouble spots around the world—

eorts to limit strife, prevent expansionism, halt ethnic and sectarian 

conict, and cut o the roots of terrorist organizations.4

 Responding to 

such challenges is not unique in naval history.5

 Still, and unlike the British 

or American naval experiences prior to 1945, the four were not solely atsea operations conducted relatively autonomously.6

 Starkly opposite to the 

rst half of the 20th century, the period between 1991 and 2002 saw no 

Tsushimas, Jutlands, or Leyte Gulfs. In place of large engagements at sea, 

naval services have assumed a greater role since the end of the Cold War in 

confronting coastal or littoral challenges, sometimes halfway around the 

world from home, for extended periods of time, tests inextricably tied to 

events ashore.7

 at these cases in many respects represent slow-moving, 

even defensive activities should not be seen as a disadvantage or even 

atypical. roughout history the dominant type of naval warfare has been 

attrition, rather than large-scale battle, which in the 21st century remains 

an entirely appropriate operational form when political circumstances 

demand it.8

us the case studies show the response of maritime forces to crises 

on land. Addressing the theme intrinsically makes sense, as any division 

between land and sea power is contrived.9

 Such a development should 

cause students to draw on the ideas of Sir Julian Corbett, written in 1909:

2 Introduction
History shows that the actual functions of the Fleet (except in purely 

maritime wars) have been threefold:

1. The furtherance or hindrance of military operations ashore.

2. The protection or destruction of commerce.

3. The prevention or securing of alliances (i.e., deterring or persuading neutrals as to participating in the war).10

Allowing for the dierent levels of violence in the four case studies, the 

examples neatly t into Corbett’s description of the work of eets.

Moreover, in the period studied the ability of maritime power 

to inuence land events began to receive greater attention within 

naval circles. In 1992 the largest service discussed here, the U.S. Navy, 

consciously chose to emphasize its operations “. . . from the sea.”11 e 

doctrinal document noted naval operations should become increasingly 

“joint”; that is, working in conjunction with land and air forces, as well as 

combined, partnering with other navies. Such cooperation became more 

necessary as naval forces of all four nations confronted a dynamically 

evolving global political context and maintained high operating tempos 

in the face of declining budgets and fewer ships.12 e U.S. Naval 

Doctrine Command, established in March 1993, reinforced the trend 

toward multinational operations.13 at organization and its successor, 

Navy Warfare Development Command, arose explicitly to meet the joint 

and multinational requirements of the service. As well, during the last 

decade of the 20th century, U.S. military operations became increasingly 

combined in character.14 Between 1991 and 2003, therefore, both the 

joint and combined attributes of United States naval planning assumed a 

greater role as the full spectrum of American national strength played its 

part in dealing with crises around the world.15

Finally, there is the nature of the conicts represented here, only one 

of which involved a naval mission in the open war on terrorism. Between 

1991 and 2001 the U.S. government increasingly focused on multinational 

peacekeeping operations.16 As a result, the Iraqi and Yugoslav crises saw 

navies enforcing international sanctions, while East Timor challenged 

a naval intervention to enforce domestic plebiscite results. ese three 

operations were designed to compel or deter behavior.17 Naval forces 

Introduction 3
4 Introduction

carried out the operations under United Nations auspices, enforcing 

international will, but with limited aims. Without naval forces, the goals 

of the world community, as well as of the countries involved, would not 

have been achievable, or at the very least would have been much more 

expensive in human and material terms. At the level of conicts below 

mass warfare studied here, when the subject of force is a minor military 

power, or if warships are asked to bring a selective, discrete measure of 

force, sea power oers an important means to inuence events. 

eir discretionary nature makes these operations more sensitive to 

political considerations. Naval autonomy is less than it would be in an 

all-out blue-water action.18 us considerations such as restrictive rules 

of engagement (ROE) assume greater importance. Of equal weight these 

developments reect the attainment of command of the sea, or at least 

an absolute level of access provided by the four navies to waters o the 

world’s trouble spots. In that light the question posed in the case studies 

paraphrases Corbett, asking, “How do we employ our navies to inuence 

the outcome of crises ashore?”

The Doctrinal Framework—Toward Interoperability19

Solutions to the problem of coordinating naval operations have their 

roots in the 16th century when squadrons, divisions, and eventually eets of 

ships began operating under sets of preplanned instructions.20 Transmissions 

between the commanding admiral and ships’ captains at rst depended on 

signal pennants hoisted up the rigging, semaphore lamps, and in the 20th 

century, radio messages.21 ese signals allowed eets to best distribute and 

maximize their combat power and leverage strength to maximum eect. 

To communicate securely and quickly the wishes of the senior ocer, 

these messages depended upon encoded abbreviations, with both sender 

and recipient holding a copy of the codebook. For the historian, gaining an 

understanding of the particular tactical method employed proves dicult 

as doctrine tends to be classied as well as transitory.22

Unclear signaling and a lack of understanding between allied naval 

units risk causing disaster in battle. In February 1942 a force of ve 

cruisers—one Australian, one British, one American, and two Dutch—
Introduction 5

accompanied by a similar mix of destroyers, attempted to intercept the 

Japanese landings in Java. e resulting Battles of the Java Sea and Sunda 

Strait saw the loss of all ve major warships and three destroyers at no 

loss to the Japanese.23 Similarly, during the 1990–1991 Gulf War, diering 

British and American naval tactics led to contradictory responses to the 

Iraqi ring of a Silkworm missile, fortunately at no loss.24 ese actions 

amply demonstrated the need for comprehensible messages and assurances 

that subordinates knew how to carry out orders. Placed in a multinational 

context, the challenge of conducting naval operations becomes more 

dicult as dierent services address the same maneuvering and combat 

problems in varying ways.

Without a coherent set of responses, multilateral operations become 

more complex and oblige military forces to assume higher risks. In the 

words of one contemporary military analyst, 

. . . with several independent actors involved in multinational 

decision-making and implementation of strategies, command and 

control appears to be rather limited, while complexity and friction 

tend to be unlimited. Consequently, military alliances and coalitions 

face stronger problems of achieving consensus in strategy-making 

than purely national systems.25

For example, Western military personnel, including U.S. ground 

troops, participated in a UN-sponsored peacekeeping mission to Somalia, 

UNOSOMs (UN Operations in Somalia) I and II.26 e commitment to 

the east African country arose in response to famine and civil war. e 

multinational military command, however, encountered diculties 

operating in Somalia, confronting the inuence of warlords in an anarchic 

“failed state.” Crucial complexities constrained UN responsiveness, and the 

parallel U.S. command structure of Commander, U.S. Forces in Somalia, 

created an awkwardness that limited the peacekeepers’ eectiveness.27 e 

lesson is clear: for coalition operations to succeed, they must minimize 

extemporaneous actions.

Planning for multinational naval doctrine traces its roots to the 1950s 

when a series of agreements standardized the procedures for ships sailing 

together, especially merchant vessel convoys.28 e former Allied navies 

of World War II initiated these agreements to ensure the ability of their 
services to cooperate in case of a conict rooted in the Cold War rivalry.29

At the conclusion of East-West rivalry, NATO and other allied navies had 

already formalized procedures for creating integrated groups of ships and 

their accompanying aircra, and did so even by daily sharing of classied 

information with one another.30

e end of the Cold War generated further impetus to creating 

common operational methods. Both the Canadian and Royal Australian 

navies had instituted national naval ocer training programs, pulling their 

procedures further away from British practice and adding to the need for 

international doctrine.31 ese separate training regimes punctuated the call 

for a multinational doctrine to ensure common responses when operating 

together. Royal Navy thought also coalesced in important ways in 1995 with 

the release of a new manual, BR 1806 “Fundamentals of British Maritime 

Doctrine.”32 Finally, when the U.S. Navy created the “Naval Doctrine 

Command” in the 1990s, the service added to its ambit the instruction “to 

develop common doctrine to support multinational maritime operations 

with non-NATO countries.”33 ese measures demonstrated the full 

commitment and show the scope of the eort made by alliance and coalition 

naval planners to work together, especially aer 1989.

By 2000 a full multilateral and multiservice hierarchy of military doctrine 

had been developed, under the auspices of the Multinational Interoperability 

Council. Its participants included Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, 

and the United States, plus Germany and France.34 By 2005 the organization 

included information sharing, doctrine, network, experimentation, and 

logistics working groups and continues as a forum for creating best practices 

in those elds. Beyond discussions at the highest level, these contacts have 

created a wide variety of agreed-upon NATO documents—Standardization 

Agreements, or STANAGs; Experimental Tactics, or EXTACs; Allied 

Tactical Publications, or ATPs; and national doctrinal publications. Many of 

these documents are classied, but some are available to the public,35 such 

as NATO’s Maritime Tactical Publication 1(D) Volume I, “Multinational 

Maritime Tactical Instructions and Procedures,” the U.S. Navy’s “Multinational 

Maritime Operations,” and “e Commander’s Handbook on the Law of 

Naval Operations,” manuals serving as a framework for comprehending 

the underpinnings of these operations.36 e last, a keystone publication 

6 Introduction
providing the legal bases for at-sea operations, is employed by the U.S. Navy 

and by several foreign sea services.37

One should avoid overstating the value of doctrine, for its creation 

does not ensure the smooth operation of naval units with one another 

in all circumstances. A major reason for this general exception stems 

from national sovereignty: multinational plans cannot supersede any 

single country’s reservations to operational choices, and multilateral 

arrangements will not violate national laws regarding, for example, the 

status of disputed territorial waters. ose reservations can be read in 

the opening pages of the most signicant doctrinal manuals employed 

by NATO navies, Australia, and New Zealand and are announced to all 

participating nations.38

Nor can doctrine foresee every circumstance. Overburdened junior 

leaders, technical failures, misunderstood instructions, or headstrong 

subordinates can invalidate the best-prepared plans in an evolving 

situation with dispersed forces.39 e addition of the multinational 

element to operations adds a further complication rooted in the political 

considerations noted above or in dierent procedures at sea. As one work 

bluntly suggested, “Ideal command arrangements or C2 [Command and 

Control] have not been achieved in recent experience, particularly when 

coalition forces have been used for peace operations.”40 e inherent lack 

of familiarity of one force’s procedures with those of even a close ally 

makes fullling objectives more challenging.41 All the same, a framework 

of practice and its frequent exercise by operating forces at sea ease the 

path for naval cooperation. at Australian, Canadian, British, and 

United States navies, working with French and German partners, can 

coordinate the actions of half the world’s surface warship strength makes 

their capabilities all the more impressive. Multinational groupings of ships 

can oer opportunities for action at lower cost to individual services and 

provide more abundant power than any single service could manage.42

One crucial element of the doctrine underlying the naval operations 

described here is the notion of rules of engagement.43 ey assign 

“when, where, against whom, and how much force can be used,” and 

designate which ocers have responsibility for ordering its use.44 When 

conducting “operations other than war,” the types of action discussed 

Introduction 7
here, military forces require clear statements on the appropriate responses 

to unpredictable situations. ese sorts of crises create a tension between 

military and political imperatives, and ROE can help bridge the gaps 

between them.45 Typically the rules are presented in the form of a owchart 

and are modied for each specic operation.

Rules of engagement in lower intensity campaigns, which can 

be accompanied by coalition dierences over policy or a lack of 

distinction between friends and hostile parties, can confound operational 

commanders with their complexity. Unlike the Cold War, when more 

aggressive rules could be invoked, post-1991 opponents struck covertly 

and frequently mixed their forces with noncombatants.46 e rules of this 

period require dened steps in, say, challenging by radio or signal lamp 

a third-country merchant ship suspected of carrying prohibited weapons 

before attempting to board it.47 In some ways these national documents 

reduce the initiative of on-scene ocers to the point they supplant the 

widely held notion of commander’s intent by centralizing command in 

political hands. All the same they remain irreplaceable in conicts of this 

sort.48 Granting allies access to these frequently classied rules, an issue 

referred to as “releasability,” also shapes multinational operations. In all 

four cases the authors have addressed the rules of engagement as they 

apply to a particular operation.

The Framework—Exercises

As operational armed forces, navies tend to eschew the use of planned 

concepts unless they have practiced them. Naval operators tend to master 

a particular skill in isolation and then hone their abilities and condence 

by taking part in frequent exercises of increasing complexity. ese drills 

cover a spectrum of activities. At the simplest end of the range, individual 

ships and aircra conduct a Passage Exercise, or PASSEX, which allow 

two cra to acknowledge formally one another and familiarize their 

crews with one another.49 Similar in nature to port visits, the exchanges 

of personnel between countries, called cross-decking, support the same 

purpose, giving sailors from other services the chance to understand one 

another as fellow ship handlers.50

8 Introduction
More advanced exercises test the ability of navies to work together, 

using common doctrine, also called “tactics, techniques and procedures,” 

to take on the tasks they perform in crises or wartime.51 Some exercises 

tackle problems such as supply or radio procedures, and allow solutions 

to take place in the eld.52 ese military practice sessions allow the 

participants to identify technical mismatches between component parts 

of multinational forces so they can work as cohesive units. Without 

making exercises so realistic, “combined, concurrent and/or collaborative 

planning” becomes degraded.53 e range of these exercises encompasses 

amphibious movements to master the complex transportation of soldiers 

from ships to shore and the simulation of combat. Still other exercises 

test new communications systems required by eets to work together.54

At their most sophisticated, combined exercises become large-scale, 

week-long, multiservice, and international in nature, involving dozens of 

vessels and hundreds of aircra.55 Of these, the full-spectrum exercises are 

the most important. In addition to the particular condence- and skillsdevelopment messages they provide, the largest events help sailors prepare 

for their most threatening challenge—combat. Such practice teaches 

personnel to respond to hostile forces, the units able to deny navies the 

opportunity to support humanitarian or peacekeeping missions, and in a 

lethal way.56

ese exercises have evolved over time. For example, the rst 

comprehensive NATO practice in the North Atlantic, Exercise Mainbrace, 

took place in September 1952. Involving more than 150 ships, including 

ten aircra carriers from the British, Canadian, and United States 

navies, the exercise took place despite unresolved challenges posed by 

intelligence and signals interoperability.57 e maneuvers proved such a 

success they set the stage for subsequent NATO operations throughout 

the Cold War and aer. e practice of holding multilateral naval 

exercises in the Pacic Ocean area began with the formal cooperation of 

the Royal Navy and the U.S. Navy. Australia came under this so-called 

Combined Exercise Agreement in 1966, and Canada joined in 1978.58

e agreement outlines common procedures for these services’ unied 

training, and with these exercises naval vessels and aircra cooperatively 

Introduction 9
train. Aer 1989, navies in the English-speaking world had begun to steer 

away from exercises simulating a general war against the defunct Soviet 

Union, and by June 1996, instead practiced multinational peacekeeping 

operations.59 At that time, for example, a Canadian-hosted war game 

uncovered many of the complexities in harmonizing diering national 

rules of engagement.60

e Royal Australian, Canadian, Royal, and United States navies 

(with occasional participation of the Royal New Zealand Navy) recognize 

the value of national and international drills and allow observation of 

and participation in each others’ war games. Given their expense and 

complexity only some of these are annual events, such as Exercise Tandem 

rust conducted between Australian and U.S. forces.61 Other rehearsals 

entail drills conducted in the midst of ongoing operations. Together, these 

exercises demonstrate the professional competence and, more important, 

the combat credibility of allied forces to one another.62 Such experiences 

allow naval personnel to develop an otherwise intangible trust, the element 

essential to working together.63 Members of navies see reliable friends as 

their best, in some cases sole, allies.

e experience gained in peacetime operations serves a nal purpose. 

In the case of the American service, at least, the collection of “lessons 

learned” from exercises is highly developed, and in many cases (although 

not all) the answers are applied. ese results can be impressionistic, for 

example, measuring the pace of a friendly navy’s exercise, or determining 

the expectations of an ally in a type of operation, even combat.64 e 

lesson derived from an exercise provides guidance to improve future 

operations service-wide, ensuring better performance of missions and 

greater protection for personnel.

The Framework—Technical Interoperability

World War II naval leaders in the English-speaking world began 

to look for better means to exchange combat information with one 

another. eir rst eorts began with the creation of the Combined 

Communications Electronics Board and, aer 1960, proceeded through 

the ve-member AUSCANNZUKUS organization.65 Alongside the Air 

10 Introduction
Standardization Coordinating Committee, AUSCANNZUKUS members 

work to create “interoperable” communications—compatible equipment 

and methods that allow the naval services to operate together.66 e 

equipment and procedures enable friendly ships to radio one another, 

transfer fuel through common couplings, and provide ammunition or 

spare parts while at sea. 

More specically, the standardization of NATO navies’ electronic 

information sharing began in the 1950s, with the convergence of separate 

eorts by the Commonwealth navies (Royal Australian, then-Royal 

Canadian, Royal New Zealand, and Royal) and the U.S. Navy.67 In particular, 

warship crews portrayed evolving three-dimensional information in 

real time, using data derived from radar, and later from other sources, 

on two-dimensional displays. To match the high rate of data exchange 

from multiple sources cluttering the shared picture, each service sought 

to automate the transmission and display of radar and sonar returns in 

their combat information centers (or equivalents), rather than manually 

plot the information.68 Complicating matters, all information sent and 

received by these ships is done so in a secure form to prevent interception 

by opposing naval forces. Setting much of the pace for these exchanges 

was the U.S. Navy’s Naval Tactical Data System (NTDS).69 Standardizing 

that system, the British, Canadian, and United States navies created in 

1958 the Tactical Information Data Committee, which eventually set out 

the technical requirements for the ships of the three services to exchange 

an electronic picture with one another. 

Shortly thereaer, in 1964, the Federal Republic of Germany 

purchased three Charles F. Adams-class guided missile destroyers 

designed and built in the United States. Hearing of the American NTDS 

system, German project managers purchased a smaller version of the 

same processing equipment tted out with national soware designed 

by the UNIVAC division of the Remington Rand Company.70 Australian, 

French, Italian, Japanese, and Spanish orders for NTDS followed, allowing 

inclusion of British and Canadian information. By the 1970s the data 

exchange protocols had been formalized under a NATO STANAG. e 

agreed-upon version became the basis for the interoperable system 

Introduction 11
created by the U.S. Navy and commonly referred to by all nations as Link 

11.71 More than any other method, that system allows multilateral naval 

operations to work successfully.

Link 11, however, has limits. By the 21st century, the information 

load that Link 11 could process—a transfer rate of one megabyte per 

second—was too low to keep up with demand. At the same time U.S. 

Navy ships had surpassed that rate of information transfer using other 

systems that rely on satellites, equipment not available to allied navies 

for reasons of releasability or cost.72 e rst of these concerns is central, 

for allied ships are not always given access to classied military systems 

administered by oces outside of the U.S. Navy, especially the Secret 

Internet Protocol Router Network (SIPRNET).73 Sharing classied data 

consequently remains a tricky part of multinational collaboration. Aer 

1998, that problem eased but was not resolved with the introduction of 

the Coalition Wide Area Network (COWAN), a classied website, email, 

and chat system. Sometimes called the Combined Enterprise Regional 

Information Exchange System (CENTRIXS), this information structure 

is used for command and control.74 On at least one occasion aer the 

operations described here, a lack of access to the American ROE and 

SIPRNET caused a Canadian ship commander to grumble.75 In addition, 

domestic political constraints can prevent national governments from 

selling high-tech equipment abroad, even to longstanding allies.76 Despite 

the comparatively great resources at their disposal and a longstanding 

commitment to sharing technology, by 2004 allied communications 

systems were still not completely interoperable with one another.77 Not all 

nations can aord to make the trade os needed to purchase electronics, 

weapons, and new hulls while keeping ships at sea for long periods. us 

some observers worry about creating an American “technology island,” 

which means, in essence, the pricing of U.S. military capabilities beyond 

the reach of allied navies.78 For the case studies discussed here, it remained 

up to the personnel in these operations to create the “human network” to 

bolster and ll in for the limits of releasability and communications.79

12 Introduction
ese constraints, however, were not so limiting in these four cases 

of multinational operations, for the allied ships used Link 11, the most 

widely held system for sharing information. It retained its usefulness as 

the method for exchanging data between vessels on the same mission.80

Consequently, and alongside the COWAN/CENTRIXS system, Link 11 

remained the common mode for information exchange among units of 

the Australian, British, Canadian, and United States navies during the 

period covered by these essays.81

Shape of the Study

In some ways the four cases presented are dissimilar. Two operations 

(Iraq and Yugoslavia) represented the long-term commitment of 

naval units, one (East Timor) indicated the role of navies in an armed 

intervention ashore, and the fourth (aer September 2001) showed allies 

responding to an Afghanistan-based terrorist threat to all of them. One 

operation (Yugoslavia) was conducted under the established NATO 

alliance structure, while three took place under more ad hoc coalitions, 

creating initially less well-dened command relationships.82 ese 

dissimilarities demanded reconciliation by the authors, which they have 

addressed.

Two points reduce the challenge posed by a lack of command 

relationships. First, sailors consider themselves “operators,” that is, people 

performing interchangeable work in peace and war. eir operational 

practices did not considerably diverge over the time covered by the studies 

and demonstrate the persistence characteristic of naval forces. Second, 

sailors in these allied navies share the same challenges and goals and, 

equally important, recognize the value their services bring to national 

governments as well as the international community.83 ey know and 

trust one another.

Moreover, between the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the 

Taliban regime in Afghanistan, these English-speaking navies operated 

in a consistently eective manner. ey did so with an eectiveness that 

their sibling services, armies and air forces, wish to do, as multinational 

operations have become increasingly commonplace since the end of the 

Introduction 13
Cold War. All four operations fullled the expectations of both the United 

Nations and the countries involved, regardless of the command structures 

employed, demonstrating the state of naval evolution at the cusp of the 

21st century. Members of these navies came to rely upon one another for 

support. Coalitions always have seams, especially in politically complex 

situations, but the trust built on common doctrine, shared training, and 

technically interoperable systems minimized any fraying of relations. 

e resulting product of compatibility and cooperation by the four sea 

services and their partners was, as described by two senior U.S. Navy 

leaders, a “self-synchronizing and self-organizing” network of a thousand 

ships, coordinated by a community of naval practice. In light of the need 

to address the similarities and dierences between cases, the common 

interpretive lens of combined navies—working together—reduced the 

impact of disparate circumstance and command considerations. 

e opinions expressed herein reect those of the author, and do not necessarily 

reect those of the United States Navy and the Department of Defense.

Notes

1. H. H. Ganey et al., e American Way of War and Its Transformation in the Post-Cold 

War Period, 1989–2003 (Alexandria, VA: CNA, February 2004), 3.

2. e weight of U.S.-foreign waterborne trade increased more than 41% between 1980 and 

1999. See Donna J. Nincic, “Sea Lane Security and U.S. Maritime Trade: Chokepoints as 

Scarce Resources,” in Globalization and Maritime Power, ed. Sam Tangredi (Washington, 

DC: National Defense University, 2002), 148.

3. On these dual natures of maritime warfare, see Norman Friedman, Seapower as Strategy: 

Navies and National Interests (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2001), 163.

4. On the diplomatic roles of navies, see Georey Till, Seapower: A Guide for the TwentyFirst Century (London and Portland: Frank Cass, 2004), chap. 9, especially 285–304.

5. On the historic utility of sea power in low-level crises, see James Cable, e Political 

Inuence of Naval Force in History (Houndmills, UK: MacMillan, 1998), 160–61.

6. For the idea of lower autonomy, see Colin S. Gray, “History for Strategists: British 

Seapower as a Relevant Past,” in Seapower: eory and Practice, ed. Georey Till (Ilford, 

UK: Frank Cass, 1994), 25.

7. U.S. Navy (USN) planners recognized these changes at the time; see Chief of Naval 

Operations, “OPNAV Instruction 3450.18: U.S. Naval Control of Shipping Organization,” 

15 December 1995, 1, at http://neds.daps.dla.mil/directives/3450_18.pdf, accessed 24 

October 2005.

14 Introduction
8. Derived in large measure from N. A. M. Rodger, “Image and Reality in EighteenthCentury Naval Tactics,” e Mariner’s Mirror 89 (August 2003): 281.

9. Colin S. Gray, “Seapower and Landpower,” in Seapower and Strategy, eds. Gray and 

Roger W. Barnett (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1989), 4.

10. Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute 

Press, 1988), Appendix: “e Green Pamphlet,” 336. An earlier version, which reverses the 

order, appears on 317. For similar views, see Gray, “Seapower and Landpower,” 12, and 

Stephen Prince, “Maritime Warfare: An Historical Perspective,” in Eects Based Warfare, 

ed. Christopher Finn (London: e Stationery Oce, n.d.), 4.

11. Chief of Naval Operations, . . . From the Sea: Preparing the Naval Service for the 21st 

Century (Washington, DC: September 1992). Subsequent doctrinal statements rened the 

theme. See Chief of Naval Operations, Forward . . . From the Sea (Washington, DC: March 

1994). See also Joel Sokolsky, “Colbert’s Heirs: e United States, NATO and Multilateral 

Naval Cooperation in the Post Cold War Era,” in Multinational Naval Cooperation and 

Foreign Policy into the 21st Century, eds. Fred Crickard et al. (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 

1998), 79–81.

12. On USN budgets, see Dennis S. Ippolito, Budget Policy Decits and Defense: A Fiscal 

Framework for Defense Planning (Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, June 1995), 

22–26, and H. H. Ganey, “e Navy before and aer September 11,” in Globalization 

and Maritime Power, 536–37. On the broader context, see John B. Hattendorf, ed. U.S. 

Naval Strategy in the 1990s: Selected Documents (Newport, RI: Naval War College Press, 

September 2006), “Introduction,” especially 3–5.

13. James J. Tritten, “Developing Naval Doctrine . . . From the Sea,” Joint Forces Quarterly 

(Autumn 1995): 110–13. See James Tritten, “Implications for Multinational Naval 

Doctrine,” in Globalization and Maritime Power, 259–79.

14. Such considerations are also applicable in joint (i.e. multiservice) operations. See 

Ganey et al., e American Way of War, 4. Similarly, Australian discussions at the time 

noted “almost all modern navies operate from a very large base of shared international 

doctrine.” See RAN Doctrine 1, Australian Maritime Doctrine (Canberra: Defence 

Publishing Service, 2000), 6.

15. Another regional arrangement reecting the trend toward multinational operations 

is the Western Pacic Naval Symposium, established in 1988. See “e Western Pacic 

Naval Symposium,” Semaphore 5 (March 2006), at http://www.navy.gov.au/spc/, accessed 

31 March 2006.

16. For the political framework of the peacekeeping operations, see Presidential Review 

Directive (PRD) 13 “Peacekeeping Operations,” at http://www.fas.org/irp/odocs/pdd13.

htm; and Presidential Decision Directive (PDD) 25, “U.S. Policy on Reforming Multilateral 

Peace Operations,” 6 May 1994, at http://fas.org/irp/odocs/pdd25.htm, both accessed 5 

October 2005.

17. Till, Seapower: A Guide, 288–90. See also Gary C. Huauer et al., Economic Sanctions 

Reconsidered: History and Current Policy, 2nd ed. (Washington, DC: Institute for 

International Economics, 1990), 1:10–13. For a varying take on the compelling of states, 

see Adam Siegel, To Deter, Compel, and Reassure in International Crises: e Role of U.S. 

Naval Forces (Alexandria, VA: CNA, February 1995), 1–5.

Introduction 15
18. In many ways, the themes arising in this essay were presaged in Ken E. Gause, U.S. 

Navy Interoperability with Its High-End Allies (Alexandria, VA: CNA, November 2001), 

especially 14–34; the author is indebted to Peter Swartz of CNA for pointing out this essay. 

On the political nature of warfare and American military reservations to that notion, see 

Antulio J. Echevarria, Toward an American Way of War (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War 

College, March 2004).

19. e term interoperability connotes more than compatible equipment, implying reliable 

methods for allowing people and commands to work together. See Keith G. Stewart et al., 

“Non-technical interoperability: the challenge of command leadership in multinational 

operations,” unpublished paper (Farnborough: QinetiQ, 2004), 2, at http://www.

dodccrp.org/events/2005/10th/CD/papers/298.pdf, accessed 22 August 2005. A scale 

of interoperability can be found in Andreas Tolk, “Beyond Technical Interoperability—

Introducing a Reference Model for Measures of Merit for Coalition Interoperability,” 

paper presented at the 8th International Command and Control Research and Technology 

Symposium (Washington, DC: National Defense University, June 2003), 3, at http://www.

odu.edu/engr/vmasc/Publications/Tolk-BeTechInt.pdf, accessed 23 August 2005.

20. See Julian S. Corbett, ed., Fighting Instructions, 1530–1816 (London: Naval Records 

Society, 1905); Andrew Gordon, e Rules of the Game: Jutland and British Naval 

Command (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1996), 195; and Michael A. Palmer, 

Command at Sea: Naval Command and Control Since the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, 

MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 223–24. e rst naval ocer to employ the term 

doctrine was an American. See Dudley W. Knox, “e Role of Doctrine in Naval Warfare,” 

U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 41 (March–April 1915): 325-54. Conversely, in the words 

of one analyst, the current USN is “wary of doctrine,” concerned it robs commanders of 

initiative. See Peter M. Swartz, U.S. Navy Capstone Strategies and Concepts (1970–2006): 

Insights of the U.S. Navy of 2006 (Alexandria, VA: CNA, June 2006), 35.

21. See “Visual Signalling in the Royal Australian Navy,” Semaphore 8 (April 2006), at 

http://www.navy.gov.au/spc/semaphore/index.html, accessed 1 May 2006.

22. James Goldrick, “e Problems of Modern Naval History,” in Doing Naval History: 

Essays Toward Improvement, ed. John B. Hattendorf (Newport, RI: Naval War College 

Press, 1995), 14.

23. Robert J. Cressman, e Ocial Chronology of the U.S. Navy in World War II (Annapolis, 

MD: Naval Institute Press, 2000), 79–80.

24. Till, Seapower: A Guide, 109–110. For a description of the Silkworm interception see 

also Edward J. Marolda and Robert J. Schneller Jr., Shield and Sword: e United States 

Navy and the Persian Gulf War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2001), 293–94.

25. Uwe Hartmann, Carl von Clausewitz and the Making of Modern Strategy (Potsdam: 

miles-Verlag, 2002), 99. Hartmann draws upon Book I, Chapter 1 of Clausewitz’s On War 

for this assessment.

26. A. Vernon, Dening the Decade: Military Operations and Political Constraints in the 

1990s (Alexandria, VA: CNA, August 2004), 39–40.

27. U.S. Army Center of Military History, United States Forces, Somalia Aer Action Report 

and Historical Overview: e United States Army in Somalia, 1992–1994 (Washington, DC: 

U.S. Army Center of Military History, 2003), 10, 120–24. UN and some American forces 

remained under divided operational control, with the U.S. logistics unit under the UN 

16 Introduction
commander (a U.S. Army ocer), while the U.S. Quick Reaction Force reported directly 

to Commander, U.S. Central Command (see page 124).

28. omas R. Frame, Pacic Partners: A History of Australian-American Naval Relations 

(Sydney, NSW: Hodder & Stoughton, 1992), 87.

29. On American receptiveness to combined operations, as reected in doctrine, see 

James Tritten, “Development Issues for Multinational Navy Doctrine” (Paper presented 

at the 13–15 July 1995 workshop “Multinational Naval Cooperation: Moving from eory 

to Practice,” Dalhousie University, Halifax, Nova Scotia), 3, 7, at http://www.dtic.mil/

doctrine/jel/research_pubs/devissue.pdf, accessed 13 September 2005.

30. omas-Durell Young, “Cooperative Diusion through Cultural Similarity: e 

Post-War Anglo-Saxon Countries’ Experience” (Monterey, CA: Center for Civil-Military 

Relations, n.d), 13. Copy in author’s possession.

31. Commodore James Stapleton, oral history, 14 December 2004, 6. e Canadian service 

began training naval ocers in Canada in the 1950s, while “patriation” of the Principal 

Warfare Ocer course took place in the 1980s in Australia. My thanks go to Robert H. 

Caldwell of the Directorate of History and Heritage, NDHQ, Ottawa, for clarifying the 

Canadian date in an email, 10 January 2006.

32. Eric Grove, “e discovery of doctrine. British naval thinking at the close of the 

twentieth century,” in e Development of British Naval inking: Essays in Memory of 

Bryan Ran, ed. Georey Till (London and New York: Taylor and Francis, 2006), 182.

33. Michael T. Johnson, Multinational Maritime Operations (MMOPS) for Naval Doctrine 

Command (Alexandria, VA: CNA, September 1995), 3.

34. MIC, “Charter of the Multinational Interoperability Council,” 2nd ed., Arlington, 

VA, 17 April 2002, at http://www.dtic.mil/jcs/mic/j3inn/mic.html, accessed 3 June 

2005. A more comprehensive and dierent description of the doctrine writing process 

is in Directorate for Operational Plans and Joint Force Development, “Stang Guide 

for Operational Plans and Joint Force Development (J-7),” Washington, DC, 15 August 

2002, especially pages 17–22, at http://www.dtic.mil/doctrine/jel/other_pubs/ajpsg02.pdf, 

accessed 13 September 2005.

35. Joint Doctrine & Concepts Centre, “Joint Warfare Publication 3-00: Joint Operations 

Execution” (Shrivenham, UK: Ministry of Defence, March 2004), 1A4. See Navy Tactical 

Support Activity, “Dra EXTAC 1013 Regional Naval Control of Shipping” (Washington, 

DC: December 1995).

36. NATO Standardization Authority, MTP 1(D) Volume I, “Multinational Maritime 

Tactical Instructions and Procedures,” December 2001; U.S. Naval Doctrine Command, 

“Multinational Maritime Operations,” Norfolk, VA, 1 September 1996; and NWP 1-14M, 

“e Commander’s Handbook on the Law of Naval Operations,” Washington, DC, 1 

October 1995.

37. On translation into foreign languages, see Michael Johnson, Peter Swartz, and Patrick 

Roth, Doctrine for Partnership: A Framework for U.S. Multinational Naval Doctrine 

(Alexandria, VA: CNA, March 1996), 21, fn18.

38. “Multinational Maritime Tactical Instructions and Procedures,” v–vi. 

39. One slightly dierent perspective of these constraints is Martha E. Maurer, Coalition 

Command and Control: Key Considerations (Washington, DC: National Defense University, 

May 1996), chap. 5, “People.”

Introduction 17
40. David S. Alberts and Richard E. Hayes, Command Arrangements for Peace Operations 

(Washington, DC: National Defense University, 1996), 41. On the complex politics of UN 

peacekeeping missions, including the inability of commanding ocers to re subordinates, 

see Romeo A. Dallaire, Shake Hands With the Devil: e Failure of Humanity in Rwanda

(Toronto: Random House Canada, 2003), 273.

41. “Joint Warfare Publication 3-00: Joint Operations Execution,” 2–4.

42. For a parallel version of this idea see Gray, “History for Strategists,” 21; and “Joint 

Warfare Publication 3-00: Joint Operations Execution,” 1A2.

43. For an opening study of ROE, see Guy R. Phillips, “Rules of Engagement: A Primer,” 

e Army Lawyer (July 1993): 4–27. e author, a Canadian Navy lieutenant commander, 

published in a U.S. Army journal.

44. Eric S. Miller, Interoperability of Rules of Engagement in Multinational Maritime 

Operations (Alexandria, VA: CNA, October 1995), 1; and Till, Seapower: A Guide, 290–92. 

A diering perspective on ROE arises in Joshua Sinai et al., “United Nations Peacekeeping: 

Lessons Learned, a Report Prepared by an Interagency Agreement by the Federal Research 

Division, Library of Congress” (Washington, DC: Library of Congress, September 1995), 

12: ROE “dene how a peace operation force should act or react to an adversary’s action 

in peaceful or crisis situation in the course of discharging its duties under the Security 

Council’s mandate . . . [and] to prevent overreaction by members of the force that might 

endanger the U.N.’s crisis management activities.” is wording reects the aim of the UN 

to avoid employing force, or at least to minimize its use absolutely.

45. Bradd C. Hayes, Naval Rules of Engagement: Management Tools for Crisis (Santa 

Monica, CA: Rand Corp., July 1989), 2. e author is indebted to intern James Schwemlein 

for pointing out this publication.

46. For an example of less restrictive ROE, see Joseph T. Stanik, El Dorado Canyon: Reagan’s 

Undeclared War with Qadda (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2003), 46–48, 123, 

127–28.

47. Johnson, Multinational Maritime Operations, 38–39; Miller, especially “Problems 

with ROE in Multinational Operations,” 13–19; Stacy A. Poe, “Rules of Engagement: 

Complexities of Coalition Interaction in Military Operations Other than War,” unpublished 

paper, U.S. Naval War College, 13 February 1995; and “Joint Warfare Publication 3-00: 

Joint Operations Execution,” 1A3.

48. On command independence, see Ulrike Kleemeier, “Clausewitz: Soldier and inker—

Reections on the Topicality of Clausewitz’ Work,” 37th Security Policy Information 

Conference, Clausewitz-Gesellscha, 15 August 2003, at http://www.clausewitzgesellscha.de/Documents_in_English/Klee.pdf, accessed 22 June 2005.

49. For a Greek Navy and USN PASSEX with Russian Fleet ships, see “NATO and Russian 

Ships Conduct Joint Training,” 25 November 2004, at http://www.afsouth.nato.int/

releases/2004releases/PR_37_04.htm, accessed 6 June 2005.

50. Johnson et al., Doctrine for Partnership, 19. On the development of common armed 

forces culture between Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and the 

United States, see Young, “Cooperative Diusion.” See also Jack McCarie, “Australia’s 

Maritime Interests and Policy,” in Issues in Maritime Strategy: Presentations of the Royal 

Australian Navy Maritime Studies Program, ed. G. A. Cox (Canberra: Directorate of 

Publishing, 1994), 17. For an iconoclastic view of multinational exercises, see Cynthia 

18 Introduction
Enloe, “Beyond Steve Canyon and Rambo: Feminist Histories of Militarized Masculinity,” 

in e Militarization of the Western World, ed. John R. Gillis (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers, 

1989), 129–32.

51. Tritten, “Development Issues,” 22.

52. Johnson et al., Doctrine for Partnership, 125–26.

53. Commander in Chief Pacic Fleet, “Common Operating System,” Navy Lessons 

Learned Database, 14 December 2000.

54. As an aside—one 2002 USN Fleet Battle Experiment connected a ship and shore 

installations, to allow Australian, British, Canadian and American planners to reconcile 

systems. See Todd Michael Mansell, Andrew Tynan, and David Kershaw, “Investigating the 

Network Enabled Conventional Submarine: An Australian Perspective” (Paper presented 

at the Command and Control Research and Technology Symposium [CCRTS] Workshop, 

Monterey, CA), 10–12, at http://www.dodccrp.org/events/2002/CCRTS_Monterey/

Tracks/Track_1.htm, accessed 7 September 2005.

55. See Eric Grove, with Graham ompson, Battle for the Fiørds: NATO’s Forward 

Maritime Strategy in Action (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1991). I am indebted to 

Dr. omas-Durell Young for commenting on an earlier dra of this paper and noting the 

joint nature of the largest exercises, especially as three participants in this study, Australia, 

Canada, and the United Kingdom, plus New Zealand, have naval aviation branches 

“owned” by their respective air forces.

56. An idea derived from Owen R. Cote Jr., “Buying ‘. . . From the Sea’: A Defense Budget 

for a Maritime Strategy,” in Holding the Line: U.S. Defense Alternatives for the Early 21st 

Century, ed. Cindy Williams (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001), 166.

57. Sean M. Maloney, Securing Command of the Sea: NATO Naval Planning, 1948–1954 

(Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1995), 153 and footnotes, 236–37. Ships from 

Belgium, Denmark, France, the Netherlands, and Norway also participated.

58. Young, “Cooperative Diusion,” 13–14. New Zealand also employs the Combined 

Exercise Agreement (COMBEXAG). On the NATO Planning Board for Ocean Shipping, a 

merchant shipping control authority in case of escalation in the Cold War, and predecessor 

to the COMBEXAG, see Maloney, 236, fn30. omas-Durell Young refers to the World 

Wide Naval Control and Protection of Shipping in Young, Australian, New Zealand, and 

United States Security Relations, 1951–1986 (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1992), 135. See also 

McCarie, “Australia’s Maritime Interests,” 17.

59. C. McKeown, “Joint and Combined Operational Training: MARCOT ’96,” in Canadian 

Defence Quarterly 25 (September 1996): 14.

60. Ibid., 17.

61. G. Fuentes, “U.S., Australia Ponder Future Tandem Training,” Navy Times, 14 April 

1997, 21. On the rarity of high-intensity exercises, see Tritten, “Development Issues,” 21, 

22.

62. Derived from Peter T. Haydon, “Evolution of the Canadian Naval Task Group,” in 

Canadian Gunboat Diplomacy: e Canadian Navy and Foreign Policy, ed. Ann Griths et 

al. (Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, 2000).

63. e author is indebted to Dr. Steve Harris, Directorate of History and Heritage, in 

arriving at the centrality of building trust to avoid fraying or opening the seams between 

allies, during a team discussion at HMAS Watson, 18 July 2005.

Introduction 19
64. For the lessons derived from U.S. participation in a British antisubmarine exercise, 

see Commander Destroyer Squadron Fourteen, “ASWAC Battle Rhythm,” Navy Lessons 

Learned Database, 22 January 1999.

65. Australia, Canada, New Zealand, United Kingdom, United States. For a historical 

overview, see http://auscannzukus-navalc3.hq.navy.mil/index.htm, accessed 2 June 2005; 

and R. Buck, “Canadian Perspectives on C4I Issues,” in Maritime War in the 21st Century: 

e Medium and Small Navy Perspective, ed. David Wilson (Canberra: RAN Sea Power 

Centre, 2001), 132.

66. “Joint Warfare Publication 3-00: Joint Operations Execution,” 1A4–1A5. U.S. Naval 

Doctrine Command, “Multinational Maritime Operations,” page xi, denes interoperability 

as the “ability of systems, units or forces to provide services to and accept services from 

other systems, units or forces and the use of services so exchanged to enable them to 

operate eectively together.” e same publication notes on page xii standardization refers 

to “compatibility, interoperability, interchangeability, and commonality in the elds of 

operations, administration and materiel.”

67. Young, Australian, New Zealand, 121.

68. McCarie, “New Technologies,” 68.

69. Daniel L. Boslaugh, When Computers Went to Sea: e Digitization of the United States 

Navy (Los Alamitos, CA: IEEE/ASNE, 1999), 284–91. e Royal Navy system was rst 

called Action Data Automation (ADA), later ADAWS, with the Canadian Forces version 

called Digital Automated Tracking and Resolving System (DATAR), subsequently CCS280. Some Canadian ships instead carried an interim “Automated Data-Link Plotting 

System,” ADLIPS; see Richard H. Gimblett, “Command in the Canadian Navy: An 

Historical Survey,” e Northern Mariner 14 (October 2004): 54–57. e Australian 

Naval Combat Data System (NCDC) came from a similar and slightly later eort. See G. 

Cannon, “Technology Transfer, Knowledge Partnerships, and the Advance of Australian 

Naval Combat Systems,” in e Navy and the Nation: e Inuence of the Navy on Modern 

Australia, eds. David Stevens and John Reeve (Sydney, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2004), 

249–52. e best guide to Link 11 is Logicon Inc., Understanding Link-11: A Guidebook 

for Operators, Technicians, and Net Managers (San Diego, CA: Logicon, Tactical Systems 

Division, September 1996). For an example of NTDS information inputs, see A. Gallotta, 

“Navy EW and C3CM,” in Naval Tactical Command and Control, ed. G. Nagler (Washington, 

DC: AFCEA, 1985), 213–19. For sample NTDS symbols, see Rudolph P. Darken et al., “A 

Hybrid Virtual Environment Interface to Electronic Warfare Information” (Washington, 

DC: Naval Research Laboratory, 1996), 14.

70. Boslaugh, When Computers Went to Sea, 292–93. e Germans adopted the acronym 

SATIR for their system.

71. Boslaugh, When Computers Went to Sea, 294. For communication with most NATO 

aircra, the standard is Link 4. On the datalinks’ importance, see Norman Friedman, 

“Future C4I for Smaller Navies,” in Maritime War in the 21st Century, ed. Wilson, 147–50, 

and Cannon, “Technology Transfer,” 262.

72. e USN began deploying Link 16 in 1994. See Logicon Inc., Understanding Link-16: A 

Guidebook for New Users (San Diego, CA: Logicon, Tactical Systems Division, December 

1998), 1-1. For a recent study on these developments, see Walter L. Perry et al., Measures 

of Eectiveness for the Information-Age Navy: e Eects of Network-Centric Operations on 

20 Introduction
Combat Outcomes (Santa Monica, CA: Rand Corp., 2002). e USN lead in networking 

ships can stress relations with close allies. One report notes the prospective 1990s switch 

from Link 11 to Link 16 in U.S. ships prompted concern in the Federal German Navy, 

which lacked resources and shipboard space to incorporate new equipment. See Gary 

Geipel, Multinational Naval Cooperation Options With the North Atlantic Countries 

(Alexandria, VA: CNA, December 1992), 77. As late as 2006 German ships employed 

Link 11 to share data with one another, while accepting information transmitted from 

allied Link 16-capable systems. See diagram in J. Mannhardt, “Die Deutsche Marine in 

der Transformation. Maritimes Aufgabenspektrum and Fähigkeitsprol,” Wehrtechnischer 

Report, February 2006, 8.

73. CG 2D MAW, G-2, “Network and Systems Interoperability With Allied Forces,” Navy 

Lessons Learned Database, 20 May 1996. is report notes United Kingdom, Canadian, 

Australian, and New Zealand forces are ineligible to access SIPRNET under Defense 

Information System Agency policy. See also 2DMAW, “Access to Secure WAN by British 

Forces,” Navy Lessons Learned Database, 23 May 1996. Both of these result from CJTF 

Exercise Purple Star 96.

74. Commander Cruiser Destroyer Group ree, “RIMPAC 00: RIMPAC Websites,” Navy 

Lessons Learned Database, 27 June 2000. See “Common Operating System,” cited above, 

on the observed need for an unclassied Local Area Network. I am indebted to Captain 

Sam Tangredi, USN, for making the distinction between Link 11, a tactical information 

exchange system, and CENTRIXS, a command and control network, during a presentation 

at CNA, 20 July 2006.

75. C. Lambie, “Communications Snafus Dogged Ship on Mission,” Halifax Daily News, 

15 November 2004. e ship was HMCS Toronto, deployed as part of the USS George 

Washington carrier strike group, but not a participant in Operation Iraqi Freedom.

76. On American reluctance to sell to both Australia and the United Kingdom, see the 

articles by Spiegel, “UK Denied Waiver for American Weapons Technology,” “Congressman 

an Immovable Force on U.S. Arms Exports,” and “No Way for America to Treat its Close 

Allies,” in the Financial Times, U.S. ed., 23 November 2005, 1, 6, 12.

77. Secretary of the Navy, SECNAV Instruction 5000.36, “Department of the Navy Data 

Management and Interoperability,” 1 November 2001, 4, at http://neds.daps.dla.mil/

directives/5000_36.pdf, accessed 24 October 2005.

78. Dean S. Mills, “Coalition Interoperability: An International Adventure,” Air and Space 

Power Chronicles, n.d., 8, at http://www.airpower.maxwell.af.mil/airchronicles/cc/mills.

html, accessed 27 April 2005.

79. Once more the author and team are indebted to Dr. Steve Harris, who arrived at the 

term human network during 2005 meetings in Australia.

80. T. Keithly, “Making Maritime Coalitions Work: e future C4I perspective,” 165; and 

J. McHale, “VisiCom Retargeting Process and NTDS Help Navy Battle Obsolescence” 

Military and Aerospace Electronics (May 2000): 4.

81. CENTRIXS is sometimes proprietary, requiring Americans embarked on allied ships 

to encrypt messages. “U.S., Singapore Navies Take Combined Operations to New Level,” 

Navy News Stand, 10 June 2004, at http://www.news.navy.mil/search/display.asp?story_

id=13715, accessed 15 November 2005. Initially only USN Pacic Fleet and Central 

Command ships employed CENTRIXS, although all were slated receive it. See Maryann 

Introduction 21
22 Introduction

Lawlor, “Navy Embarks on Operational Sea Change” AFCEA Signal (May 2003), at http://

www.afcea.org/signal/articles/anmviewer.asp?a=229&z=15, accessed 15 November 2005, 

and Jill L. Boardman and Donald W. Shuey, “Combined Enterprise Regional Information 

Exchange System (CENTRIXS): Supporting Coalition Warfare World-Wide,” U.S. 

CENTCOM paper, April 2004, at http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/ccrp/centrixs.

pdf, accessed 31 March 2006. Again, I am indebted to Dr. omas-Durell Young for 

highlighting CENTRIXS.

82. Exceptions are the NATO Standing Naval Forces, which rotate overall command 

through the participating ship commanders. Most important, however, in coalition 

operations the largest contributing nation generally commands, while in alliance 

operations all participants are eligible to play command roles, at least below the level of 

theater commander. See Maloney, 201–2. On the distinction between alliance relations 

and coalitions, see Johnson et al., Doctrine for Partnership, 23, 57–70; and Guy Killaby, 

“e Inuence of Law Upon Canadian Naval Strategy: Leadmark and the Evolving Legal 

Regime” in Intervention and Engagement: A Maritime Perspective, eds. Robert H. Edwards 

and Ann L. Griths (Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, 2003), 108–9.

83. Derived from James Goldrick, “Strangers in eir Own Seas: A Comparison of 

Australian and Canadian Naval Experience, 1910–1982,” in A Nation’s Navy: In Quest of a 

Canadian Naval Identity, eds. Michael Hadley et al. (Montreal, PQ, and Kingston, ONT: 

McGill-Queen’s, 1996), 326. On developing and reinforcing friendships, see Siegel, To 

Deter, 21.
23

CHAPTER 1

e U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition 

Maritime Interception Operations in 

the Arabian Gulf Region, 1991–2001

Jerey G. Barlow

Introduction

While not new, naval blockade came into its own as an operational 

form following the Cold War. e U.S. Navy denes maritime 

interception operations (MIO) as “peacetime measure[s] designed to 

enforce embargoes sanctioned by the UNSC [United Nations Security 

Council], national authority, or other regional organization.”1

 ese 

actions t into Operations Other an War. e principal characteristics 

for a maritime interception operation that enforces an embargo are:

1. The interception terms—including the starting date of the operation, 

its location, and the prohibited items—are publicly announced.

2. Use of minimum force is required for carrying out the embargo.

3. Although an embargo is usually directed against the transportation 

of specific prohibited items, it may encompass virtually all imported 

and exported goods.

4. Ships and aircraft that are not carrying prohibited goods are 

permitted to pass through the embargo line.

5. Ships carrying prohibited items are turned back, diverted to a neutral port requested by the vessel being detained, or diverted to a port 

selected by the cognizant commander. The affected ships normally 

are not seized as prizes.2
24 Jerey G. Barlow

Although the U.S. Navy possesses the ships and capability that enable it to carry out individual maritime interception operations unaided, 

in the post–Cold War era it has sought to take part in such operations as 

a member of a coalition. ere are both political and military reasons for 

this choice. Sharing the operational risks with other nations produces political benets for the United States. By participating in operations under 

the auspices of the United Nations, a particular alliance, or a coalition, the 

Navy helps build support for and maintain legitimacy of its operations.3

 As 

part of a coalition, the Navy accrues important military benets of working 

with additional ships and aircra that supplement or complement (e.g., by 

furnishing dierent force competencies) the oensive and defensive combat 

capabilities of the maritime forces and receiving access to ports, airelds, or 

training areas in the region that otherwise would be unavailable for its use.4

MIO during the First Gulf War, 1990–1991

On the morning of 2 August 1990, Iraqi armored and mechanized 

divisions invaded Kuwait. During the next two days, Iraq managed to 

seize control of the entire country. Within hours of the aggression against 

Kuwait, the United Nations Security Council (UNSC) passed Resolution 

660 denouncing the Iraqi invasion and demanding the complete and 

unconditional withdrawal of its troops from that small country.5

 On 6 

August the Security Council strengthened that stand against Saddam 

Hussein’s Iraqi regime by passing Resolution 661, which forbade the export 

of cargo originating from Iraq or Kuwait and barred the importation of 

material into these countries, except for medical supplies and (in instances 

specically authorized by a UN committee) food stus.6

On 16 August U.S. President George H. W. Bush directed Commander in Chief, U.S. Central Command (USCINCCENT) to execute maritime 

interdiction operations, eective the following day.7

 Multinational maritime 

participation in the embargo was facilitated nine days later when Resolution 

665 passed on 25 August. It authorized maritime forces being deployed to 

the area “to use such measures commensurate to the specic circumstance 

as may be necessary . . . to halt all inward and outward maritime shipping
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 25

Kuwait

in order to inspect and verify their cargoes and destinations” and to ensure 

strict compliance with the provisions set forth in Resolution 661.8

By 1 September ve countries in addition to the United States—

Australia, Canada, France, the Netherlands, and the United Kingdom—

had dispatched a total of 20 ships to Middle East waters but had not yet 

committed them to maritime interception operations.9

 USCINCCENT 

Courtesy CIA
26 Jerey G. Barlow

assigned overall coordination of MIO to U.S. Naval Forces Central Command (NAVCENT). Vice Admiral Henry H. Mauz Jr., the NAVCENT 

commander, convened the rst of a monthly series of coordination 

conferences in Bahrain with the naval representatives of the countries 

readying ships for embargo enforcement on 9 and 10 September.10

During this rst coordination meeting, the national representatives 

shared basic information on the rules of engagement (ROE) for each navy. 

is promulgation was only for informational purposes, however, since 

the committee possessed no power to align national ROE.11

It was also at this rst coordination conference that national 

representatives discussed the need for some form of a central direction 

of the embargo. Although most attendees thought the U.S. Navy should 

assume the coordinating role because it possessed the largest combatant 

force in theater, this did not occur. When Vice Admiral Mauz put forth a 

plan for operational coordination along this line, a French representative 

objected and called for creating a separate role for the naval forces of the 

Western European Union (WEU) countries that were present.12 As a result 

of the impasse, the conferees agreed that the national naval contingents 

would work in “loose association,” wherein the ships remained under 

national control, while the on-scene task group commanders retained 

tactical and operational control.13 

Following the initial coordination meeting, Mauz laid out the 

operating areas for the coalition navies. Eventually the ships of the 13 

coalition navies making up the Maritime Interception Force (MIF)—

Argentina, Australia, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Greece, Italy, 

the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, the United Kingdom, and the United 

States—operated in one or more of these zones.14 U.S. Navy and Royal 

Navy combatants were assigned the C (Charlie) sectors deep within the 

Arabian Gulf.15 Canadian warships were located just slightly farther back 

in the central Gulf in areas designated C1 and C4.16 e warships of 

Denmark, Italy, Norway, and the Netherlands were assigned the B (Bravo) 

sectors in the central and eastern Gulf. e ships of Australia, Argentina, 

Belgium, and Spain manned the A (Alpha) areas in the Gulf of Oman 

covering the approaches to the Strait of Hormuz. e French and Belgian 

ships were positioned much farther back, in the Bab al-Mandeb Strait 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 27

separating the Gulf of Aden from the Red Sea. In the northern Red Sea, 

meanwhile, American, German, French, and Spanish warships monitored 

the Strait of Tiran leading into the Gulf of Aqaba, with Jordan’s port of 

Aqaba at its head.17 Finally, the navies of the Gulf Cooperation Council 

states—Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), 

and Oman—supported the MIF by preventing merchantmen from using 

their coastal waters in an eort to skirt the embargo.18

e assignment of sectors well to the rear for the WEU naval contingents resolved the issue of a separate role for the Western European 

Union naval forces. As Mauz later recalled, “[W]e simply assigned the

Arabian Gulf Region

Courtesy CIA
28 Jerey G. Barlow

[WEU] countries a separate operating area, o the UAE [United Arab 

Emirates] where there was almost no intercept action. [T]hey were happy 

and the rest of us got on with the program.”19 is division of labor proved 

fortuitous because as late as early November 1990 the French-controlled 

WEU forces still hadn’t worked out a viable command structure. Analyst 

omas-Durell Young noted that according to a 7 November report of the 

Assembly of the Western European Union, its

forces did not possess an accepted tactical command structure and 

were therefore unable to effect coordinated and directed responses, 

and that coordination of national ROE and logistic support had still 

not been achieved. The report also made a startling claim that it 

had only been during actual operations that U.S. forces in the area 

were discovered (much to the surprise of W.E.U. forces) to be using 

unique Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) procedures.20 

During the force buildup of the Desert Shield period, the coalition 

navies handled maritime interception operations smoothly. In particular, 

the U.S. Navy and its major allies—the Royal Navy, the Canadian Navy, and 

the Royal Australian Navy—were experienced at working together through 

participation in regular bilateral and combined exercises. Moreover, they 

possessed upgraded communications equipment that enabled them to 

exchange secure track and identication data via Link 11 (the U.S.-operated 

tactical datalink).21 is command and control interoperability allowed 

individual ships engaged in MIO to handle large numbers of air and surface 

contacts on a continuing basis. As the commanding ocer of HMAS Darwin

noted, “It was not uncommon for the 2–3 members of an FFG Air Picture 

Compilation Team to be condently keeping tabs on up to 100 tracks. . . . e 

surface picture was no less complex. At any one time, within a surveillance 

range of 100 miles, the ships were tracking up to 200 contacts.”22

e uidity with which the coalition forces handled intercept 

operations was somewhat deceptive, however. e interception evolutions 

worked well in part because the Iraqi Air Force and Navy failed to strike 

at the coalition warships enforcing the embargo. e robustness of MIO 

conducted by ships operating under a command and control regime 

characterized by “loose association” thus was never seriously tested.23
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 29

e interoperability of the coalition navies in the Gulf region during 

the fall of 1990 did confront serious limitations on the ROE, intelligence, 

and war planning information that could be exchanged between the 

national naval contingents.24 is issue of “releasability” was a particular 

problem for the U.S. Navy. e United States, Australia, and France, for 

example, did not share their ROE with the United Kingdom during most 

of Desert Shield.25 Similarly, the British force commander, despite the 

presence of Royal Navy liaison ocers on board U.S. command ships, 

found senior American naval ocers unwilling to reveal the details of 

their plans for war against Iraq. is, in turn, created a negative eect on 

the forward positioning of the naval forces in the Arabian Gulf. As one 

analyst stated,

The UK, for example, was eager to push farther up into the Gulf, 

but forces were not permitted north of a line from the Dhorra 

oilfield. Therefore, the allies were not allowed to deploy maritime 

patrol aircraft in the threatened area to track and counter the enemy 

mining effort or to allocate forces to establish a hold in the fighting 

area. In all likelihood, this led to a significant mining threat because 

the area was not covered.26

Rules of engagement mismatches could restrict operational 

exibility as well. One problem posed by having coalition naval units 

with dierent ROE operating in loose association was demonstrated by 

the 8 October 1990 attempt to stop the Iraqi merchantman Al Wasitti. 

e ship was intercepted in the Gulf of Oman by three coalition frigates: 

HMS Battleaxe, HMAS Adelaide, and USS Reasoner. Al Wasitti refused to 

stop or acknowledge communications from the warships, even aer all 

three had red warning shots ahead of her.27 At this point the on-scene 

commander decided to take control of the ship. Royal Marines own by 

helicopter from Battleaxe fast-roped to the deck of the merchantman. 

However, because the British on-scene commander lacked the authority 

under his ROE to stop the ship without referring the matter to London, 

it took some time before he received permission from British authorities 

to allow the Royal Marines to take control and actually stop the ship. Yet, 

while all of this was going on, a U.S. boarding team was chasing along 
30 Jerey G. Barlow

behind the merchantman in a motor whaleboat in an attempt to catch 

up.28 e Al Wasitti incident highlighted the hazard to personnel when the 

naval forces lacked adequate operational cohesion.

By late November 1990, it was becoming evident to the United 

Nations that the eects of the embargo were insucient to prod Saddam 

into withdrawing occupation forces from Kuwait. Accordingly, on 29 

November the Security Council passed Resolution 678, authorizing 

coalition forces to employ “all means necessary” aer 15 January 1991 to 

remove the Iraqi army from Kuwait.29 With this indication that war with 

Iraq was fast approaching, and in response to national concerns about the 

haphazard MIO command and control arrangements, several of the more 

important coalition naval contingents—only a few weeks or, in some 

cases, days prior to the start of Desert Storm—were authorized by their 

governments to place themselves under U.S. Navy operational control, if 

it became necessary. 

At the beginning of December, the commander of British forces in 

the Middle East directed his seagoing task group in the Gulf operating 

area to dra operational plans “for an oensive campaign by the Navy 

high up in the Gulf.”30 Subsequently, the task group’s Type 42 destroyers 

were placed under U.S. tactical control.31 Similarly, when the Australian 

ships HMAS Brisbane and HMAS Sydney rotated into the area of 

responsibility on 3 December to replace Darwin and Adelaide on station, 

their operating limit had been extended to include the Arabian Gulf, and 

they had been authorized, if necessary, to come under USN operational 

control. Two days later, the Australian Prime Minister publicly announced 

that Australian forces would carry out Resolution 678.32

Canada’s theater representative, Commodore K. J. “Ken” Summers, 

CN, met with Rear Admiral Daniel P. March, USN, the new commander 

of the U.S. battle force in the Arabian Gulf, on 1 January 1991 to discuss a 

heightened role for the Canadian task group in the event of war. Because the 

destroyers HMCS Athabaskan and HMCS Terra Nova lacked area defenses 

for antiair warfare (AAW), the two commanders decided that the Canadian 

warships would serve as escorts for the Combat Logistics Force operating 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 31

in the lower-threat area of the southern Gulf. A week later, on 9 January, the 

U.S. and coalition representatives attending the monthly MIO coordination 

meeting agreed that a Canadian ocer would coordinate the renamed 

Combined Logistics Force operating in the Southern Arabian Gulf. Captain 

Duncan E. “Dusty” Miller, CN, was quickly designated the subordinate 

antisurface warfare commander for UNREP (underway replenishment) 

area Sierra.33 It proved a fortuitous role, both for the Canadian task group 

and for the American battle force in the Gulf. As Canadian ocial historians 

Jean Morin and Richard Gimblett emphasized,

Participation in, and command of, the CLF [Combined Logistics 

Force] was a task tailor-made for the Canadian naval task group. They 

had expressed a desire for an identifiable role, and there was a need 

for a separate logistical force. But nothing was preordained. Despite 

the extensive [command, control, and communications and Phalanx 

close-in weapons system] upgrades prior to deployment, neither 

Canadian destroyer could rightfully claim a spot in the defensive 

lines to the north, though they did credible service as escorts in 

the reduced threat area of the southern waters. To the credit of the 

Canadian navy must go the fact that each of its three ships in the Gulf 

had something specific to offer the Coalition. Athabaskan was fitted 

out as a command flagship for a task group, with a staff well-versed 

in coordinating NATO alliance operations. In Terra Nova Captain 

Miller had under his direct control a hardworking escort with which 

to encourage greater participation from the other partners. And 

Protecteur’s pre-war experience as the central Gulf MIF supply ship 

made her a natural model for the logistical force.34 

e last of the major coalition partners to put their task groups 

under U.S. control were the Netherlands and Italy. In part because of the 

ongoing failure of the WEU forces in the region to create an eective naval 

command and control structure, on 9 January the Dutch government 

announced that it was placing its deployed warships under USN 

operational control to serve as escorts for the American aircra carriers 

in the event of war. Italian warships were put under American operational 

control shortly thereaer.35
32 Jerey G. Barlow

Coalition Maritime Interception Operations in the Gulf Region, 1991–2001

e conclusion of the ghting in Iraq at the end of February 1991 did 

not end the requirement for MIO in the Gulf region. On 2 March the UN 

Security Council passed Resolution 686 arming that all 12 conditions 

relating to Iraq continued to have “full force and eect” and demanded 

that Iraq implement its acceptance of these measures. It also “recognized” 

that during the period required for Iraq to comply with these resolutions, 

its member states—in the furtherance of Resolution 678—should continue 

to use all necessary means to uphold and implement the United Nations’ 

measures and to restore international peace and security in the area.36

e Security Council was convinced that continuing enforcement of 

the maritime embargo against Iraq would be vital in helping to induce 

Saddam Hussein’s regime to comply. e major problem with the plan, 

however, was that most of the national naval contingents involved during 

Desert Shield/Desert Storm were already on the verge of overstretching 

their available resources.

The cruiser USS Bunker Hill launches a Tomahawk missile during Operation Desert Storm, the 

allied offensive against Iraq in January 1991.

USN photo, PH3 Brad Dillon
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 33

General H. Norman Schwartzkopf Jr., USA, Commander in Chief, 

U.S. Central Command announced his intention on 16 April to keep the 

Middle East Force of ve combatants, a carrier battle group, and a Special 

Operations Capable (SOC) Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) in the Gulf 

as the enhanced naval presence.37 Nonetheless, even for the U.S. Navy, 

maintaining this level of presence in the region would be dicult as the 

United States scaled down its forces overall. In July 1991 Schwartzkopf ’s 

opposite number, Admiral Charles R. Larson, USN, Commander in 

Chief, U.S. Pacic Command called for providing additional exibility 

by employing innovative scheduling and task organized forces, including 

components such as land-based Air Force and Army forces, to support 

exercises or contingencies in Central Command. As Larson stressed, 

“Any increases in forward deployed strength or additional commitments 

exacerbate already tight and frequently exceeded PERSTEMPO/

OPTEMPO constraints. Naval force requirements . . . should not be 

viewed as the only presence option.”38

Problems maintaining the maritime interdiction operations against 

Iraq were exacerbated because the end of the ghting oered a suitable 

excuse for many coalition partners to have their heavily burdened 

warships gradually return home. At the Second Post-Hostilities Maritime 

Commanders (MACOM) Conference on 7 June, Rear Admiral Raynor A. 

K. Taylor, USN, the dual-hatted head of U.S. Naval Forces in CENTCOM 

and Commander Middle East Force, who also served as Commander 

Task Force (CTF) 152 (Maritime Interception Force), stressed to his 

coalition colleagues present that because of the “expensive and resourceintensive” nature of MIO, they should advise their governments to replace 

sea-based operations with “simplied ashore methods.”39 e Royal Navy 

representative, Captain Peter J. Cowling, who was serving as Commodore 

Task Group 321.1, agreed completely with Taylor. He told the assembled 

ocers, “e Western Europe . . . meeting in Paris had agreed that embargo 

operations could cease forthwith . . . it remains up to the individual 

governments . . . to support this position and to decide how to reallocate 

resources . . . a number of nations see their objectives in the Gulf as not 

being totally reliant on embargo operations.”40 Yet despite the plea made 
34 Jerey G. Barlow

at this second postwar MACOM Conference for moving the embargo 

enforcement operation ashore, MIO evolutions continued as before, even as 

the number of coalition navies available to carry them out dwindled.

By mid-July 1991 the count of merchant vessels intercepted since 

August 1990 (the beginning of Desert Shield) numbered 10,929. Of these, 

102 ships had been diverted aer boarding.41 Six weeks later, in a proposed 

press release on the anniversary of multinational maritime interception 

operations, Rear Admiral Taylor announced that in the Red Sea three U.S. 

Navy warships, an American support ship, and one French warship were 

enforcing the maritime embargo.42 At the Sixth Post-Hostilities MACOM 

Conference on 24 October 1991, Taylor commented that while there had 

been 22 countries represented at the rst conference, just nine remained. 

He noted that at the June and August conferences the attendees had agreed 

“it would be prudent” to move the embargo inspection teams ashore, 

but such a consideration remained within the purview of the foreign 

ministries of the participating countries, rather than their navies. Taylor 

remarked that the “current issue is the need for more multinational force 

participation, not only to provide some relief for the busy teams but also 

to send a signal to the international community that this is a multinational 

eort.”43 

In response to Taylor’s October comments, the Australian 

representative replied that the Australian Navy would be represented 

in the embargo force until the end of January 1992 but that future 

participation by Australia’s Commander Task Group (CTG) 627.4 beyond 

that time had not been decided.44 In another pessimistic vein, the British 

representative, CTG 321.1, commented that the “UK understands the 

urgency of the request for Navy assistance, but awaits [a] Foreign Oce 

formal request before they can participate in North Red Sea maritime 

interception ops.”45

Less than ten days later, Secretary of State James A. Baker III sent a 

message to the American ambassadors in the coalition countries that 

had participated in the war with Iraq, asking them to encourage the host 

governments to continue participating in the multinational maritime 

interception force or to “re-engage” their naval forces in it. e message noted:
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 35

Since the end of Desert Storm, the number of ships and countries 

participating in maritime intercept operations has been steadily 

declining. In the Northern Red Sea, the number of intercepting ships 

has decreased by more than half, and the number of nations to just 

three (the U.S., France, and Australia).

We are concerned that support for maritime interception operations 

has eroded. If the withdrawal of ships continues, the multinational 

character of the force will be lost and less stringent enforcement of 

the UN sanctions regime against Iraq will have to be accepted.46

is need for adequate multinational naval presence in MIO remained a 

U.S. concern throughout much of the 1990s.47 e overall burden of the 

maritime embargo was decreased somewhat beginning in late August 

1994, however, when at-sea maritime interdiction operations in the North 

Red Sea were replaced by ship inspections ashore at Aqaba, Jordan. ere, 

the United Nations contracted with Lloyd’s Register of London to conduct 

the inspection regime.48

Despite the signicantly smaller number of coalition vessels 

involved in day-to-day MIO during the latter half of the 1990s—Canada, 

for example, had no warships deployed in the Gulf region from April 

1992 through the spring of 1995 and, beginning in 1997, deployed only 

a single patrol frigate to the region each year—the ships involved in the 

ongoing eort kept to a busy pace.49 By the end of 1993, it was estimated 

that the total number of boardings since the start of Desert Shield had 

reached 8,500, and nearly 1,000 cargo ships carrying goods for Iraq had 

been diverted.50 And by the end of 1995, U.S. Navy warships alone had 

conducted more than 23,000 maritime interceptions of merchantmen 

bound for or returning from Iraq.51 

e U.S. Navy’s role in Gulf region maritime interception continued 

to be the predominant one throughout the 1990s. In addition to being 

the coalition navy that maintained its presence in interception operations 

throughout the entire period, it maintained a larger number of ships in 

the area of responsibility than any of the other countries involved. 

In addition to its specic interception responsibilities, the USN 

carried out two vital tasks that enabled maritime interception to be safely
36 Jerey G. Barlow

Front to back, cruisers USS Lake Erie and USS Chosin, ammunition ship USS Mount Hood, and 

oiler USS Cimarron steam toward the area of responsibility assigned to Naval Forces Central 

Command, April 1997.

and eectively carried out. First, American warships—either Ticonderogaclass cruisers or Arleigh Burke-class destroyers equipped with Aegis radar 

and advanced C3I (command, control, communications, and intelligence) 

systems—took responsibility for providing defensive counter-air support 

(area AAW) to coalition warships engaged in intercept operations in the 

Arabian Gulf.52 Although most of the combatants of the other coalition navies 

were equipped to furnish point defense against discrete incoming air attacks, 

area air defense was a role that only the USN Red Crown ships could provide 

for the surface forces engaged in the maritime interception eort. 

Second, the U.S. Navy (and other service or national assets) provided 

the coalition with the strategic- and operational-level intelligence. Such 

information allowed the coalition navies to carry out maritime interception 

operations successfully against the wide variety of Gulf-region shipping with 

the small number of warships available for the eort. For example, USN P-3 

Orion aircra equipped with inverse-synthetic-aperture radar carried out 

extensive over-water surveillance in the region during the Gulf War and 

thereaer. As several members of VP-19 noted in an August 1991 article:

PH3 James W. Olive
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 37

Within hours of the initiation of Operation Desert Shield, patrol 

aircraft commenced surveillance support of interdiction efforts on 

all sides of the Arabian Peninsula from detachments on the Red 

and North Arabian seas. These detachments provided four to five 

missions per day that queried all merchant ships plying routes to 

Iraqi or Jordanian ports as well as activity in the vicinity of the Gulf of 

Oman. This surveillance effort effectively blanketed all traffic in the 

region with unlimited support to boarding operations by providing 

initial location and query, tracking, and communications relay.53

Reinforcing this point about the value of U.S. Navy aerial surveillance 

during the conict, in 1992 Rear Admiral Anthony Maness, Commander, 

Patrol Wings Pacic stated that in MIF operations during Desert Shield, 

P-3 patrol planes “identied and evaluated more than 6,300 ships and all 

critical contacts of interest entering the area.”54 at eort saved wear and 

tear on ships and their crews. 

Moreover, the addition of new weapon systems and sensors to the 

U.S. Navy’s inventory during the later half of the 1990s increased USN 

capability for maritime surveillance in the Gulf region and elsewhere. For 

example, the introduction of the new F-14D “Super” Tomcat ghter into 

the eet in 1996 allowed the Navy to operationally deploy two advanced

A rigid hull inflatable boat, or RHIB, used in approaching vessels suspected of carrying 

contraband, passes by USS Benfold. The Arleigh Burke-class guided missile destroyer is 

participating in multinational maritime interception operations in the Northern Arabian Gulf, 

enforcing UN sanctions against Iraq, 1997.

USN photo, PH2 Rebecca Kerns
38 Jerey G. Barlow

passive sensors—the Infrared Search and Track (IRST) system and night 

vision goggles (NVGs)—for use in the nighttime maritime interception role. 

As one ocer noted, “For maritime TARPS [Tactical Air Reconnaissance 

Pod System], the IRST and NVGs provide battle group commanders a 

night visual-identication capability for naval and merchant ships. Ships 

steaming without running lights can still be identied on NVGs and the 

IRST and lmed using [the aircra’s] TARPS infrared line-scanner.”55 And 

a year later, the emergence of the TARPS (DI [digital imagery])-equipped 

F-14 aircra added a near real-time imagery capability to the Navy’s 

arsenal.56 ese systems proved of immediate value in helping to identify 

quickly merchant vessels entering the interception zone that were likely 

candidates for boarding. 

Ultimately, the success of coalition MIO in the Gulf region during 

the 1990s was directly attributable to the ongoing efforts of the navies

An F-14A Tomcat from Fighter Squadron 32 took this photograph of bomb damage at an Iraqi 

fertilizer plant, using the tactical air reconnaissance pod system, or TARPS.

NHHC L File
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 39

involved—particularly the USN and the allied navies of the United 

Kingdom, Canada, and Australia—to exercise together regularly and to 

maintain adequate operational and communications interoperability. 

Although the issues of diering national ROE and restrictions on the 

releasability of information continued to concern them, the coalition navies 

carried out their embargo enforcement operations with considerable skill 

and eectiveness throughout the turbulent decade of the 1990s.

e author made full use of both classied and unclassied material from the 

U.S. Navy, the U.S. Department of Defense, and other U.S. government agencies 

and activities. Although the classied information cited or quoted in this chapter 

was reviewed, subsequently declassied, and cleared for open publication by the 

Department of Defense’s Oce of Security Review, the classied documents used in 

draing the chapter retain their original classications.

Notes

1. Maritime Interception Operations NTTP 3-07.11, U.S. Navy NTTP 3-07.11/U.S. Coast 

Guard CGP 3-07.11, Edition Nov 2003 (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Naval 

Operations, Department of the Navy and Headquarters, U.S. Coast Guard, 2003), 2-1. 

Although many U.S. allies, including the Royal Navy and the Canadian Navy, use the 

term “maritime interdiction operations” rather than the U.S.-employed term “maritime 

interception operations,” both terms are similarly defined in normal usage. Ibid., 8-1.

2. Maritime Interception Operations NTTP 3-07, 2-1–2-2.

3. Michael Johnson, Peter Swartz, and Patrick Roth, Doctrine for Partnership: A Framework 

for U.S. Multinational Naval Doctrine (Alexandria, VA: CNA, March 1996), 16d.

4. Johnson et al., Doctrine for Partnership, 17.

5. Edward J. Marolda and Robert J. Schneller Jr., Shield and Sword: The United States Navy 

and the Persian Gulf War (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Center, 1998), 52–53.

6. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War (Washington, DC: Department 

of Defense, April 1992), 49; and Commander Tom Delery, USN, “Away, the Boarding Party!” 

U.S. Naval Institute (USNI) Proceedings 117 (May 1991): 66. Commander Delery was the 

Maritime Interception Force Officer on the staff of Commander Middle East Force at the 

time Desert Shield began.

7. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 49.

8. United Nations Security Council Resolution 665, 25 August 1990, quoted in Final Report 

to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 49.

9. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 51–52.

10. Marolda and Schneller, Shield and Sword, 87; and Lieutenant Commander Richard 

H. Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” in 
40 Jerey G. Barlow

Multinational Naval Forces: Proceedings of a Workshop Held by the Centre for Foreign Policy 

Studies, Dalhousie University, 13–15 July 1995, eds. Peter T. Haydon and Ann L. Griffiths 

(Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, Dalhousie University, 1996), 232.

11. Declassified information from Timothy J. Carroll, Eric S. Miller, and Commander James 

M. Warren, USN, Case Studies of Rules of Engagement in Maritime Coalitions: Earnest Will, 

Desert Shield/Storm, and Bosnia-Herzegovina (Alexandria, VA: CNA, July 1994), 40. It 

should be emphasized that the specific details of the national ROE were not provided during 

this coordination meeting.

12. Marolda and Schneller, Shield and Sword, 87; and Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of 

the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 232–33.

13. Captain R. E. Shalders, RAN, “The Enforcement of Sanctions by the Multi-National 

Naval Force—An RAN Perspective,” Journal of the Australian Naval Institute 18 (May 1991): 

16. Captain Shalders commanded the Australian frigate Darwin that served in the Arabian 

Gulf from 3 September to 3 December 1990 as part of the initial RAN deployment to the 

region.

14. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 52.

15. Declassified information from Timothy J. Carroll, Multinational Naval Cooperation 

during Desert Shield and Desert Storm (Alexandria, VA: CNA, November 1992), 22.

16. Major Jean Morin and Lieutenant Commander Richard H. Gimblett, Operation Friction 

1990–1991: The Canadian Forces in the Persian Gulf (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1997), 61–62, 

76. See also the back endpapers displaying a map of the Gulf region, entitled “Multinational 

Interception Force Operations August–December 1990,” which shows overlays of the 

designated Charlie, Bravo, and Alpha sector boxes in the waters of the Arabian Gulf and the 

Gulf of Oman. The Morin-Gimblett volume is the official Canadian military history of the 

Gulf War, published for the Directorate of History of the Department of National Defence. 

It should be noted that Timothy Carroll mistakenly had the Canadian ships operating in 

the Alpha sectors in the approaches to the Strait of Hormuz. Declassified information from 

Carroll, Multinational Naval Cooperation, 22.

17. Declassified information from Carroll, Multinational Naval Cooperation, 22. Aqaba was 

considered a port of coalition interest because Jordan’s government allowed its use for the 

overland shipment of cargo to Iraq. Marolda and Schneller, Shield and Sword, 87.

18. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 52. The final GCC member—

Kuwait—was under Iraqi occupation at the time.

19. Letter, Mauz to Edward J. Marolda, 12 June 1996, quoted in Marolda and Schneller, Shield 

and Sword, 87.

20. Thomas-Durell Young, “Preparing the Western Alliance for the Next Out-of-Area 

Campaign,” Naval War College Review 45 (Summer 1992): 35. Young was citing Assembly of 

the Western European Union, Consequences of the Invasion of Kuwait: Continuing Operations 

in the Gulf Region, Report, Document 1248 (Paris: 7 November 1990), 14.

21. Shalders, “The Enforcement of Sanctions by the Multi-National Naval Force,” 16; and 

Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 237, 239. 

Indeed, Gimblett stated, “Even before the present crisis arose, interoperability with the USN 

was at a high level. . . . Those facilities were upgraded for the Gulf deployment, such that the 

Canadian ‘connectivity’ with the USN was arguably the best in the Coalition.” Gimblett, 242 

fn11.

22. Shalders, “The Enforcement of Sanctions by the Multi-National Naval Force,” 17.
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 41

23. See [Rear Admiral] Ken Doolan [AO RANR], “The Gulf Challenge,” in Maritime Power 

in the Twentieth Century: The Australian Experience, ed. David Stevens (St. Leonards, NSW: 

Allen & Unwin, 1998), 204. As Maritime Commander Australia during 1990–1991, Rear 

Admiral Doolan was in overall charge of the ships of the combatant force deployed to the 

Gulf for Desert Shield/Desert Storm. He remained in Sydney, however. Commodore Don 

Chambers initially served as the deployed task group commander of the three Australian 

warships. Commodore Chris Oxenbould reported as his relief in early December 1990.

24. Operational interoperability is “the ability of maritime forces to operate together as a 

team, to account for each other’s abilities and constraints, and to press forward together 

to accomplish the mission.” Michael Johnson, with Richard Kohout and Peter Swartz,

Guidelines for the World’s Maritime Forces in Conducting Multinational Operations: An 

Analytic Framework (Alexandria, VA: CNA, March 1996), 75.

25. Captain G. A. S. C. Wilson, Royal Navy (Retired), Maritime Rules of Engagement: The 

European Perspective (Alexandria, VA: CNA, July 1994), 42.

26. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement: The European Perspective, 44. Echoing this 

concern about the lack of information on U.S. Navy war planning available to even allied 

navies at the time, Australian Rear Admiral Mark Bonser stressed, “[W]e saw very little 

detail until well after our ships had deployed and integrated into the relevant task force in 

the US naval component.” Rear Admiral Mark Bonser, AO CSC RAN, “RAN Persian Gulf 

Operations in Perspective,” Journal of the Australian Naval Institute 115 (Summer 2005): 7.

27. Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 58.

28. Declassified information from Carroll, Multinational Naval Cooperation, 15. The 

unfortunate delays caused by unacknowledged differences in delegated authority were 

specifically noted by Rear Admiral Doolan in “The Gulf Challenge,” 203. Similarly, another 

senior Australian participant noted, “In one early operation where the scene of action 

coordinator had less flexible ROE than the assisting forces it took 37 hours to gain effective 

control of the Iraqi vessel—this despite the fact that we had a combined USN/RAN boarding 

party embarked for over 24 hours.” Shalders, “The Enforcement of Sanctions by the MultiNational Naval Force,” 19.

29. Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 233. For 

the complete text of UNSCR 678 see Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian Gulf 

War, 329–330.

30. Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 233, 

quoting General Peter de la Billière, Storm Command: A Personal Account of the Gulf War

(London: Harper Collins, 1992), 137.

31. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement: The European Perspective, 44.

32. Commodore C. J. Oxenbould, RAN, “Maritime Operations in the Gulf War,” Journal of 

the Australian Naval Institute 18 (May 1991): 33; and Gimblett, “Canadian Coordination of 

the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 233. Commodore Oxenbould was the Australian 

task group commander during Desert Storm.

33. Morin and Gimblett, Operation Friction, 180, 182–83. See also Gimblett, “Canadian 

Coordination of the Persian Gulf Combat Logistics Force,” 234–37; and Marolda and 

Schneller, Shield and Sword, 128–29.

34. Morin and Gimblett, Operation Friction, 193. For a detailed listing of the upgrades made 

to the Canadian ships sent to the Gulf, see ibid., Appendix C, “Ship Equipment Upgrades for 

Operation Friction,” 268–69.
42 Jerey G. Barlow

35. Young, “Preparing the Western Alliance for the Next Out-of-Area Campaign,” citing 

(respectively) Hilversum International Service, 9 January 1991 in Foreign Broadcast 

Information Service—Western European Union, No. 91-007, 10 January 1991, 12 and ANSA 

(Roma), 18 January 1991 in Foreign Broadcast Information Service—Western European 

Union, No. 91-013, 18 January 1991, 45.

36. Text of UNSCR 686, 2 March 1991, in Final Report to Congress: Conduct of the Persian 

Gulf War, 330–31.

37. Declassified information from memorandum from Rear Admiral J. D. Cossey, Assistant 

Deputy Chief of Naval Operations (Plans, Policy, and Operations) to Chief of Naval 

Operations, Subj: “Desert Storm SITREP # 85 . . . ” 19 April 1991, 1.

38. Declassified extract from a message from USCINCPAC to CJCS, Subj: “Post Desert 

Storm Force Presence Policy,” 072300Z Jul 91, 1–2.

39. Minutes of Second MACOM Conference, 7 June 1991, 2, quoted in Robert H. Caldwell, 

“The Canadian Navy, Interoperability, and USN-Led Operations in the Gulf Region from 

the First Gulf War to 2003,” chap. 7 herein, 195. On Taylor’s elevation to the position of 

COMUSNAVCENT, see Marolda and Schneller, Shield and Sword, 336.

40. Minutes of Second MACOM Conference, 7 June 1991, 2–3, quoted in Caldwell, chap. 7 

herein, 196.

41. Declassified information from message, COMUSNAVCENT to AIG One Six, Subj: 

“SITREP COMUSNAVCENT 014 Jul,” 150843Z Jul 91 (Part Two of Two), 2.

42. Message, COMUSNAVCENT to USCINCCENT, Subj: “Proposed Press Release ICW 

[in connection with] the Anniversary of Multinational Maritime Intercept Operations,” 

280751Z Aug 91.

43. Declassified extract from message, USCINCCENT to CTG Six Two Three et al., Subj: 

“Maritime Commanders Conference Draft Minutes,” 041829Z Nov 91, 2–3.

44. Declassified information from message, USCINCCENT to CTG Six Two Three et al., 

Subj: “Maritime Commanders Conference Draft Minutes,” 041829Z Nov 91, 3.

45. Declassified extract from message, USCINCCENT to CTG Six Two Three et al., Subj: 

“Maritime Commanders Conference Draft Minutes,” 041829Z Nov 91, 4.

46. Declassified extract from message, Secretary of State to AMEMBASSY Canberra et al., 

Subj: “Maintaining Maritime Interception Operations,” 1.

47. Declassified information from, for example, message, COMUSNAVCENT to 

USCINCCENT, Subj: “Multinational Support for Maritime Intercept Operations,” 110550Z 

Jun 92.

48. Declassified information from U.S. Naval Forces Central Command /Middle East Force 

1994 Command History, enclosure to memorandum, Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Central 

Command to Director of Naval History, no serial, 15 April 1995, “Operations & Maritime 

Intercept Force” Section, 7-23. See also Scott C. Truver, “The U.S. Navy in Review,” USNI 

Proceedings 121 (May 1995): 121.

49. See the chart in Richard Gimblett, Operation Apollo: The Golden Age of the Canadian 

Navy in the War Against Terrorism (Ottawa: Magic Light Publishing, 2004), 33. For a detailed 

examination of the Canadian deployments during this period, see Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 

199-212.

50. Scott C. Truver, “The U.S. Navy in Review,” USNI Proceedings 120 (May 1994): 116.

51. Truver, “The U.S. Navy in Review,” USNI Proceedings 122 (May 1996): 85.
U.S. Navy’s Role in Maritime Interception 43

52. For comments on the AAW role of the American Aegis-equipped warships, see, for 

example, Oxenbould, “Maritime Operations in the Gulf War,” 34.

53. Commander Richard Brooks, USN, Lieutenant Commander Skip Hiser, USN, and 

Lieutenant Commander T. K. Kohl, USN, “If It Was There, P-3s Found It,” USNI Proceedings

117 (August 1991): 41.

54. Rear Admiral Anthony R. Maness, USN, “Maritime Patrol: Gotcha Covered,” USNI

Proceedings 118 (August 1992): 87.

55. Lieutenant Commander John Wood, USN, “F-14D Exploits Passive Sensors,” USNI

Proceedings 122 (September 1996): 49.

56. Commander Mark L. Bathrick, USN, “Digital F-14s Get the Picture—Fast,” USNI

Proceedings 123 (October 1997): 74.
45

CHAPTER 2

Royal Navy Operations o the 

Former Yugoslavia:

Operation Sharp Guard, 1991–1996

Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

The role and signicance of the Royal Navy’s involvement in the former Yugoslavia between 1991 and 1996 are not well known. is judgment could 

equally be applied to almost all the maritime forces that were connected with 

this conict, which ultimately resulted in no allied combat at sea.1

 As the more 

visible activities of international land and air forces are generally seen only as 

secondary aspects of the complex Yugoslav conict, this marginalization is not 

surprising. e deciding factors in this war were the capability and will of the 

internal participants on the ground. Yet, for nearly ve years of operations, the 

Royal Navy committed signicant resources to a series of international maritime tasks, including Operation Sharp Guard, and provided a national carrier 

task group to form the maritime element of Operation Hamden.2

 is account 

examines the Royal Navy’s role in the conict and demonstrates that the combined operations conducted with the armed forces of allies, as well as the joint 

operations with the other British services, were generally successful. ese operations were also essential to fulll the British government’s policy requirements and illustrated many of the tasks that maritime forces have historically 

undertaken in times of complex emergencies. While many of the eects generated by the Royal Navy were not obvious, they still had signicance for both 

the course of the conict and the coherence of the western alliance.3

The Context of the Conflict

A summary of the conict’s major events is relatively straightforward. 

Post-1945 Yugoslavia was a complex balance of semi-autonomous elements 
46 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

presided over by its creator, Marshal Tito. Aer Tito’s death on 4 May 1980, 

the subsequent decade saw local power bases increasingly bolstered by 

nationalist credentials, and in the rst democratic elections in 1990, 

nationalist parties and politicians emerged as dominant. On 25 June 

1991 Slovenia declared its independence, virtually unopposed. Croatia’s 

simultaneous declaration prompted much greater Serb opposition and 

ghting that lasted into early 1992. Following these secessions, BosniaHerzegovina was in a dicult situation, given increasing Serbian domination 

in a reduced Yugoslavia. Bosnia-Herzegovina had not only a predominantly 

Muslim population but also large Serbian and Croat communities. 

Following a referendum, Bosnia-Herzegovina declared independence on 3 

March, and later that month ethnic violence erupted, spreading to Sarajevo 

by 4–5 April. On 6 April the U.S. and European Union governments 

recognized Bosnia-Herzegovina as an independent state. Ethnic violence 

continued throughout the year, with the ghting between Muslims and 

Serbs escalating from March 1993. On 16 April the United Nations Security 

Council declared Srebrenica a “safe area,” adding another ve such areas, 

which became known as “safe havens,” on 6 May 1993.4

On 5 February 1994 a mortar attack on a Sarajevo market killed 68 

people, leading to international outrage and limited NATO air action. 

Intermittent ground ghting continued throughout 1994, with some 

limitations placed on heavy weapons’ use and infrequent NATO close air 

support (CAS) to protect the “safe havens.” e Muslim-Croat Federation 

was created in March 1994. Aer this point, the conict increasingly 

focused on ghting between the Federation and the Serbs. Jimmy 

Carter, the former U.S. president, brokered a cease-re, which endured 

throughout the winter of 1994–1995 but was breaking down by March 

1995. By May a pattern of Serb attacks on the safe havens led to limited 

NATO air strikes and the Serbs taking lightly armed UN Protection Force 

(UNPROFOR) soldiers hostage. NATO authorized a Rapid Reaction Force 

(RRF) in June to assist UNPROFOR, but the safe havens began to fall, 

notably Srebrenica on 11 July, with horric humanitarian consequences 

and UNPROFOR powerless to intervene. e beginning of August saw a 

major Croat ground oensive against the Serbs in the region of Krajina. 

Involving more than 200,000 troops, Operation Storm was the largest 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 47

military operation in Europe since the Second World War and put the 

Serbs very much on the defensive for the rst time.5

 e net eect of these 

events was that individual communities allied themselves more rmly 

with those from similar ethnic backgrounds and believed themselves to 

be more separate from other ethnic groups than ever before.

A second marketplace mortar attack on Sarajevo on 28 August 

further enraged world opinion against the Serbs and triggered 

NATO’s Operation Deliberate Force, a selective bombardment, rst of Serb

e Balkans

National Geospatial Agency
48 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

positions, and then of essential infrastructure, delivered by RRF 

artillery and air power. On 16 September the Serbs accepted all the 

international community’s demands and withdrew from Sarajevo. e 

Bosnian Croats also agreed to a cease-re. Following negotiations in 

Dayton, Ohio, beginning on 1 November, U.S. President Bill Clinton 

announced a peace agreement on 21 November. Signed in Paris on 14 

December, the agreement divided Bosnia-Herzegovina into the BosniakCroat Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (51% of territory) and the 

Bosnian-Serb Republika Srpska (49% of territory). On 16 December 

the North Atlantic Council (NAC) approved Operation Joint Endeavor 

to implement the Dayton Peace Accords, and on 20 December, NATO’s 

Implementation Force (IFOR) was charged with implementing the peace 

agreement, incorporating the UN Protection Force.

e international community’s interaction with the conict had 

gradually increased from 25 September 1991 when United Nations Security 

Council Resolution (UNSCR) 713 declared an arms embargo against the 

former Yugoslavia. UNSCR 724 established a Sanctions Committee to 

oversee the implementation of 713 but without an enforcement provision. 

UNSCR 743 created the UN Protection Force, initially for deployment 

in Croatia, although the mandate for this force was extended into Bosnia 

by June 1992.6

 UNSCR 757 of 30 May 1992 widened trade prohibitions 

against the former Yugoslavia to include all items except medicine and 

food, and the UN appealed to regional organizations for enforcement. 

NATO’s North Atlantic Council authorized surveillance in the Adriatic 

in July 1992 with Operation Maritime Monitor. e Western European 

Union (WEU) responded with a similar monitoring remit, Operation 

Sharp Vigilance. On 9 October 1992 UNSCR 781 designated a “no-

y zone” over Bosnia, and under its protection, a UN “airbridge” for 

humanitarian supplies operated into Sarajevo.7

 On 17 November 1992 

UNSCR 787 authorized the maritime monitoring forces to use minimum 

force to prevent ships from breaking sanctions.

On 17 April 1993 UNSCR 820 provided a much more detailed 

sanctions regime, which now permitted the international maritime forces, 

“to halt or otherwise control all shipping in order to inspect and verify 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 49

their cargoes and destinations.”8 is resolution was part of a package of 

measures to increase activity at the margins of the conict while avoiding 

a full-scale intervention. Between April and August 1993, Operation Deny 

Flight was established to enforce the no-y zone, at the same time that 

the safe areas were designated, protected by NATO-authorized close air 

support. As part of this process the NATO and WEU maritime operations 

were combined as Operation Sharp Guard in June 1993. Simultaneously, 

police forces from the WEU began sanctions enforcement on the Danube 

in cooperation with Bulgaria, Hungary, and Romania.9

 As with Sharp 

Guard, this operation would continue until aer the Dayton Peace 

Accords.

Although there was intermittent application of CAS for the UN 

Protection Force, and extensive enforcement of the no-y zone from 

1994, with NATO shooting down four Serbian ghters on 28 February 

1994, international involvement would remain broadly similar from mid1993 to mid-1995. With the endorsement of the Rapid Reaction Force

in June 1995, a more forceful intervention, which included a signicant 

introduction of heavy weapons to UNPROFOR, began.10 Intervention

escalated dramatically with Operation Deliberate Force and was sustained 

by the deployment of the Implementation Force and its follow-up 

Stabilization Force (SFOR). In contrast to UNPROFOR, IFOR included 

U.S. ground forces, a full range of combat equipment, and robust rules of 

engagement (ROE).11

e international community received severe criticism for its limited 

and gradual introduction of international military forces; some critics 

have implied that an earlier and more resolute intervention would have 

secured a swier and less bloody end to hostilities.12 However, it must be 

remembered that the level of intervention was, in large part, determined by 

perceptions of risk, likely success, and acceptability to domestic opinions. 

ere were also considerable doubts among NATO and WEU political 

and military leaders that a solution could be imposed while the majority 

of the domestic participants were still prepared to carry on ghting to 

gain political advantage. In Bosnia, from 1992 to 1995, there were close 

to 400,000 personnel under arms, belonging to a wide range of armed 
50 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

forces and militias.13 NATO judged that any decisive military intervention 

would have to be on a large scale, with a consequent risk of large-scale 

casualties as long as these forces and their leaders were still committed 

to and capable of ghting. As the nal UNPROFOR commander in 

Bosnia put it, “in Bosnia the combatants did not want a collective peace 

so much as their three distinctive ideas of peace, and were bent on ghting 

for them.”14 Intervention in such a situation was unacceptable to public 

opinion in most allied countries, even when they were appalled by the 

atrocities that occurred during the conict.15

ere remained a serious division between the United States and 

the majority of its NATO allies concerning the best methods and likely 

consequences of intervention. American policymakers were attracted, 

certainly from early 1993 onwards, to intervention that would explicitly 

support the Bosnian Muslims and, later, the Muslim-Croat Federation. 

ey believed that this intervention would enable the liing of the arms 

embargo on Bosnia, while U.S. air power would support Bosnian military 

action against the Bosnian Serbs and Serbia itself. is was summarized 

as the “li and strike” policy.16 Most European states were unconvinced by 

this analysis, believing that such intervention would prove escalatory and 

ineective; that it would endanger newly improved relations with Russia, 

given that country’s close relationship with the Serbs; and that air power 

would be ineective in compelling an end to hostilities without introducing 

ground forces, a measure America refused to contemplate, particularly 

aer the casualties suered by U.S. forces in Somalia in October 1993.17 If 

the United States were to use air power, or if support for UN forces were to 

decline for any reason, the forces most vulnerable to retaliation would be 

the scattered units of UNPROFOR in Bosnia—fewer than 20,000 troops, 

predominantly provided by America’s NATO allies, but without heavy 

weapons or U.S. participation.18 James Gow, a leading academic from 

King’s College London, has summarized the situation: “e paradox was 

that UNPROFOR in Bosnia could use force and could call on NATO for 

aerial support but that this would present risks for UNPROFOR in Bosnia 

as well as for other elements of UNPROFOR, for the UN in general and 

possibly for relations between Russia and its Western partners.”19
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 51

is fundamental disagreement over what became the dominant 

security issue of the mid-1990s meant that “the Alliance itself had been 

threatened by the war in Bosnia.”20 Only in the early summer of 1995 did 

a transatlantic consensus for highly active military intervention grow, and 

even then this was implicit and limited, with much of its ultimate success 

arising from the previous evolution of events within Bosnia.21 NATO 

needed another option for limiting the conict.

Prior to the transatlantic agreement, the UN Protection Force 

represented a marginally more viable alternative that sought to manage 

and contain the worst eects of the conict with limited liability, but with 

real and increasing risk.22 Given its dispersed nature, limited armaments, 

and restrictive rules of engagement, UNPROFOR was really only eective 

as a largely symbolic barrier.23 It relied upon the reluctance of factions to 

confront it directly and risk international condemnation and retaliation. 

Its credibility was increased by the threat and occasional employment 

of close air support in 1994–1995, but the limits of this policy were 

demonstrated during the widespread hostage-taking of 1995. e U.K. 

Chief of the Defence Sta, Field Marshal Peter Inge, stated, “It was clear 

the UN mission was collapsing.”24 UNPROFOR eventually had to evacuate 

most of its exposed positions and abandon its symbolic protection for 

Muslim communities before NATO could bombard Serbian positions.

Until that point, however, UNPROFOR had an important role both 

in mitigating the eects of the conict and maintaining a minimum 

strategic consensus within the transatlantic alliance.25 A similar 

logic sustained the enforcement of the no-y zone, the delivery of 

humanitarian aid, and the maritime interdiction of former Yugoslavia. 

ese measures were limited, developed only gradually, and could not 

resolve the conict without more intervention from the international 

community. However, they provided the type of interventions that allies 

could manage and keep at acceptable risks, ones that brought genuine 

physical and psychological benets, both internationally and in theater. 

ese operations maintained a domestic and an international consensus 

that helped establish conditions for decisive intervention once the 

ghting escalated. 
52 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

The Royal Navy and Maritime Interception Operations

e Adriatic Sea has historically been an area of intermittent Royal 

Navy deployments. Notably, during the Second World War, there was 

considerable RN activity, oen, aer October 1943, in association with the 

revived Royal Italian Navy. Much of this activity was intended to interdict 

Axis maritime supply routes to the Balkans and to support Allied forces 

ashore, including Britain’s brigade-size Land Forces Adriatic (LFA) in 

1944–1945. ese forces operated in support of Tito’s Partisans, providing 

them with supplies, artillery, and forward air controllers. In 1944, 

following a German air assault on his headquarters, Tito was evacuated to 

the RN-secured island of Vis. In early 1945, as political relations with Tito 

cooled, the Royal Navy evacuated the LFA.26 e Royal Navy remained 

in the Mediterranean postwar and mounted a major freedom of the seas 

operation in 1946 in the Corfu Channel following the mining of RN ships. 

However, by the 1970s the RN permanent presence in the Mediterranean 

was withdrawn. When HMS Ark Royal entered Malta’s Grand Harbor 

during her 1993 Adriatic deployment, she was the rst RN carrier to visit 

the island in 15 years.

e rst RN deployment to the Adriatic in response to the modern 

conict was the frigate HMS Minerva from 1 December 1991. Following 

Slovenia’s and Croatia’s succession, John Major’s government decided 

Britain should indicate its interest in the area and concern for the conict, 

but without making any form of commitment. A maritime deployment 

was the most exible way to achieve this goal and also allowed for 

contingency planning to evacuate entitled persons if the course of the 

ghting forced them to leave. In July 1992, following the North Atlantic 

Council’s decision in Helsinki to implement monitoring in support of UN 

Security Council resolutions, Britain committed a ship to the new NATO 

operation, Maritime Monitor. e initial NATO force was based on the 

Standing Naval Force Mediterranean (SNFM, or STANAVFORMED), 

an international group of surface ships, predominantly destroyers and 

frigates. It was joined in its task by the WEU Contingency Maritime 

Force (CONMARFOR), which undertook Operation Sharp Vigilance. 

In November 1992, in response to UNSCR 787, the missions became 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 53

enforcement with minimal force and the operations were renamed 

Maritime Guard and Sharp Fence. On 26 November the Type 42 destroyer 

HMS Gloucester undertook the rst boarding operation, the rst physical 

enforcement by a NATO asset, against the MV Bore C.

However, the rules of engagement did not permit entry into 

Montenegrin territorial waters, or the use of force to compel a vessel 

to submit to boarding. e force structure and posture were therefore 

inadequate for the task. In June 1993 the operations evolved again; the 

forces received more robust enforcement powers by the UN and became a 

single, combined NATO/WEU operation, Sharp Guard.

ere was extensive overlap in the nationalities of the NATO and 

WEU contingents, the main dierence being the presence of French ships 

and the absence of U.S. and Canadian vessels in the latter force. is 

overlap, as well as a common purpose, ensured close cooperation between 

the two forces, and the Adriatic was divided into two operational areas, 

or “opareas.” e pair focused on the chokepoint of the Strait of Otranto 

and the coast of Montenegro, which between them covered 9,000 square 

miles of sea. e captain of a participating Royal Navy ship summarized 

the conditions and activities in these opareas:

e rst o the coast of Montenegro, characterized by high threat 

but low boarding rate and the second in the Otranto Strait, where the 

boarding rate was high but no threat existed.

During all operations o the Montenegrin coast the ship patrolled 

in Defence Watches, remaining inside the envelope of shore based 

anti-ship missiles throughout her time in the area.

Operations in Otranto involved monitoring the heavy volume of 

shipping owing through the Strait, and conducting boarding and 

diversion operations as directed by CSNFM [Commander Standing 

Naval Force Mediterranean]. All boardings were conducted in this 

area. e threat was nil, and the patrols an extravaganza of boardings, 

seamanship and helicopter operations.

e Royal Navy was in no doubt that success in this environment 

required close interoperability, oen created between ships which had not 

previously worked together. Another commanding ocer characterized 
54 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

much of the underlying ability to achieve this goal as a remarkable 

testament to the eectiveness of NATO training and procedures over 

the years, noting only that the Adriatic does not look much like the RN’s 

training area o Portland.

e Adriatic operations quickly illustrated the need for 

interoperability. e WEU Contingency Maritime Force was initially a 

designation of assets rather than a practiced formation. Standing Naval 

Force Mediterranean had also only been established for two months when 

Operation Maritime Monitor began. SNFM was the successor to the NATO 

On-Call Force Mediterranean, which dated back to 1969 but had come 

together only periodically for exercises. Initially, WEUCONMARFOR 

deployed to the Strait of Otranto and SNFM to the coast of Montenegro. 

However, the relative inexperience of these forces, certainly at sustained 

operations, meant that, despite the modest initial requirements of 

Maritime Monitor, SNFM was replaced by the more capable Standing 

Naval Force Atlantic (SNFL, or STANAVFORLANT) from September to 

December 1992.27

Formed in 1968, SNFL had been in permanent existence, regularly 

exercising, since that date. It was, and is, a combined force of unparalleled 

endurance and exibility.28 Built around a core of ve permanent 

contributing nations, it was formed as a symbolic force that NATO could 

deploy during a crisis.29 During the Cold War the force had developed 

many of NATO’s antisubmarine warfare (ASW) concepts and had served 

as an ideal laboratory for experimentation, leading to the development 

of many of NATO’s Allied Tactical Publications. It had also acted as a 

means of disseminating practical experience of international cooperation 

to the contributing navies. is valuable experience led to something of a 

virtuous circle, with many ocers returning to the force throughout their 

careers. Indeed, at least one SNFL commander during Sharp Guard had 

served in the force at every rank from sub lieutenant to commodore.30

is pattern was also linked to the opportunity SNFL gave to members of 

all participating navies to gain sta and command experience in both the 

management of a formation and the dynamics of an international force. 

For some smaller participating nations, service in naval force was the only 

route to such experience. In the early period of Adriatic operations, the 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 55

SNFL provided an excellent opportunity for the broader embargo forces 

to develop and hone their skills. In December 1992 SNFM relieved SNFL 

once more, and from this point onwards there was rotation of WEU and 

NATO ships through the dierent patrol areas.

e NATO and UN operations achieved full maturity in June 1993 

when they were combined as Operation Sharp Guard, with enhanced 

UN authority to enforce the embargo. e operation faced two daily 

challenges. e rst was achieving constant situational awareness of 

shipping movements in the busy Adriatic waters and then choreographing 

the tracking, challenging, inspection, and diversion of suspect vessels 

as required. e second and more dangerous challenge related to the 

potential threat posed by the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) armed 

forces against the embargo forces, either in their support to blockade 

runners or as part of a general escalation of hostilities against the UN 

and NATO. e Montenegrin coast hosted the FRY’s sole naval base in 

Kotor Bay where the eet had considerable sea-denial potential. e eet 

included four frigates, two corvettes, and a otilla of about 20 fast attack 

cra (FAC), torpedo boats, and mine vessels. Five diesel submarines 

(SSKs), along with a small force of midget submarines and swimmer 

delivery vehicles, represented a subsurface threat. e frigates and 12 FAC 

were equipped with Styx antiship missiles, and three more Styx batteries 

were in place along the coast. e FRY operated a number of versions of 

the missile, but the most sophisticated types had a range of 50 miles and 

were sea-skimmers in their terminal stage of attack. In addition, 130mm, 

radar-directed artillery protected the coastline. e available number 

of platforms and systems declined during the conict, in part from the 

impact of interdiction operations. However, NATO observations of the 

limited number of exercises undertaken by Yugoslavian forces conrmed 

that this decline was oset by their growing professional competence.31

e Styx missiles had the potential to reach halfway across the 

Adriatic. Given that the patrol sectors of the Montenegrin coast (oparea of 

Sharp Guard) lay just outside the 12-mile territorial sea limit, the weapons 

could strike at picket ships with only a 60–70-second warning.32 ough an 

unrealized threat, these missiles remained potent challenges to the embargo 

forces. Naval forces might also have come under attack from the FRY air 
56 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

forces. Most of these aircra could operate only during the day, but the 

FRY could deploy MiG-21 (and possibly MiG-29) jets with rockets, gravity 

bombs, and some American-made Maverick television-guided missiles. 

While this threat progressively fell within the enforcement of the no-y 

zone, the improvement in conditions has to be set in context. e air picture 

over the Adriatic remained complex, with not only NATO ights supporting 

the no-y zone but also logistical support activity as well as normal civil, 

commercial, and leisure ights. In these circumstances commanding ocers 

faced the real and sustained prospect of a rapidly developing catastrophic 

event. e failure to react to a possible air threat could lead to ship loss or 

damage as in the case of the 1987 USS Stark incident when an Iraqi Exocet 

missile struck and badly damaged the guided missile frigate in the Arabian 

Gulf. Or, an incident could result from misinterpreting the intentions of 

a civilian ight as when the Aegis guided missile cruiser USS Vincennes

accidentally destroyed Iranian Air Flight 655 in 1988. Commanding ocers 

and crews had to prepare for the possibility of both scenarios, and the antiair 

warfare situation was described as testing.33

While no attack ever occurred, the prospect was plausible and 

enhanced by Yugoslav behavior. FRY ships, shore batteries, and aircra 

confronted the blockading ships and their supporting maritime patrol 

aircra (MPA); and Yugoslav units occasionally managed to get a missile 

lock on an allied platform.34 One senior RN commander was particularly 

impressed by the restraint shown by a U.S. ship aer a FRY frigate 

attempted to intimidate her with a missile lock. Overall, the four-star 

assessment of the threat o Montenegro was medium-to-high.

NATO’s Commander in Chief, South (CINCSOUTH), a four-star 

U.S. admiral who made the assessment, was a subordinate of the Supreme 

Allied Commander Europe. CINCSOUTH in turn delegated control of 

Operation Sharp Guard to NATO’s Commander, Naval Forces South 

(COMNAVSOUTH), an Italian vice admiral, whose command also dated 

from the NATO reforms of 1967. COMNAVSOUTH headed Combined 

Task Force (CTF) 440, whose sta was complemented by a WEU element. 

ree surface combined task groups operated under this command: CTG 

440.1 for the Montenegro coast, CTG 440.2 for the Strait of Otranto, 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 57

and CTG 440.3 for training and port visits. Each task group was led, in 

rotation, by the commanders of SNFL, SNFM, and WEUCONMARFOR. 

is pragmatic combination of established NATO structures and 

WEU commanders and sta facilitated a unied command with full 

French participation, while avoiding domestic criticism that France was 

subordinating itself to NATO.

NATO maritime patrol aircra also operated in support of Sharp 

Guard.35 e increased role of these planes in Sharp Guard from spring 

1993, in terms of both data integration and volume of coverage, was a 

signicant innovation to address the requirement to build an improved 

Recognized Air and Surface Picture (RASP) in the Adriatic as a tool for 

eective interdiction operations. Situational awareness, in the vicinity 

of and between the patrolling ships of each group, had been good from 

an early stage. is capacity was largely due to the almost universal 

distribution of the Link-11 data-sharing system as a minimum standard 

for NATO surface ships participating in Sharp Guard.36 Utilizing their 

capabilities, Royal Navy ships acted frequently as the local commander 

for antiair and electronic warfare, but, as with the rest of the ships in the 

patrol areas, they were unable to cover the gaps between the patrol areas 

or eectively transmit data to COMNAVSOUTH in Naples, who also 

lacked the facilities to receive the data. As COMNAVSOUTH put it in late 

1992, “A time-late synopsis of the surface picture at regular intervals may 

be satisfactory for those not directly involved in operations but it is not 

acceptable for decision making at the level of command responsible for 

task group planning.”37

e shortfalls undercut the roles of Sharp Guard ships. An 

investigation by NATO’s Permanent Assessment Team reported in 

February 1993 that coverage of the Adriatic surface picture extended out 

to each ship’s sensor horizon and no farther, that coverage in the Strait of 

Otranto was less than 100 percent, and that COMNAVSOUTH’s RASP was 

usually 12–18 hours out of date. It was a situation that blockade runners 

managed to exploit. e establishment of a U.S. Red Crown ship—usually 

an Aegis ship or equivalent—which developed a theater-wide Link–11 

picture, unied the information from both operational task groups. 
58 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

When combined with the information from the dramatically increased 

coverage of NATO/WEU maritime patrol aircra—which lled the gaps 

in surface surveillance—a genuine theater picture was achieved. e Red 

Crown ship, using the U.S. ocer in the Tactical Command Information 

Exchange Subsystem (a data satellite system), then transmitted this picture 

to COMNAVSOUTH in Naples, where the United States had donated the 

necessary receiving equipment. e data was also transmitted to the USN 

Fleet Ocean Surveillance Information Facility (FOSIF) in Rota, Spain, 

which added value by including broader U.S. information and data from 

any non-Link–11 NATO ships. FOSIF then retransmitted the enhanced 

data to all ships participating in Sharp Guard. e Royal Navy greatly 

admired the U.S. Navy’s unique capacity to provide this enhancement for 

all coalition forces.

Operation Sharp Guard was thus signicantly enhanced in spring 

1993 by a command system and technical improvements, as well as the 

commitment of MPA resources, reecting a general rise in NATO air 

activity. e operating forces were also physically reinforced when SNFL 

deployed to the Adriatic on a long-term basis in June 1993. However, the 

realities of intercepting and inspecting ships, and actually operating in 

the shadow of an imminent FRY threat, required the development of lesstangible assets. ese were determined by the human interaction of the 

Sharp Guard personnel.

Cooperation at the command level over the application of NATO rules 

of engagement set the tone for this interaction. e ROE were laid out in 

the Military Committee’s document MC192, guidance designed for actions 

prior to a general war, and NATO’s main concern up to the early 1990s. One 

frontline RN commander described MC192 as rather inexible and bald 

ROE. However, it was put into operation by a CINCSOUTH Implementation 

Signal, and then importantly expanded by task group commanders in a 

message known as ENFORCECOMS (Enforcement Coercive Measures). 

e procedure gave useful insight into the way in which NATO might 

operate in the future. Such inclusive and proactive consultation was a 

characteristic of Sharp Guard, with an emphasis on communication and the 

understanding of the intent of higher commanders. Much of the strength 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 59

of the Sharp Guard ROE also came from the automatic assumption that an 

attack on any element of the operation would be considered an attack on all 

participants. is condence reected Article 5 of the NATO Treaty, upheld 

by all the nations involved since 1949, meaning that the most important 

element of ROE was established from the outset.

Working from this rm basis, commanders found it much easier 

to discuss and to accommodate national variations and caveats from 

the NATO ROE. ese derived from national political stances or legal 

interpretations as well as technical limits. National ROE generally 

remained classied as national property. However, within the established 

context of NATO and an atmosphere of cooperation, it was possible to 

clarify many specic cases and informally acknowledge others. Informal 

reference sheets of this information were assembled by key sta ocers. 

Ship operations ocers also developed informal networks based on early 

mobile phones, which allowed discreet consultations with colleagues.38

is situation permitted realistic planning for deployments and tasks, 

avoiding abrupt or disruptive surprises that had the potential to degrade 

operations. As the captain of one RN ship put it, “Ships are allocated 

to an area according to capability, and also as their national ROE and 

sensitivities permit—so for example neither Greek nor German ships take 

station in Area MONTENEGRO.”39

is was no slight intended on Greek or German capabilities, but 

was a practical recognition that their national authorities would not 

permit them to board or re upon sanction breakers. Both nations’ ships 

were able to participate fully in the surveillance and challenge roles in 

the Strait of Otranto. Similarly, only Canadian, British, Dutch, and 

American maritime patrol aircra had both the national permission and 

the capabilities required to operate over the Montenegrin oparea.40 e 

cooperative methodology also facilitated minimal disruption when U.S. 

policy changed in November 1994, preventing U.S. forces from enforcing 

the arms embargo against Bosnia-Herzegovina.41 e deployment of 

assets was simply adjusted to account for the new limits.

is successful coordination was achieved by a command team much 

admired by the RN, which found that the ocers of the Spanish, Dutch, 
60 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

and Italian navies lost nothing in comparison to any RN ocer of their 

rank, and it became clear that these important NATO seagoing appointments were reserved for men of the highest caliber. One captain thought 

the secret of success was that the three task group commanders worked 

together as a team, using the same Operational General Orders, and were 

consistent in the way they operated. A further comment suggested overall 

command and control arrangements worked well because coordination 

was eected by frequent meetings between task group commanders, who 

enjoyed enviably harmonious working and personal relationships among 

their stas.

Eective cooperation also allowed the international forces to conduct 

extensive exercises during their deployments. When Standing Naval Force 

Atlantic deployed to Sharp Guard in 1993, it was able to remodel its NATO 

training package with assistance from France, Spain, and Portugal. is 

permitted SNFL to practice the embargo, boarding, antiair, and ASW 

roles that were most relevant to its new deployment. In 1994 realistic air 

defense exercises were conducted with German Tornados ying actual 

missile proles against Royal Navy ships, ensuring that ROE reactions were 

fully tested. CTG 440.3 provided an opportunity for Sharp Guard ships to 

practice core skills such as boarding, using allied auxiliaries as targets, and 

contingency reactions to FRY attacks. Practicing reaction to attacks took 

place well away from the operational areas so as not to risk misinterpretation 

by Yugoslav forces or trigger a response. e Italian coast provided a safe 

“mirror” that all Sharp Guard forces exploited. Generally, Commander, 

Combined Task Force 440 required a period of training for all new Sharp 

Guard ships with CTG 440.3 before active deployment. 

Royal Navy commanders believed the exercise program was 

particularly signicant for several reasons. In addition to improving ship 

skills, the program enhanced ship-to-ship understanding and gauged 

likely international reaction so that these variations could be recognized 

and, if necessary, addressed or accommodated by the command system 

before a real incident occurred. It also provided a variety of scenarios 

for crews rotating through operating areas and reminded them of the 

potential threat to their operations. is was particularly important to 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 61

prevent staleness or complacency in a high-threat environment, where 

crews spent days at defense watches undertaking largely mundane activity 

without incident. One commanding ocer observed that a variety of

exercises maintained motivation and served to remind crews of the 

operational nature of their deployment.

e Royal Navy generally found the activity in the Oparea Otranto the 

most stimulating. ere was usually one RN destroyer or frigate among the 

ve to seven Sharp Guard ships constantly on patrol. ese ships surveyed 

and challenged maritime trac, oen 60 to 90 ships daily, heading through 

the chokepoint. ese volumes were only manageable because of RASP 

and usually led to 6 to 12 boardings a day.42 However, these numbers 

were only averages; in one 48-hour period, HMS Nottingham achieved 

nine boardings, each involving a three-hour search. If the circumstances 

were suspicious, or the conguration of the target prevented an adequate 

inspection at sea, the RN would divert the intercepted ship to Italy for 

a fuller examination.43 Boardings were undertaken from both sea boats 

and helicopters. If necessary, some would be undertaken at night, or 

two boardings would be made simultaneously. is tempo was a severe 

test of professionalism and seamanship, particularly through the winter. 

e Royal Navy was justiably proud of its capacity and record in these 

operations, which it credited to the RN experience in the somewhat 

harsher sea conditions around the United Kingdom. Most early boardings 

were provided by parties drawn from across a ship’s departments, and only 

later were Royal Marine Protection Parties provided to enhance boarding 

capabilities. is change, together with a greater stress on ships’ boats, 

was symbolic of a shi from the Cold War toward the more complex 

operations represented by Sharp Guard.44

However, the Royal Navy was equally admiring of the work of its 

allies. In particular, it noticed that the Dutch ships were just as unlikely 

as the RN to avoid operations during bad weather, and that the Dutch 

and French were robust and aggressive in their approach to boardings. An 

RN ocer on the spot commented that none of the ships failed to pull its 

weight, and it was generally noted that Britain’s allies worked well in the 

Sharp Guard environment, with punctilious attention to procedures.
62 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

Oparea Montenegro, again with ve to seven ships, one of which 

was usually RN, contrasted sharply with the Strait of Otranto. e focus 

here was on surveillance just outside the 12-mile limit of FRY territorial 

waters, rather than a high level of activity. NATO managed to further 

tighten its blockade by gaining access to Croatian and Albanian territorial 

waters, thus preventing blockade runners from “hugging” the coast. e 

Royal Navy assisted with this process by cultivating improved relations 

with Albania. From 23 to 25 November 1992, HMS Gloucester, which 

had participated in Sharp Vigilance, transferred to Maritime Monitor and 

then to Maritime Guard, visited Durres in Albania. is Royal Navy visit, 

the rst in 54 years, helped cement the recent restoration of diplomatic 

relations. Both RN and NATO vessels later beneted from improved 

relations with Albania. One ship reported in 1994 that the areas around 

Durres had become familiar territory and noted the surprisingly good 

cooperation by radio with the Albanian shore authorities who appeared 

keen to help the NATO forces in their task.

However, Oparea Montenegro was not entirely a zone of inactive 

tension. On several occasions FRY vessels red on Italian shing boats on 

the edge of their territorial waters. During one of these events, the Sharp 

Guard ship HMCS Iroquois physically interposed herself, causing the FRY 

vessel to retreat. ere were also several attempts to run the blockade. 

On Christmas Eve 1993, the 90,000-ton fuel carrier MV Gloria, having 

declared a false port, attempted to run for the Montenegro coast under 

cover of heavy weather. A Dutch destroyer intercepted her, inserted a 

boarding team by helicopter despite the weather, and took control of the 

ship only 500 meters from FRY territorial waters.45 On 1 May 1994 MV 

Lido II also attempted to run the embargo with 45,000–50,000 tons of fuel 

oils by rst declaring a false destination, and then claiming an emergency 

in order to explain her approach to FRY territorial waters. CTG 440.1 

responded by deploying HMS Chatham, HMNLS Van Heemskerk with a 

specialist boarding team, and a CP-140 Aurora. e cruiser USS Philippine 

Sea coordinated air demonstration support in the Red Crown role as a 

FRY corvette and three FAC came out to meet the Lido II and opened their 

missile silos, demonstrating a potentially hostile intent. While the Aurora
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 63

provided cover, Van Heemskerk deployed her boarders to take control of 

Lido II. Chatham confronted the FRY force by maneuvering until she was 

much closer than the minimum range of the FRY missile systems.46 Faced 

by this resolute and overwhelming force, the FRY vessels retreated. An 

RN damage control party determined Lido II’s ooding emergency was a 

fraud and diverted the ship to Italy.47

e Lido II incident was the most dramatic of Operation Sharp 

Guard and endorsed the forces involved, their application of ROE, and 

their enduring cooperation. e overall record of activity and achievement 

was less dramatic but is still impressive. From 22 November 1992 (the 

commencement of Maritime Guard and Sharp Vigilance) to 18 June 1996, 

NATO and WEU forces deployed 19,699 ship days and 13,325 sorties. 

ey challenged 74,192 ships, boarded and inspected 5,951, and diverted 

1,480 for further inspection in Italy. Six were found to be trying to break 

UN sanctions, and there is no record or indication of any successful 

blockade running aer the commencement of Operation Sharp Guard, as 

opposed to the ve ships that evaded the embargo before it commenced.48

On 15 May 1996 SNFL was released from Sharp Guard, le the 

Adriatic and the Mediterranean, and, in a signicant moment, passed 

the Rock of Gibraltar into the Atlantic for the rst time in more than 

three years. e verdict of the Royal Navy’s commanding ocers on 

the experience was positive but included an appreciation of the issues it 

highlighted. One recorded that, inevitably, not all was perfect and drew 

attention to the incompatibilities of equipment and communications, but 

also commented that, despite the problems, the overall impression was 

one of great cohesion.

Another ocer summarized his experience as immensely satisfying 

and educational. He commented that operating alongside so many dierent 

ships, drawn from most of the NATO nations, had taught something to 

everyone on board, not least that each ship, of whatever nationality, was 

generally well able to operate very eectively at that intensity of maritime 

operations. ere were impressive performances from ships who initially 

seemed either poorly equipped or trained, but who quickly became 

procient at the task in hand.
64 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

Overall, Royal Navy reports repeatedly stress the importance of 

interaction, formal and informal, to appreciate the positions and potential 

of the other ship-contributing nations and an underlying admiration for 

the competence displayed. e development of this human network was 

central to Sharp Guard’s success. However, a major part of this interaction 

was beyond Sharp Guard, with the wider network of maritime forces 

operating in the Adriatic.

The Royal Navy’s National Task Group

From 26 January 1993 the Royal Navy maintained a national task 

group (UKTG 612) in the Adriatic, led by an Invincible-class aircra carrier, 

initially HMS Ark Royal.

49 is task force would remain in the Adriatic, with 

availability varying between one and 96 hours’ notice, to support operations 

ashore for the next three years, with HMS Illustrious nally leaving the 

Adriatic on 4 March 1996. It was one of three regular carrier deployments, 

with France and the U.S. inserting carrier task groups alongside shortly 

aerwards. Sustaining this deployment represented a considerable challenge, 

and success, for a Royal Navy with only three carriers, two of which were in 

commission at any one time, and only two air groups.50 While the primary 

role of the task force was focused on the British Force (BRITFOR) of the 

UN Protection Force, it would have a much wider role in the Adriatic, with 

important implications for Sharp Guard.

e task force deployment tted into the general pattern of increasing 

maritime and air operations around the former Yugoslavia in the rst half 

of 1993. ey were intended to intensify the pressure on combatants, 

particularly the Bosnian Serbs and Serbia. However, there was the chance 

that the augmentation might increase the risk to the deployed forces, 

UNPROFOR in particular, and also the Sharp Guard ships in Oparea 

Montenegro. e rst commander of Britain’s task force understood 

that his arrival oered both “potential help and potential complication.”51

Building on both informal contact and NATO commonalities, he noted 

it was quickly possible to establish the Adriatic-wide recognized air and 

maritime pictures, to cooperate in assembling them, and to exchange vital 

tactical information of mutual interest. In due course, units were also able
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 65

The frigate HMS Broadsword leads the Royal Navy’s National Task Group in the Adriatic in 

1993. The task group also comprises the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal and the RFAs Olwen, 

Argus, and Fort Grange.

to make use of each others’ fuel tankers as well as the occasional 

exercise opportunity. Subsequent UKTG commanders worked to make 

cooperation more established. By mid-1993 the establishment of routine 

Adriatic coordination meetings between commanders aoat and their 

stas had greatly enhanced the inter task group coordination. Modeled 

on similar allied meetings in the Arabian Gulf post-1991, these regular 

monthly meetings at the sta level produced excellent results in terms of 

Naval Historical Branch, U.K. [a]
66 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

coordination and training. Informal meetings between the commanders 

themselves took place on a regular basis.

A result of this interaction was the publication of a modus operandi

by the commander of USN Task Force 60 (the carrier battle group of the 

U.S. Sixth Fleet) as a concept of operations. Based on NATO procedures, 

this document “laid the foundation for the remarkably smooth running 

situation of overlapping co-ordination, command and control.”52 An early 

benet of this cooperation was a coordinated carrier program, which 

allowed a roulement, or rotation, of the carriers at varying degrees of 

notice, easing the strain on all the carrier groups. When there was some 

nervousness in France that such an arrangement implied commitments 

to support troops of another nationality that could not be agreed to at the 

task group level, the outcome was an agreement to coordinate plans as 

much as possible without the commitment to a formal roulement.53

e national task groups not only beneted from the Recognized Air 

and Surface Picture in the Adriatic provided by Sharp Guard and Deny 

Flight operations but also contributed to it. e inherent exibility of naval 

platforms allowed them to rapidly “chop” between national and NATO 

commands in order to ll the most pressing requirements. e national 

groups also oered surface combat air patrols to embargo forces on the 

“front line” of Oparea Montenegro, with the RN providing Sea Harrier jets 

and Lynx missile armed helicopters either on station or on alert. Given the 

proximity of the carriers to the threatened sector, they provided a much 

faster reaction time and longer loiter than land-based assets, although 

the Sea Harriers also beneted from land-based air-to-air refueling. e 

carriers also provided coverage that was far less dependent on the weather 

given their ability to avoid the mist that frequently interfered with ying 

operations based in Italy.54 Again, it was possible to provide this sort of 

contingency coverage, without controversy or national compromise, 

because of the close working relationships established and because of the 

enduring framework of NATO’s Article 5, which meant that collective 

defense was uncontroversial.

Air cover was important in enhancing the deterrent against any FRY 

attack on the embargo forces. It operated in a manner similar to, if more 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 67

visible than, NATO submarines, including those of the Royal Navy, which 

provided a more discreet deterrent and obtained indicators and warnings 

from close inshore.55 ese operations, and the constant training for them, 

were important for two reasons. First, they enhanced the force protection 

and sought to mitigate the consequences of any attack on embargo ships. 

Second, they provided a high level of readiness for contingency plan 

Wolf Pen—an attack on the FRY naval forces based in Kotor Bay. is 

contingency plan had the potential involvement of a wide range of NATO 

and national assets, including land-based air from Italy, which could have 

been launched in retaliation to a FRY naval or air attack on Sharp Guard 

or national forces.56 Wolf Pen could also have been initiated as part of a 

general escalation in hostilities against alliance or UN forces, particularly 

if there had been any question of interference against NATO and national 

forces engaged in the support or evacuation of UNPROFOR. us the 

Sharp Guard and national task groups were able to closely align their tasks 

and interests in a case of extreme emergency.

Supporting national forces ashore was the main reason behind the 

deployment of both the British and the French carrier tasks groups.57

e force was poised, as one commander wrote, in the most classic, most 

ancient—and in the future, probably the most likely—form of naval 

operations, with the Navy holding itself ready to support the land battle at 

short notice in whatever way the land forces required. e initial UKTG, 

which included more than 350 troops embarked on RFA Argus, was held 

ready to reinforce UNPROFOR oshore from the port of Split, the British 

logistic hub. e task group’s equipment included six 105mm guns, 200 

extra vehicles, and mortar-locating radar. e personnel included extra 

logistic and medical sta and the vital gunre support team from 148 

Battery, Royal Artillery, the joint team required to target naval gunre 

ashore.58

e deployment reected the perceived rise in tension in the 

Balkans as UNPROFOR’s role spread in both breadth of deployment and 

mission. It was also ready to counter the possible Serbian reaction to the 

imposition of a no-y zone, which was then being discussed.59 e UKTG 

arrived on station off Split on 26 January; the first British soldier to be
68 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

RFA Argus alongside in Split, with British vehicles for UNPROFOR in the foreground. Argus

performed a dual role as a logistical base for troops ashore and as an essential component of 

contingency plans for evacuation.

killed in action in Bosnia had died in Gornji Vakuf 13 days before.60 e 

positioning of the UKTG oered an immediate and viable reaction force 

for enlarged intervention or the coverage of evacuation. Other options 

elevated the risk of holding the required forces too far back to assist when 

required, or committing combat forces whose very deployment could 

provoke action against UNPROFOR. e maritime deployment retained 

exibility without commitment. When the situation improved, the 

majority of the personnel, and then the artillery, could be withdrawn—the 

guns aer over three months on station—without any apparent retreat. 

For the next 30 months, a force package tailored to the situation was 

retained in shipping alongside at Split or oshore as required.

e maritime combat force package could also have been adjusted 

rapidly to supply the large number of transport helicopters essential 

to Commander British Force, who did not have enough transport to 

withdraw without this assistance. e aircra carrier retained the 

ability to convert to the helicopter carrier role to support BRITFOR 

and, over time, was also able to provide command and control and 

medical facilities to the troops ashore. Similar arrangements were also 

practiced by the French, working out of their base in Ploce and, to a 

Naval Historical Branch, U.K. [c]
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 69

lesser extent, by the Canadian Navy, which was prepared to surge a force 

of destroyers, frigates, auxiliaries, and helicopters.61 Such support also 

meant coordination of national plans. Aer a Dutch escort frigate joined 

the UKTG, the commander’s directive about being prepared to assist 

was amended from just British to read UN troops.62 In April 1993 Ark 

Royal was ordered to stand by to support Canadian troops in Srebrenica. 

Lacking in this period its own large-scale amphibious capability, by 

1995 the Royal Navy was exchanging selected ocers with the USN 

Mediterranean amphibious ready group in order to prevent any fade in 

skills. Also, by 1995 cross-deck exercises took place between the British, 

American, and French carriers and dierent national command assets 

were exchanged.

is extensive activity and contingency planning addressed what was 

a fundamental, grand strategic issue for the British government, which 

wanted to participate fully in UNPROFOR but also wished to minimize 

the risk of massive losses. is risk was inherent to UNPROFOR’s 

situation as a lightly armed force surrounded by unpredictable armed 

factions. In December 1992, the prime minister had met with the Chief 

of the Defence Sta at Split about this issue, conrming the necessity 

of providing BRITFOR with the option of air and artillery support to 

allow reinforcement or cover evacuation. is strategic requirement was 

consistently maintained, with the U.K. Secretary of Defence stating in 

the spring of 1995 that it was essential that BRITFOR could be evacuated 

from Bosnia, preferably with its equipment.63 Only maritime forces could 

be poised to fulll this requirement. e relative viability of this option 

was well illustrated when NATO produced OPLAN 40104 in the spring of 

1995, a study of an evacuation of all 40,000 UNPROFOR troops, largely 

by land routes. e plan assessed that such an operation would require 

extensive host nation support and would necessitate the introduction to 

theater of 60,000 NATO troops to execute it.64

An essential element of any operations, from spring 1993 onwards, 

was the provision of air support. e establishment of the no-y zone was 

required not just to prevent the oensive use of FRY aircra but also to 

provide clear skies for air support such as resupply and medical evacuation 

by helicopter. e no-y zone also facilitated air intercept, reconnaissance, 
70 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

show of force, and close air support by xed-wing aircra. e constant 

availability of such support was particularly important to UNPROFOR 

given its isolation and the simultaneous lack of heavy weapons and exposure 

to them. Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm helicopters operating from both Split 

and aoat and Sea Harriers operating from the carriers formed part of this 

support for BRITFOR and wider UNPROFOR, as did other carrier aircra. 

Symbolic of the shi of emphasis was the embarkation of a carrier-borne 

ground liaison ocer beginning on 29 April, the rst such appointment in 

20 years. e exibility of carrier air was also demonstrated, as it was able to 

oer sorties to NATO from what remained a national asset.

In these roles, the Sea Harrier’s capabilities were enhanced by broader 

NATO air capabilities such as AWACS (airborne warning and control 

system) and tankers, but they also brought particular advantages similar to 

those they provided to Oparea Otranto.65 e mobility of a oating aireld 

meant that Sea Harriers were both closer than land-based aircra and less 

weather dependent, a significant factor given the weather vulnerability

Fleet Air Arm Sea Kings over Bosnia. These versatile helicopters fulfilled a wide range of roles, 

including resupply and casualty evacuation from both ships and shore.

Naval Historical Branch, U.K. [b]
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 71

A Fleet Air Arm Sea Harrier launches in the Adriatic. Naval Harriers demonstrated their capability 

in multiple roles during Operation Sharp Guard, flying more than 2,000 sorties.

of many Italian airelds, particularly for early morning coverage.66 e Sea 

Harrier also had the advantage of being uniquely equipped to generate air 

intercept, close air support, and reconnaissance capabilities in the same 

sortie, a exibility much appreciated by troops on the ground. By 1995 

the Sea Harriers, which never numbered more than eight on deployment 

at any one time, had own more than 2,200 sorties, roughly a third of all 

U.K. jet sorties in support of operations in Bosnia.67

Sea Harriers also participated in the nal military stage of the 

Bosnian conict when they ew in Operation Deliberate Force as part of 

the NATO bombardment of Serbian positions by air power and artillery. 

e artillery belonged to the Rapid Reaction Force, deployed from the 

end of May, which took up positions on Mount Igman above Sarajevo. 

e British guns and their crews were own into Split and then secretly 

positioned on Mount Igman, but the ammunition, the heaviest element of 

their deployment, was immediately delivered from stocks held onboard 

the eet stores ship RFA Fort Austin at Split.

Naval Historical Branch, U.K. [d] 
72 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

e larger element of Britain’s contribution to the Rapid Reaction Force 

was a brigade-size force. e choice had been between 3 Commando 

Brigade, Royal Marines, based partly aoat and partly in Split, and the 

British Army’s 24 Airmobile Brigade, based entirely ashore with new facilities. e latter was chosen because there was a shortage of amphibious 

shipping for 3 Commando Brigade, and 24 Airmobile Brigade had more 

repower, though not as much as the armored brigade the UNPROFOR commander would have preferred. e deployment of the brigade 

through Ploce took more than a month, was never fully completed, and 

was only possible through the loan of U.S. air and seali resources. Croatia proved to be an awkward host nation, provoking Field Marshal Inge, 

Britain’s Chief of Defence Sta, to state, “e Croats were bloody awful 

and wanted to make a lot of money.”68 e brigade took no part in Deliberate Force. Although its deployment was credited with some psychological 

eect on the Serbs, the principal analyst of the operation wrote that “as an 

exercise in practical power projection it le a lot to be desired.”69

Although the commando brigade did not participate in Deliberate Force, 

Royal Marines played a prominent part in the operation. Lieutenant General 

Rupert Smith, the commander of UNPROFOR in Bosnia, had requested an 

operations sta to supplement his small peacekeeping command element. 

Because none was available from the British Army, one was formed from 

Headquarters Royal Marines as an administrative HQ under Major General 

David Pennefather, designated the Rapid Reaction Force Operations Sta 

(RRFOS). Pennefather stated that while he had no equipment he did have 

a tightly knit team.70 Supplemented by French sta ocers, British Army 

specialists and signalers, RRFOS developed the Air/Ground Operation 

Order in cooperation with Commander, Air Forces South. From 30 August 

RRFOS then coordinated the tactical level of the NATO campaign. While 

the campaign is oen represented as being almost entirely airpower centric, 

General Smith emphasized the value of his artillery for its more enduring 

eect, one achieved by maintaining a maritime line of supply for the gunners’ 

ammunition.71 Indeed, during Deliberate Force more shells and mortar 

bombs were red (1,490) than air weapons dropped (978).72

Some of the potential problems of land-based airpower also 

emerged during the brief campaign. e United States wished to deploy 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 73

F-117 Nighthawk stealth ghters to Italy in order to escalate their attacks 

against the Serbian air defense system. However, Italy withheld basing 

permission. is move was part of a wider pattern of Italian refusals during 

the campaign, which also aected the ability of Sea King airborne early 

warning helicopters from HMS Invincible, then staging through Brindisi, 

to improve their time on task providing support for Sharp Guard ships. 

e refusals derived from Italian dissatisfaction at not being a member 

of the diplomatic Contact Group on Yugoslavia, and the issue remained 

a potentially sensitive one, emphasizing that host nation support, even 

from a NATO ally, could never be taken for granted. e strikes were retasked to 13 USN Tomahawk land attack missiles (TLAMs), on board 

the Aegis guided missile cruiser USS Normandy, which could be red 

from international waters without any impediment. e combination of 

the destruction caused and the specic weapon used, which the Serbs 

interpreted as an escalation that could target their leadership without 

restriction, tipped the Serbians into accepting a cessation of hostilities and 

negotiations at Dayton.73

The Rapid Reaction Force Operations Staff led by Major General David Pennefather was largely 

drawn from his closely knit team of Headquarters Royal Marines.

Naval Historical Branch, U.K. [e]
74 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

With the end of hostilities, the main task of RRFOS was preparing for 

the arrival of IFOR following the Dayton Peace Accords in December 1995. 

During this period there was a marked change of emphasis, moving from 

poise and contingency for withdrawal to presence and peace implementation. 

On 20 December 1995 the UKTG chopped to NATO command, and HMS 

Illustrious ew a month of supporting activity for IFOR’s deployment. 

Rapid and decisive deployment of IFOR was seen as key to preventing 

any opposition to its arrival, and its establishment in theater required the 

presence and availability of seaborne air power, provided by the United States, 

Great Britain, and France. As a British defense minister put it, there was a

. . . requirement quickly to deploy combat capable troops to help 

secure the ceasere in Bosnia. . . . UK forces needed to move quickly 

into Bosnian Serb territory at the outset of the IFOR operation. . . . 

eir equipment went by sea. e decision not to move by land was 

vindicated by the signicant delays experienced by other nations 

which chose that option.74

With the force established, which included land-based air, the naval forces 

could be released to national command, and Illustrious nally le the 

Adriatic on 4 March 1996.

Conclusion

Beyond outlining the full range of Royal Navy operations and what 

factors caused them to be eective, it is necessary to analyze the eects they 

created in the broader context of the conict. Most Royal Navy activity 

during the conict contributed to the enforcement of the embargo against 

FRY. In tactical terms there is no doubt this was successful, with commercial 

maritime trac declining from late 1992 and, once appropriate UN 

authority had been granted, ceasing completely from summer 1993 until 

the sanctions regimes were lied from late 1995 to mid-1996.

e extent to which this embargo aected Serbian and Bosnian 

Serb economic activity is debatable. ere was certainly a high volume 

of cross-border land trade and black-market activity, particularly across 

the borders with Albania and the Yugoslav state of Macedonia. e 

Danube also provided an alternative route for bulk maritime trac, but 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 75

the parallel enforcement measures proved very eective against this route, 

with WEU police patrol boats additionally carrying out 6,748 inspections 

and discovering 422 infringements from summer 1993 onwards.75 e net 

result of these measures was that, while trade continued, it was forced 

to use “break-bulk” means, limited to what lorries could carry, and at a 

fraction of the eciency of bulk water transport.76 For instance, matching 

the fuel carried on board MV Gloria would have required 8,000 lorry 

journeys.77 is imposed high costs on the transit of goods and was 

a major determinant of hyperination in Serbia, which ran at up to 33 

percent a day by August 1993.78 is, by itself, was unlikely to compel 

policy changes in the Serbian elite, who could, in large part, insulate their 

lifestyle from the eects of sanctions. However, ination was a signicant 

and growing burden on their populations, particularly when trying to 

support the extra strains and consumption needed for major military 

campaigns. From 1992 to 1995 Serbian industrial production fell more 

than 50 percent, and the defeat of Serbian forces by the Croats during 

Operation Storm was partly attributed to their lack of supplies.79

Although the Royal Navy was not a major contributor to the overall 

air eort in terms of volume of sorties, the RN did provide a valuable 

contribution that was dicult to substitute. Providing a secure, mobile, 

and (relatively) weather-independent airbase close to the front line, the 

carrier was well placed for quick reactions and lling in the gaps of the 

ying program that land-based planes found dicult to execute. is 

capability was particularly signicant given UNPROFOR’s vulnerable 

position on the ground. e exibility of the carrier was also demonstrated 

by its ability to convert to the helicopter carrier role, if required, and its 

ability to provide an acceptable venue for peace talks in 1993.80 Similar 

advantages were also secured by the other carrier-operating allies.

Naval aviation also played a major role in the force protection of the 

ships on Sharp Guard’s Oparea Montenegro, with the RN providing armed 

helicopters, airborne early warning helicopters, and xed-wing coverage. 

As this role never had to be realized, it is all too easily forgotten, but it 

was important in enhancing deterrence and managing the risk to NATO 

ships, which had to deploy into a medium- to high-threat environment to 

be eective.
76 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

is role also had a strong, if subtle, connection with UNPROFOR 

on the ground. In order to provide reliable support to the ground forces, 

particularly in case of escalation, the NATO maritime and air forces had 

to be able to dominate and decisively defeat any Serbian maritime and air 

opposition. e force protection requirements of Sharp Guard and Deny 

Flight served both to protect enforcement ships and humanitarian relief 

ights and to maintain a capacity for immediate decisive intervention 

against air and naval threats in extremis. is capacity underlay options 

for the reinforcement or withdrawal of international forces on the ground.

A capacity for expansion, and particularly withdrawal, was a strategic 

requirement of the British government for the deployment and maintenance 

of the BRITFOR contribution to UNPROFOR. e only viable way to 

achieve both goals was through a maritime-supported base at Split. Again, 

this essential capability is all too easily overlooked, but was a prerequisite 

for strategic-level consent to operations on the ground. Moreover, at a time 

when it seemed feasible that NATO might fracture over Bosnia given the 

wide variety of opinions on possible action, alliance consensus over Sharp 

Guard, Deny Flight, and UNPROFOR operations had an additional strategic 

signicance. ese operations provided a tolerable minimum, in some ways 

a lowest common denominator that the allies could agree on, but one that 

also provided genuine eects in theater. e eects in the Balkans were both 

physical and psychological, demonstrating disapproval of Serbian behavior 

and providing an important measure of alliance unity.

ere was a gradual improvement in the liaison between Britain’s 

ground and maritime forces during the Bosnian campaigns as the ground 

forces came to realize, and the maritime forces to eectively demonstrate, 

the full range of support that could be provided from the sea. e fact that 

this recognition took time to develop was symbolic of the more limited 

interaction that most of the British services had experienced during the 

latter part of the Cold War when the scale of operations and the likely 

scenarios contemplated had envisaged most of the forces ghting complementary, but largely parallel, campaigns. e Bosnian operations were an 

important element in altering this perception, with an increasing emphasis on “jointery” in the British forces.81 Much of this was reected in the 

1994 Defence Review, “Front Line First,” which occurred midway through 
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 77

the conict. is review is oen represented as only a cost-cutting exercise, which damaged sustainability in areas like medical services. However, it also authorized important innovations such as the Permanent Joint

Headquarters and the Joint Services Command and Sta College, as well 

as new equipment for the Royal Navy, such as TLAMs for RN submarines 

and a dedicated helicopter carrier (LPH).82 ese would prove central to 

future joint and combined operations. RN submarine-based TLAMs were 

used in the Kosovo campaign of 1999, and the LPH played a major role in 

Sierra Leone in 2000.83

If Bosnia was a driver for improvements in Britain’s ability to 

operate its forces jointly, for the Royal Navy it was also a conrmation of 

the value of its investment in interoperability with its NATO and WEU 

partners. Long-term training, convergence, and familiarity, particularly 

in organizations such as SNFL, paid huge dividends for the relative ease 

with which combined operations were implemented o Yugoslavia. ese 

operations, in turn, provided considerable improvements in the qualities 

and skills of all alliance navies. However, it is important to remember that 

the NATO/WEU maritime forces were able to develop their operations 

gradually and were never subjected to a live combat challenge. 

e Adriatic operations of this period provide an excellent example 

of the utility of maritime power in operations short of all-out war. e 

Royal Navy deployed self-sustaining maritime forces in the theater of 

operations, in accordance with political direction, over a period of several 

years. It enforced the maritime embargo, while simultaneously remaining 

poised either to project additional power ashore or to withdraw, without 

the connotations of defeat or compulsion that apply to similar operations 

with land forces. In addition, it remained able to land, sustain, and 

reinforce land forces and was available, if necessary, for their evacuation.

e Royal Navy adapted quickly to the necessary procedural and 

technical complications of joint and combined maritime operations, 

but there was never any doubt that coordination, rather than regulation, 

was the right approach. e long tradition of cooperation at sea, vitally 

reinforced by the network of NATO training, communication, and 

familiarity, facilitated the human network of trust among the participants 

that formed the fundamental basis of success. 
78 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

Chronology of Operations 

July 1992 onward: Maritime Monitor, the NATO maritime surveillance 

operation in the Adriatic.

July 1992 onward: Sharp Vigilance, the WEU maritime monitoring 

operation.

November 1992 onward: Maritime Guard, the successor to Maritime 

Monitor. e operation name changed when UNSCR 787 allowed 

enforcement with minimal force.

November 1992 onward: Sharp Fence, the successor to Sharp Vigilance. 

e operation name changed when UNSCR 787 allowed enforcement 

with minimal force.

November 1992 onward: Grapple, the deployment of U.K. land-based 

peacekeeping troops in Bosnia. It was also the initial operation name for 

the deployment of U.K. Carrier Task Group 612.

November 1992–December 1995: Hamden, the operational name 

assigned to the involvement of all U.K. forces in the former Yugoslavia, 

whether land, air, or maritime.

April 1993 onward: Deny Flight, the UN-mandated NATO operation to 

enforce the no-y zone. 

June 1993 onward: Sharp Guard, the combined NATO and WEU 

maritime interdiction operation, successor to both Maritime Monitor/

Maritime Guard and Sharp Vigilance/Sharp Fence.

August–September 1995: Deliberate Force, the NATO operation 

to bombard Serbian positions and infrastructure using artillery and 

airpower.

20 December 1995 onward: Joint Endeavor, the NATO operation to 

implement the Dayton Peace Accords.
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 79

Notes

1. For the major exception to this neglect, see Sean M. Maloney, e Hindrance of Military 

Operations Ashore: Canadian Participation in Operation Sharp Guard, 1993–1996, Maritime 

Security Occasional Paper No. 7 (Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, Dalhousie 

University, 2000).

2. A chronology of operations is at the end of this paper.

3. For a fuller discussion of the eects based approach to maritime operations, see Colin S. 

Gray and Roger W. Barnett, eds., Seapower and Strategy (London: Tri-Service Press, 1989), 

and Stephen Prince, “Maritime Warfare, A Historical Perspective,” in Eects Based Warfare,

ed. Christopher Finn (London: HMSO, 2004).

4. For a concise history of the events, see Alastair Finlan, e Collapse of Yugoslavia, 1991–

1999 (London: Osprey, 2004).

5. Tim Ripley, Operation Deliberate Force, e UN and NATO Campaign in Bosnia, 1995

(Lancaster: Centre for Defence and International Security Studies, 1999), p. 21 and chap. 14.

6. Rupert Smith, e Utility of Force: e Art of War in the Modern World (London: Allen 

Lane, 2005), 334.

7. is airbridge delivered nearly 16,000 humanitarian delivery sorties between 1992 and 

1996. See Tim Ripley, Air War Bosnia (Shrewsbury, UK: Airlife, 1996), chaps. 2 and 3, and 

p. 105.

8. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 10.

9. “History of WEU,” Part 4, Operational Role, Section B, Operations in the Context of the 

Yugoslav Conict, 1992–1996, at http://www.weu.int/History.htm#4B, accessed 20 June 

2006.

10. Denmark had previously deployed a small number of Leopard main battle tanks with 

its UNPROFOR contingent but this was very much an exception. See Ripley, Operation 

Deliberate Force, 40.

11. Rupert W. Murray, IFOR on IFOR (Edinburgh: Connect Publishing, 1996).

12. For the most convincing statement of this case, see James Gow, Triumph of the Lack of 

Will, International Diplomacy and the Yugoslav War (London: Hurts & Company, 1997).

13. Elizabeth M. Cousens and Charles K. Cater, Towards Peace in Bosnia, Implementing the 

Dayton Accords (London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001), 54, 66.

14. Smith, Utility of Force, 335.

15. For instance, polling in America showed that some 70% of the U.S. public opposed 

sending U.S. troops to Bosnia. See Dana H. Allin, NATO’s Balkan Interventions, Adelphi Paper 

No. 347 (London: Oxford University Press and International Institute for Strategic Studies, 

2002), 41. In Germany only 14% of those polled supported German forces participating in a 

UN peace enforcement operation and in the UK, 59% were against military intervention. See 

Gow, Triumph of the Lack of Will, 173, 179.

16. Allin, NATO’s Balkan Interventions, 28; see also Joyce P. Kaufman, NATO and the Former 

Yugoslavia: Crisis, Conict and the Atlantic Alliance (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littleeld 

Publishers, 2002), 100–129.

17. Allin, NATO’s Balkan Interventions, 17.
80 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

18. Smith, Utility of Force, 337. France and then Britain were the largest troop contributors 

to UNPROFOR.

19. Gow, Triumph of the Lack of Will, 139.

20. Allin, NATO’s Balkan Interventions, 35.

21. Smith, Utility of Force, chap. 9.

22. It should be remembered that UNPROFOR also operated in Croatia and that the UN 

Preventative Deployment was deployed on the Macedonian border.

23. UNPROFOR’s total military strength never exceeded 40,000, and in November 1994 it 

was 38,130. See http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/co_mission/unprofor_b.htm, accessed 

10 September 2006.

24. Quoted in Ripley, Operation Deliberate Force, 26.

25. UNPROFOR’s deployment in Bosnia was not without cost however. From 1992 to 1995, 

167 members of UNPROFOR were killed in action. See Finlan, Collapse of Yugoslavia, 35.

26. Michael McConville, A Small War in the Balkans (London: MacMillan, 1986).

27. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 4–9.

28. SNFL is now known as Standing NATO Maritime Group 1. John Hattendorf, “NATO’s 

Policeman on the Beat: e First Twenty Years of the Standing Naval Force, Atlantic, 

1968–1988” in Naval History and Maritime Strategy: Collected Essays, ed. John Hattendorf 

(Malabar, FL: Krieger Publishing, 2000).

29. Canada, Germany, the Netherlands, the UK, and the U.S.

30. Vice Admiral Greg R. Maddison, Oral History (31D 6 MADDISON), 28 September 

2005, Canadian War Museum, 3, 22.

31. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 21.

32. Ibid., 20.

33. For the Royal Navy, these scenarios had particular resonance given that the Royal Navy’s 

Task Force of 1982 had come relatively close to shooting down a civilian airliner during 

its passage south to the Falkland Islands. See Sir Sandy Woodward, with Patrick Robinson,

100 Days: e Memoirs of the Falklands Battle Group Commander (Annapolis, MD: Naval 

Institute Press, 1997), 102–4.

34. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 35, 42–43.

35. http://www.afsouth.nato.int/operations/SharpGuard/SharpGuardFactSheet.htm, 

accessed 10 September 2006.

36. Eric Francis Germain, “e Coming Revolution in NATO Maritime Command and 

Control,” November 1997, at http://www.mitre.org/work/tech_papers/tech_papers_97/

technet97/index.html, accessed 10 September 2006.

37. Quoted in web reference above.

38. Summary of discussion following a seminar on combined operations, chaired by Rear 

Admiral Alan Massey, Assistant Chief of the Naval Sta, UK Ministry of Defence, 23 

February 2006.

39. Restrictions on German ships were relaxed from 1994.

40. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 16, 34.

41. e change in U.S. policy was an expression of domestic political pressure and consistent 

with the strategic policy preferences articulated above.
Royal Navy Operations o Former Yugoslavia 81

42. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 16–17.

43. Certain bulk fuel and wheat carriers could only be safely inspected in harbor, due to the 

fumes in their storage areas.

44. For an anecdotal account of a Royal Navy frigate on a Sharp Guard deployment, see 

Christopher Terrill, HMS Brilliant: In A Ship’s Company (London: BBC Books, 1995).

45. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 29–30.

46. at is closer than 5,000 meters.

47. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 41–42.

48. http://www.afsouth.nato.int/operations/SharpGuard/SharpGuardFactSheet.htm, 

accessed 10 September 2005; Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 52.

49. e national task group was initially part of Operation Grapple, later renamed Operation 

Hamden, with Grapple referring only to British ground forces.

50. Captain T. W. Loughran, “Operational Eectiveness and Resource Constraints—HMS 

Ark Royal in Operations Grapple and Hamden 1993/4,” Royal United Services Institute 

Journal 140, no. 1 (February 1995): 45.

51. Rear Admiral Jeremy Blackham, “Maritime Peacekeeping,” Royal United Services Institute 

Journal 138, no. 4 (August 1993): 22.

52. Eric Grove, “Navies in Peacekeeping and Enforcement: e British Experience in the 

Adriatic,” International Peacekeeping 1, no. 4 (Winter 1994): 463.

53. Ironically, the RN found it harder to coordinate with the USN carrier program, not 

through any lack of willingness but because of the U.S. carrier’s more global program—the 

carrier was required o Somalia in October 1993.

54. Loughran, “Operational Eectiveness and Resource Constraints,” 46.

55. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 21–22.

56. Ibid., 22–23.

57. While there were no U.S. troops in Bosnia, USN forces maintained similar capabilities to 

intervene in support of forces ashore if required.

58. E. Fursdon, “Poised in the Adriatic,” Navy International 98, no. 516 (May/June 1993): 170.

59. Ibid.

60. R. Fox, “Balkan Stew: British Forces in the Balkans—Keeping the Peace in Bosnia and 

Kosovo” in J. ompson, ed., e Imperial War Museum Book of Modern Warfare, British and 

Commonwealth Forces at War 1945–2000 (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 2002), 336.

61. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 45–46.

62. Fursdon, “Poised in the Adriatic,” 171.

63. Discussion broadcast in Episode Two of the BBC’s Defence of the Realm, rst broadcast 

on BBC1, 1996.

64. Ripley, Operation Deliberate Force, 70; Gow, Triumph of the Lack of Will, 274.

65. E. Grove, Ark Royal: A Flagship for the 21st Century (Portsmouth: HMS Ark Royal, 2001), 51.

66. Loughran, “Operational Eectiveness and Resource Constraints,” 46.

67. Statement on the Defence Estimates (London: HMSO, May 1995), 50–51. One Sea Harrier 

was lost over Bosnia in April 1994 while ying a particularly hazardous CAS sortie for 

UNPROFOR. For the pilot’s account, see Nick Richardson, No Escape Zone (London: Little 

Brown & Co., 2000).
82 Stephen Prince and Kate Brett

68. Quoted in Ripley, Operation Deliberate Force, 137.

69. Ibid., 137–39.

70. Ibid., 136–37.

71. Smith, Utility of Force, 355.

72. Ripley, Operation Deliberate Force, 350–51.

73. Ibid., 285–86.

74. See the Right Honourable James Arbuthnott, MP, Minister of State for Defence 

Procurement, Hansard, 18 July 1996, pt. 12, col. 1334–5: Christopher Bellamy, Knights in 

White Armour (London: Hutchinson, 1996), 185, 228–29.

75. “History of WEU,” 4B, accessed 20 June 2006. e UK provided three of the eight patrol 

boats used by the WEU and some training support.

76. For the economics of dierent modes of transport, see Robert Gardiner, ed., e Shipping 

Revolution: e Modern Merchant Ship (Conway’s History of the Ship) (London: Conway 

Maritime Press, 1992).

77. Calculation provided by CJ4 Sta Branch, HQ International Security Assistance Force, 

Kabul, 30 September 2006.

78. Maloney, Hindrance of Military Operations Ashore, 53. See also e Economist, 10 

September 1993, 60, which records August 1993 ination in Serbia at 1,180%.

79. See e Economist, 31 August 1996, 44–45.

80. David Owen, Balkan Odyssey (London: Indigo Books, 1995), 233.

81. Blackham, “Maritime Peacekeeping,” 23.

82. Tim Laurence and Stephen Prince, “e Continuing Transformation of Britain’s Maritime 

Forces,” Royal United Services Institute Journal 148, no. 2 (April 2003).

83. David Richards, “Operation Palliser,” Journal of the Royal Artillery 127, no. 2 (Autumn 

2000); Lee Willett, “From Tigre to Tomahawk: the Adriatic Revisited, 1999,” in Seapower 

Ashore, ed. Peter Hore (London: Chatham, 2001).
83

CHAPTER 3

e U. S. Navy’s Contribution to 

Operation Sharp Guard

Sarandis Papadopoulos

The end of the Cold War in 1991 loosed a violent mixture of nationalist 

ambitions in the Balkans, resulting in almost a decade of conict 

in the region. e independence movements created ve new states: 

Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Macedonia—which had declared 

independence in 1991 without going to war as a result—and the Federal 

Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY), which included Serbia and Montenegro, all 

inside the former Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. e creation 

of four of these states came at the cost of tens of thousands dead and as 

many as one million more victims of ethnic cleansing. Such baleful events 

demanded an international response, especially as the conict threatened 

to expand beyond Yugoslavia, drawing in either Greece or Turkey, both 

NATO members. e political complexities, however, required nations, 

including the United States, to make a measured and discrete commitment, 

one admirably served by naval power.1

e delicate nature of intervening in the conict posed severe 

challenges for the Western European Union (WEU), NATO, and the 

United Nations. Beginning in March 1992 member states contributed 

more than fourteen thousand soldiers to the United Nations Protection 

Force (UNPROFOR) in the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina, a force 

that grew to almost forty thousand by 1994.2

 In addition a small military 

observer force (including American soldiers) went to Macedonia, and 

NATO aircra parachuted supplies to the beleaguered population and 

enforced a prohibition on military air activity over Yugoslavia (Operation 

Deny Flight).3

 e objects of these overlapping operations were to limit 
84 Sarandis Papadopoulos

the violence within Bosnia-Herzegovina and deter Serbian aggression. 

When these failed to curtail the violence, the UN declared an embargo 

on the delivery of weapons into the former Yugoslavia. e international 

community eventually controlled shipments of all items save food and 

medicine.4

 e maritime enforcement of the arms embargo ultimately 

became known as Operation Sharp Guard.5

 roughout the course of the 

three-year Balkan conict, Provide Promise, Deny Flight, and Sharp Guard 

sought to limit the death and destruction wrought by the Yugoslav war.

It took time to establish a political climate that would support NATO 

using its armed forces, including a naval deployment in the Adriatic, 

to limit the Balkan conict. e NATO alliance was created to defend 

member countries from invasion, not to intervene in a conict “out of 

area.”6

 e 1991–1995 Yugoslav war was also the rst time NATO had 

to manage and carry out combat operations. As a result, it established a 

strategic framework incrementally.

Deployed to monitor the arms embargo against the Federal 

Republic of Yugoslavia, Standing Naval Force Mediterranean (SNFM, 

or STANAVFORMED) conducted the rst NATO out of area operation, 

entailing peacekeeping and peacemaking duties.7

e sea forces conducting Operation Sharp Guard patrolled the 

Adriatic Sea near the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in two zones. e 

rst force assumed station in the narrow strait between the Albanian 

coast and Otranto, Italy. e second force monitored the Montenegrin 

shoreline and Serbian naval forces in their base at Kotor Bay, the country’s 

only remaining port. e latter patrol area lay nearest to Serbian forces, 

and it was therefore considered the more dangerous operating zone.8

Yugoslavia’s air, missile, and naval units never struck at the NATO/

WEU forces operating in the Adriatic Sea, yet they remained a potential 

threat to the vessels. In particular, the Balkan state’s sea service had ve 

small submarines (two of them modern), several modern frigates, and a 

otilla of nine small missile boats plus several more torpedo and mine 

vessels.9

 ese cra were available at the start of Sharp Guard, although 

the ships’ operational capability declined as time passed. In addition, several batteries of SSC-3 Styx antiship missiles also posed a threat to the 
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 85

allied ships.10 Given these threats the ships o the Montenegrin coast continually maintained a defensive stance with weapons kept on standby.11

In many ways Operation Sharp Guard played to the strengths of the 

NATO alliance, as the naval forces involved could be drawn from existing 

command structures. To respond to the needs of the two patrol areas, NATO 

shied Standing Naval Force Atlantic (SNFL, or STANAVFORLANT) 

and Standing Naval Force Mediterranean to the Adriatic region.12 With 

experience at working together, these forces provided the ongoing 

combat-credible presence that an eective embargo required. Leaders 

from the two standing naval forces and a Western European Union task 

group commanded in rotation. e three groups covered 12 patrol areas 

with one ship apiece.13 Typically, two or three American warships served 

in the NATO commands.14 In June 1993 the three task groups, two NATO 

and one WEU, formed Combined Task Force (CTF) 440, and the mission 

assumed the name Operation Sharp Guard.15

Established in January 1968, Standing Naval Force Atlantic constituted 

the principal multinational NATO response force during the last half of the 

Cold War.16 Earlier attempts to create multinational ground formations, 

and an experiment with a U.S. Navy ship crewed by alliance personnel, had 

not proven successful. Intended from the outset to improve interoperability 

between alliance navies, SNFL also served as a re brigade in case of 

emergencies. In peacetime, the usual ve-ship standing force cruised the 

Atlantic Ocean so its multinational sailors could prepare for wartime 

antisubmarine and convoy missions. Command over SNFL rotated among 

the commanding ocers of its constituent vessels. Fullling that role gave 

a Belgian, Canadian, or Danish ocer the opportunity to oversee the work 

of German, British, and U.S. ships. As such it became an important test 

bed for developing the doctrine called for in Allied Tactical Publications 

and Experimental Tactics. e ships and crews assigned to SNFL learned 

how to work together in a manner unique to NATO navies and passed on 

those skills to their parent navies throughout the last half of the Cold War.

Standing Naval Force Mediterranean had a shorter life span than its 

sibling multinational force, having been established on 30 April 1992 with 

identical missions and similar composition as SNFL. It did, however, have 
86 Sarandis Papadopoulos

a longstanding, if intermittent predecessor, NATO’s Naval On-Call Force 

Mediterranean, rst established in 1969 and frequently reconstituted 

thereaer. With this background, SNFL and SNFM were well prepared to 

execute the embargo mission that Sharp Guard presented them.

Naval forces drawn from the Western European Union formed 

the third contingent. is all-European task group exchanged ships for 

training and operations with SNFL and SNFM, except for Canadian and 

U.S. contributions that remained under NATO control.17 e three naval 

contingents employed identical doctrine and shared information over 

the same systems. North American vessels never joined the WEU naval 

force, nor could their ocers command it.18 Despite dierent controlling 

authorities, the rules of engagement (ROE) employed by ships under 

WEU command did not vary from those operating under the control of 

NATO formations.

Organizationally, the forces committed to the Adriatic maritime 

interdiction operation t neatly into the dual structures of the North 

Atlantic Alliance and the Western European Union. e ultimate local 

authority supervising the operations of Sharp Guard was NATO’s 

Commander, Naval Forces South (COMNAVSOUTH).19 Since the 

establishment of the command in 1967, the ocer in that billet has been 

an Italian Navy vice admiral.20 e arrangement placed the WEU ships in 

the NATO chain of command, and they sailed under the authority of the 

United Nations.21 Under their operating authority, Sharp Guard surface 

ships could enter Montenegrin territorial waters, but did not do so.22

Albania permitted Sharp Guard forces to operate in its territorial waters, 

and therefore cover the full width of the mouth of the Adriatic Sea. 

Commander CTF 440 controlled Sharp Guard operations with 

subordinates designated Combined Task Groups (CTG) 440.1 o 

Montenegro, 440.2 in the Strait of Otranto, and 440.3 for training or port 

visits.23 SNFL, SNFM, and WEU forces rotated through the task group 

roles. Finally, Sharp Guard patrol aircra and submarines operated under 

their own parallel command authorities.

CTF 440 ships primarily undertook maritime interdiction 

operations (MIO). In June 1993 the NATO and WEU councils allowed the 
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 87

harmonization of tactics between the two organizations to carry out MIO 

in the Adriatic.24 NATO/WEU ships patrolled the Adriatic looking for 

surface ships attempting to run the embargo. e warships would approach 

suspect vessels, interrogate them by radio as to cargo and destination, and 

when necessary board and search those deemed suspicious. 

Combined training exercises helped build the eective allied 

interaction that took place during Operation Sharp Guard. In 1992, for 

example, U.S. Sixth Fleet ships took part in 57 multinational exercises.25

e next year the number of exercises in the broader ambit of U.S. Naval 

Forces Europe dropped to 52, owing to a heavy operational commitment.26

Most exercises were bilateral. ey also included annual events such as 

Exercise Dogsh, a NATO antisubmarine practice. Dogsh 1993, for 

example, employed ve nations’ boats and nine countries’ maritime patrol 

aircra (MPA), including those of Canada, the United Kingdom, and the 

United States, notably stressing the importance of “communication,” a 

necessary ingredient to the success of Operation Sharp Guard.27 In 1994 

the number of multinational events dropped to 51, 40 of them involving 

NATO nations and 11 with other countries in the Mediterranean and Black 

Sea regions. e annual report of the Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval 

Forces Europe, stressed that “Forward Presence = Combined Combat 

Eectiveness.”28 A similar tempo of combined training continued into 

1995 and 1996. Clearly, the U.S. Navy and its NATO friends understood 

the importance of naval forces practicing together for shared, continuous, 

and sometimes harrowing operations in the Adriatic. 

Combined training also helped build trust and forge a team out of 

Standing Naval Force Atlantic and the broader task force. In April 1993, as 

the UN Security Council worked out Resolution 820 for the arms embargo, 

Canadian Commodore Greg Maddison raised his ag on HMCS Algonquin

as Commander SNFL, in Norfolk, Virginia.29 Within days of assuming 

command, and as the squadron exercised o the Virginia coast in preparation 

for deployment, Maddison received orders to sail for the Mediterranean. 

Over the ensuing weeks, his ships trained as they crossed the Atlantic and 

drilled with the French, Spanish, and Portuguese navies as they sailed near 

Europe and into the Middle Sea. ese exercises involving submarines and 
88 Sarandis Papadopoulos

aircra turned SNFL into a combat command. Echoing Admiral Horatio 

Nelson, Maddison later characterized the multinational ship commanders as 

“my band of brothers.”30 Without such practice, the admiral noted, “I would 

not have reported that we were operationally ready.” His words oer ample 

testimony to the value of working together to build skills and condence. As 

the Adriatic mission developed over the following year, replacement ships 

integrated themselves into an existing tactical framework set by SNFL and 

the other two task groups, learning the rules of the mission much in the same 

manner as new students entering a classroom.

Different National Priorities

Despite the recognized need to employ consistent rules of engagement 

for the entire Maritime Interception Force, the participating allied navies 

proved unable to do so in full. A key diculty revolved around the 

employment of weapons, or the use of force, that made Sharp Guard a more 

intense operation. For warships assigned to both the WEU and NATO 

task groups, the rules allowed a variety of escalating levels of force.31 Ships 

could re warning shots with inert ammunition, and use inert or training 

rounds for nondisabling re. Training ammunition would be employed 

for disabling re, but only under the authority of the combined task group 

commanders.32 Divergent allied practices over the use of force remained 

academic, however, because ships assigned to Sharp Guard never had to 

resort to ring on merchant vessels. Sharp Guard patrols discovered six 

vessels carrying prohibited goods, which they conscated. No major ship 

successfully ran the arms embargo aer April 1993.33

e three combined task groups of CTF 440 operated under the same 

rules of engagement, approved by NATO, though each nation announced 

its own particular reservations.34 Commanders had to accommodate the 

dierent political sensitivities of each nation, but the familiarity built by 

training together allowed the sta ocers planning operations to tailor 

roles to ships of dierent navies. is is not to suggest that operational 

limits hamstrung commanders or reduced the eectiveness of CTF 440. 

As Vice Admiral Maddison later noted in his oral history, Sharp Guard 

units employed “some of the more robust Rules of Engagement I have ever 

operated under.”35
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 89

Only the task group commander could order a boarding or the 

ring of warning shots, but all ship commanders retained the authority 

to respond with force if red upon.36 Still, a degree of vagueness arose 

with the rules of engagement for Operation Sharp Guard. Subordinates 

oen interpreted the rules in dierent ways, depending upon nationality. 

For example, one American warship commander hesitated to use force, 

when authorized to do so, out of concern for the political consequences.37

As another example, American naval ocers believed they could disable 

a ship by hitting its engine room, while Dutch ocers believed they had 

authority to re on the bridge. Together, these diverse practices created 

challenges for commanders on the scene.

As an operation conducted under UN authority, Sharp Guard 

was aected by changes in rules of engagement. UN Security Council 

Resolutions (UNSCR) 1021 and 1022 dened cargo prohibited by the 

embargo as heavy weapons, ammunition, and aircra, but not small arms.38

e nature of American participation in the sanctions also changed in early 

November 1994, when the rules of engagement became more complex. In 

response to pressure from members of the U.S. Congress, who wanted 

the embargo lied against Bosnia-Herzegovina, the U.S. Senate passed 

the so-called Nunn-Mitchell Amendment.39 e amendment expressly 

prohibited the employment of American military units, that is, ships 

assigned to Sharp Guard, from enforcing the embargo or diverting any 

ships headed for Bosnia-Herzegovina. Nunn-Mitchell compelled a change 

in the U.S. ROE. Nonetheless, U.S. naval vessels continued to prevent arms 

shipments to the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and to the Bosnian Serbs 

as well. To accommodate the American political change, the task force 

commander assigned the U.S. ships to dierent roles in the operation, 

playing either an informational role or serving on picket duty identifying 

blockade runners.40 Speaking in early 1995, Dutch Commodore Nicolas 

van der Lugt, then commander of Standing Naval Force Mediterranean, 

described the operational impact of the U.S. ROE change as “almost nil. 

e USN ships still continue to contribute to the maritime embargo 

against Serbia and Montenegro.”41

Another problem stemmed from the security classication of all 

national rules of engagement, which prevented the sharing of their 
90 Sarandis Papadopoulos

precise nature even with allied navies. In that sense, Operation Sharp 

Guard highlighted the limitations of standing NATO rules, codied in 

the Military Committee’s document MC192/2 written for actions prior to 

a general war and not for protracted sanctions enforcement.42 To lend an 

idea of what such a challenge could mean, years later the commander of 

Destroyer Squadron 16, a component of the U.S. Sixth Fleet, noted that 

the U.S. rules applicable for an exercise had been shared only at the sta 

level, building an “unrealistic” response.43

U.S. Navy Sharp Guard Operations

As the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and its Serbian allies in 

Bosnia-Herzogovina considered the NATO/WEU force in the Adriatic a 

provocation, NATO naval commanders took additional steps to protect 

the Sharp Guard ships.44 ey employed a U.S. guided missile cruiser or 

destroyer, with the call sign Red Crown, under CTG 440.1 tactical control. 

e Red Crown ships, usually equipped with the Aegis battle management 

system, monitored aircra ying over the Balkans.45 ese ships could 

identify friendly aircra returning from Deny Flight or Provide Promise 

missions, transmitting contact information that would prevent any 

unneeded alarm among allied crews.46 Given their more sophisticated 

sensors, processing power, and wider methods of communication, these 

ships could also coordinate the responses of all CTF 440 ships to blockade 

runners and proved an important asset throughout the maritime embargo.47

e air and missile defense of the NATO and WEU vessels, which 

tended to be surface combatants or antisubmarine vessels, depended 

upon the weapons, sensors, and battle management capabilities of the 

American Red Crown ships. Given the speed of the potential attackers, 

Red Crown ships operated at the center of CTG 440.1, completely covering 

its components.48 While the possibility of FRY intervention, perhaps in 

the form of a strike by its two squadrons of MiG-29 interceptors or other 

jet aircra, was remote, it could not be discounted.49 Red Crown was vital 

protection for Sharp Guard units, and it remained in place even aer the 

late-1994 change in American rules of engagement.50

Maritime patrol aircra were another vital component of Operation 

Sharp Guard, providing extensive search support. Beginning in August
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 91

A P-3C Orion of Patrol Squadron 45 fires self-defensive flares as the pilot prepares for an overland 

surveillance mission in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

1992, ights originated from Sigonella, Sicily.51 Commander, Area Air 

Resources Mediterranean controlled these patrols under the direct 

authority of COMNAVSOUTH.52 At any given time roughly two-thirds 

of the MPA were U.S. Navy P-3 Orions, with one-third a mix of allied 

P-3s; French, German, or Italian BR 1150 Atlantiques; or RAF MR-2 

Nimrods.53 Because these aircra were designed for antisubmarine work, 

the American planes originally carried the MK-46 torpedoes needed for 

antisubmarine warfare missions. During Sharp Guard, however, patrol 

planes switched to air-to-surface weapons, usually Maverick missiles, to 

address any challenge posed by merchant vessels. Typically one aircra at a 

time ew a six-hour stretch over the Montenegrin patrol area while another 

observed the Otranto chokepoint, unless grounded for maintenance or by 

execrable weather.54 e Montenegro patrols ew around the clock, while 

the southern ights provided coverage three-quarters of each day.

To further improve the “eyes and ears” of the multinational force, 

U.S. Navy EP-3 aircra conducted daily reconnaissance sweeps over 

the Adriatic. A national asset, these aircra ew so-called Indications 

and Warning (or signals) intelligence missions supporting Operation 

Sharp Guard.55 e sophisticated receivers of these aircra could pick up 

USN photo, PH2 Robert Fleuget
92 Sarandis Papadopoulos

electronic emissions from the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, either on 

the ground or at sea. A NATO-controlled E-3 Sentry airborne warning 

and control system (AWACS) aircra, using Link 11, disseminated the 

information obtained by the EP-3 to the NATO/WEU operating forces.56

On a part-time basis, British, French, and American naval aviation 

units also supported Sharp Guard’s maritime embargo mission. When 

sailing in the Yugoslavian theater, U.S. and allied aircra carriers ew 

dozens of sorties daily to reinforce the embargo and carried out the other 

two UN-mandated missions.57 Over the Adriatic these ights tended to be 

missions oered in support of Sharp Guard, and not directly controlled 

by COMNAVSOUTH. While probably less important than the maritime 

patrol aircra to executing the sanctions mission, the armed carrier 

aircra added a powerful presence to the embargo operation. 

Along with allied vessels, one other type of U.S. naval unit consistently 

oered operational support to Sharp Guard. Under Commander, 

Submarines Mediterranean—a U.S. Navy ocer with a NATO position—

units of the submarine attack force sailed, under NATO operational 

control, beneath the surface of the Adriatic to monitor Yugoslav naval 

forces.58 e embargo force therefore generally counted upon U.S. nuclear 

submarines to survey naval movements in the region.59 With the authority 

provided by UNSCR 820, these nuclear vessels typically patrolled the area 

o the Montenegrin coast.60 Other NATO submarines complemented the 

U.S. subsurface units, either to cover gaps in the American coverage or to 

broaden the area surveyed. American submarines provided two-thirds of 

the undersea coverage during the rst thirty months of Operation Sharp 

Guard.61 In general the submarines reinforced the search for illicit cargo 

vessels, but their prime mission remained notifying the surface ships in 

case of a sortie by the Yugoslav navy. NATO submarines watched and 

waited for those occasions when ships, especially one of the Yugoslav 

submarines, le port for practice, and did so without confronting any of 

the dangers a surface warship or aircra would have faced.62

e integration of all intelligence sources regarding ship movements 

took place outside the immediate theater of Operation Sharp Guard. e 

procedure centralizing collection, combination, and production of data 
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 93

had its roots in the U.S. Navy’s Cold War experience in tracking the Soviet 

navy and the development of the service’s Ocean Surveillance Information 

System.63 It provided information on vessels operating in a particular 

region, derived from all sources. During the Balkan crisis, the Fleet Ocean 

Surveillance Information Facility (FOSIF) in Rota, Spain, provided such 

information to the sanctions enforcement ships through a daily radio 

broadcast.64 FOSIF originally oered information solely to American 

forces, but with the start of the embargo NATO authorities activated an 

existing memorandum of understanding, allowing the Rota installation 

to broadcast daily situation reports to Sharp Guard forces. Having a more 

complete picture of the maritime situation, the enforcement operation 

enjoyed a distinct advantage over ships attempting to run the blockade. 

is direct feed of American intelligence also reinforced condence and 

trust among the enforcement task force units.

Guided missile frigate USS Samuel B. Roberts, center, and attack submarine USS Baltimore, top, 

pull along USS George Washington. The George Washington Battle Group has just completed 

a six-month Mediterranean deployment, participating in sustained operations supporting the 

NATO-led peacekeeping in Bosnia and the UN sanctions against Iraq.

USN photo, PH1 Greg Pinkley
94 Sarandis Papadopoulos

All three parts of the naval command patrolled the waters of the 

Adriatic, searching for merchant vessels carrying contraband. A NATO/ 

WEU warship encountering a vessel challenged it and inspected it at sea 

for embargoed goods. When the searchers detected suspicious items, or an 

indication of something concealed on board, they diverted the vessel with 

allied personnel on board to the Italian port of Brindisi. Under the sanctions regime, CTF 440 ships prevented two vessels bearing oil and four 

carrying weapons from breaking the embargo.65 Not only did the command physically stop attempts to run the UN arms and trade embargo, 

but it presented a deterrent, discouraging consideration of such an eort.66

e most dramatic case of an attempted blockade run took place 

in mid-1994 when the Maltese-registered oil tanker Lido II attempted 

to transport a large cargo to Montenegro.67 e ship paused in Brindisi 

and then set sail—ostensibly for Albania—on the 1 May holiday. e ship 

carried 50,000 tons of oil. CTG 440.1 forces observed the ship headed 

for the Montenegrin port of Bar, about 40 nautical miles north of its 

declared destination.68 When challenged, the merchant vessel announced 

a ooding emergency, prompting two Montenegrin tugs and a surface 

force of Yugoslav warships to sail to the putative rescue. e ensuing 

moments saw tensions rise as both the combined task group and Yugoslav 

forces went to general quarters, and NATO alert aircra streaked in to 

support the surface ships. Averting a more direct confrontation, Dutch 

marines boarded the tanker, inspected the ooding problem, determined 

it to be fraudulent, and then ordered the ship to sail for Brindisi. e 

Yugoslav naval vessels backed away from the confrontation. e exibility 

and responsiveness of the Sharp Guard embargo, including Red Crown 

coordination by the cruiser USS Philippine Sea, came through strongly in 

this incident.69

Conclusion

Operation Sharp Guard lasted for 43 months, from November 1992 

to June 1996. NATO and WEU ships challenged 74,192 merchant ships 

and boarded over one-twelh of them in the search for contraband.70 e 

embargo enforcement groups diverted more than 1,400 ships for further
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 95

Nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS George Washington and guided missile destroyer USS 

Arthur W. Radford conduct underway replenishment in the western Mediterranean Sea. The 

ships support both NATO peacekeeping missions in Bosnia in the Adriatic Sea and the UNsponsored sanctions against Iraq in the Arabian Gulf, July 1996.

detailed inspection in Italian ports and identied the six violators of 

the UN sanctions. To do so, allied ships spent more than 19,000 days at 

sea, yielding a daily average of over 15 ships underway at any time. e 

maritime patrol aircra ew more than 7,000 sorties, or more than ve 

ights per day. Sharp Guard, NATO’s rst combat operation, was a largescale and successful eort.

e top-level command arrangements created for Operation Sharp 

Guard reduced tensions stemming from the conicting goals of the United 

Nations, which sought support for the peacekeeping eort, and the NATO 

objective of seeking to maintain a strong deterrent to a wider conict.71

e alliance’s commitment to working through operational problems 

allowed the accomplishment of both goals. At the level of individual ships 

and crews, the ongoing sequence of exercises, in particular the workup 

training conducted by Standing Naval Forces Atlantic before the start of 

the mission, gave embargo participants the condence they needed to 

continue working with allies. is combination of operational clarity and 

USN photo, AB Joe Hendricks
96 Sarandis Papadopoulos

skilled tactical execution built a convincing deterrent, perhaps forestalling 

the eruption of a wider European war. By preventing delivery of heavy 

weapons and fuel, Sharp Guard oered a robust answer to the Balkan 

threat, demonstrating the resolve needed to limit the spread of the conict. 

e limited naval operation had successfully played an important role in 

constraining a deadly civil war in the Balkans.

Notes

1. For a fuller exploration of this tension, see A. Vernon, Dening the Decade: Military 

Operations and Political Constraints in the 1990s (Alexandria, VA: CNA, August 2004), 

especially 13–15.

2. For the UN Protection Force’s initial strength, see International Institute for Strategic 

Studies, Strategic Survey 1991–1992 (London: IISS/Brassey’s, May 1992), 37; for nal 

strength, see International Institute for Strategic Studies, e Military Balance, 1994–1995

(London: IISS/Brassey’s, October 1994), 273–76.

3. e Military Balance, 275–76. e UN Preventive Deployment Force watched the 

Macedonian border. e airli became Operation Provide Promise, and earlier names for 

the no-y zone enforcement deployments were Sky Monitor and Sky Guard. See Michael 

Johnson, Peter Swartz, and Patrick Roth, Doctrine for Partnership: A Framework for U.S. 

Multinational Naval Doctrine (Alexandria, VA: CNA, March 1996), 138–39.

4. Specically, UNSCR 713 (1991) prohibited military equipment shipments to the former 

Yugoslavia, and UNSCR 757 (1992) banned all trade to Serbia and Montenegro, save food 

and medical supplies. e UN Security Council authorized the use of military units to enforce 

the embargoes under Resolutions 787 (1992) and 820 (1993). See e Military Balance, 275.

5. Earlier names for Sharp Guard included Maritime Monitor, Maritime Guard, and Albanian 

Guard. Ibid.

6. Hennin Frantzen, NATO and Peace Support Operations, 1991–1999: Policies and 

Doctrines (London and New York: Frank Cass, 2005), 63–69. See also Dieter Stöckmann, 

“Koalitionsoperationen der NATO” (Paper presented to the 2001 meeting of the ClausewitzGesellscha e.V.), 67–68, at http://www.clausewitz-gesellscha.de/leadmin/dokumente/

Gesellscha/BC_2001.pdf, accessed 15 May 2006.

7. Frantzen, NATO and Peace Support Operations, 66.

8. G. A. S. C. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement: e European Perspective (Alexandria, 

VA: CNA, July 1994), 61.

9. International Institute of Strategic Studies, e Military Balance, 1992–1993/1993–

1994/1994–1995 (London: IISS/Brassey’s, Autumn 1992/October 1993/October 1994), 87–

88/92/106 show consistent gures and reect the decline in maintenance as well.

10. Chris Carlson, “Harpoon Scenario: Adriatic Apoplexy,” e Naval SITREP: e Journal of 

Naval Miniatures Gaming, no. 21 (October 2001): 5–7.

11. Guy A. H. Toremans, “Operations in the Adriatic” (Interview with Commodore Nicolas 

van der Lugt, RNLN, Commander, Standing Naval Force Mediterranean) in Naval Forces 
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 97

(2/95): 34. See also Greg Maddison, “Reections on NATO and Naval Forces: Operations in 

the Adriatic,” Canadian Naval Review 2, no. 1 (Spring 2006): 25–27.

12. e standing forces have also respectively been called STANAVFORLANT and 

STANAVFORMED with further name changes in late 2004 to Standing NATO Maritime 

Groups (SNMG) 1 and 2.

13. Gregory Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations (Alexandria, VA: CNA, 

October 1995), 82, and Figure 8, 91 (Classied Document [CD]).

14. Ibid., 1 (CD).

15. Peter Hore, ed., Royal Navy and Royal Marines Operations 1964 to 1996 (London: 

Maritime Strategic Studies Institute, July 1999), 95.

16. John Hattendorf, “NATO’s Policeman on the Beat: e First Twenty Years of the 

Standing Naval Force, Atlantic, 1968–1988,” in ed. John Hattendorf, Naval History and 

Maritime Strategy: Collected Essays (Malabar, FL: Krieger Publishing, 2000). See also “NATO 

Ministerial Final Communiqué,” 13–14 December 1967, at http://www.nato.int/docu/

comm/49-95/c671213a.htm, accessed 20 November 2006.

17. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement, 59. e WEU comprised ten nations: Belgium, 

France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, and the 

United Kingdom.

18. Ibid., 60–62.

19. Ibid., 59.

20. See http://www.afsouth.nato.int/factsheets/navsouth.htm, accessed 15 June 2005.

21. Kathleen Reddy, “Operation Sharp Guard: Lessons Learned for the Policymaker and 

Commander” (Unpublished paper, U.S. Naval War College, Newport, RI, 13 February 1997), 

8–9.

22. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 93 (CD).

23. Ibid., g. 7, 89.

24. NATO/WEU Operation Sharp Guard, IFOR Final Factsheet, 2 October 1996, 6, at http://

www.nato.int/ifor/general/shrp-grd.htm, accessed 28 November 2006.

25. Commander Sixth Fleet, “COMSIXTHFLT Command History Report,” 18 February 

1993, 22–23 (CD).

26. Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces Europe/U.S. Commander, Eastern Atlantic, 

“Command History Report,” 29 September 1994, III-33–III-39 (CD).

27. Ibid., III-35 (CD).

28. Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces Europe/U.S. Commander, Eastern Atlantic, 

“Command History Report,” 10 April 1995, III-28 (CD).

29. Vice Admiral (ret.) Greg R. Maddison oral history, 28 September 2005, Canadian War 

Museum, 7–10.

30. Ibid., 11.

31. Stacy Poe, “Rules of Engagement: Complexities of Coalition Interaction in Military 

Operations Other an War” (Unpublished paper, U.S. Naval War College, Newport, RI, 13 

February 1995), 12.

32. COMTRBATGRU INFO CNO, “ROE/Plain Language for Sharp Guard,” 141841Z APR 

95, 3, Folder “Sharp Guard, Provide Promise, Deny Flight 01 April 95–30 June 95,” Box 2 of 
98 Sarandis Papadopoulos

3, CNO, DCNO (Plans, Policy & Ops) (N311), Archives NHHC. Live, explosive ammunition 

could only be used if authorized by COMVAVSOUTH, that is, a vice admiral (CD).

33. Reddy, “Operation Sharp Guard,” 10; and Toremans, “Operations in the Adriatic,” 34.

34. Maddison oral history, 15.

35. Ibid., 16.

36. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement, 60; and Poe, “Rules of Engagement,” 13.

37. Poe, 14.

38. IFOR Final Factsheet, 2.

39. Letter, Barbara Larkin, Acting Assistant Secretary of State to Rep. Lee Hamilton, 20 May 

1996, at http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/congress/1996_cr/h960611a.htm, 

accessed 21 June 2005.

40. Department of State Daily Press Brieng, by Christine Shelly, 14 November 1994, at 

http://dosfan.lib.uic.edu/ERC/brieng/daily_briengs/1994/9411/941114db.html, accessed 

21 June 2005.

41. Toremans,“Operations in the Adriatic,” 34.

42. Wilson, Maritime Rules of Engagement, 3, 50.

43. Commander Destroyer Squadron Eighteen, “Rules of Engagement (ROE),” 22 February 

1999, Navy Lessons Learned Database.

44. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 19 (CD).

45. On USS Anzio, an Aegis ship serving as Red Crown, see “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for 

the Period 06 Mar 95–09 Mar 95,” para. 11A. On USS Kidd, a non-Aegis ship with recent 

upgrades for Red Crown duty, see “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 23 Mar 95–27 

Mar 95,” para. 27A. Both items contained in Folder “Sixth Fleet C.H. 1995 Folder 2 of 2,” 

Post-1990 Command File, Archives NHHC (CD).

46. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 40–41 (CD).

47. USS Arleigh Burke (DDG 51), “HF Action Circuit and Link Management for Sharp 

Guard MIO,” 7 August 1995, Navy Lessons Learned Database.

48. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 91–92 (CD).

49. Richard Heaton and Gregory Swider, IW Applications: Iraq and Former Yugoslavia

(Alexandria, VA: CNA, August 1995), 10.

50. “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP . . .” passim for 1995, “Sixth Fleet C.H. 1995 Folders,” Post1990 Command File, Archives NHHC (CD).

51. Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces Europe/U.S. Commander Eastern Atlantic, 

“Command History 1 January 1992 to 31 December 1992,” 12 August 1993, III-7, Folder 

“Europe U.S. Naval Forces/Eastern Atlantic, CH 1993,” Post-1990 Command File, Archives 

NHHC (CD).

52. For command relationships, see Figure 7 in Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian 

Operations, 89 (CD).

53. Typically three or four allied aircra, roughly one-third of them UK or Canadian, and six 

to eight USN patrol aircra; see “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 29 Dec 94–02 Jan 

95,” para. G, Folder “Sixth Fleet C.H. 1995 Folder 2 of 2,” Post-1990 Command File, Archives 

NHHC. See also International Institute of Strategic Studies, e Military Balance, 57. In the 

Canadian Forces the patrol aircra similar to the P-3 is designated the CP-140 Aurora (CD).
U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Sharp Guard 99

54. Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces Europe/US Commander Eastern Atlantic, 

“Command History 1 January 1993 to 31 December 1993,” 29 September 1994, III-43, Folder 

“Europe U.S. Naval Forces/Eastern Atlantic, CH 1993,” Post-1990 Command File, Archives 

NHHC. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 90, 92 (CD).

55. “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 29 Dec 94–02 Jan 95,” para. G.

56. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 94. Air Force EC-135s also ew 

such missions. See also USS Arleigh Burke, “HF Action Circuit and Link Management for 

Sharp Guard MIO” (CD).

57. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 41, 54–55 (CD).

58. Ibid., g. 7, 89.

59. “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 29 Dec 94–02 Jan 95,” para. H, “Submarine 

Attack Force” (CD).

60. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 11 (CD).

61. See, for example, “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 02 Mar 95 to 06 Mar 95,” para. 

7H, and “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 08 May 95 to 11 May 95,” para. 7H. See 

also Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 51–52 (CD).

62. See examples in “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 14–17 Feb 94,” para. F; 

“COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 21–24 Feb 94,” para. F; “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP 

for the Period 17–21 Mar 94,” para. F; and “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 09–12 

May 94,” para. F. All in Folder I “Sixth Fleet CH 1994,” Post-1990 Command File, Archives 

NHHC (CD).

63. Christopher Ford et al., e Admiral’s Advantage: U.S. Navy Operational Intelligence in 

World War II and the Cold War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2005), chaps. 3 and 

4, especially p. 44, 74–76.

64. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 55 (CD).

65. Ibid., 50 (CD).

66. Heaton and Swider, IW Applications, 27 (CD).

67. IFOR Final Factsheet, 2.

68. Swider et al., Naval Contributions to Bosnian Operations, 51 (CD).

69. “COMSIXTHFLT SITREP for the Period 09–12 May 94,” para A, Folder I “Sixth Fleet CH 

1994,” Post-1990 Command File, Archives NHHC (CD).

70. All details taken or derived from IFOR Final Factsheet, 1 and 6.

71. Ettore Greco, “e Evolving Partnership Between the United Nations and NATO: Lessons 

from the Yugoslav Experience,” n.d., 7, at http://www.nato.int/acad/fellow/95-97/greco.pdf, 

accessed 21 June 2005.
101

CHAPTER 4

e Combined Naval Role 

in East Timor

David Stevens

e management of the Coalition is the biggest issue.

—Commodore J. R. Stapleton, RAN, Naval Component Commander, Operation Stabilise

The successful INTERFET (International Force East Timor) deployment from September 1999 to February 2000 was about crisis 

intervention rather than outright conict; its aim, to provide a peaceful and secure environment in which the United Nations could conduct 

humanitarian assistance and nation building. But for the Australian 

Defence Force (ADF), it remains a watershed, marking not only the largest single deployment of Australian military forces overseas since World 

War II but also the rst time that Australia had provided the core force 

for a UN-mandated peace enforcement operation. Both aspects had more 

than transitory signicance, for they demonstrated the willingness of the 

Australian government to employ the ADF oshore in a manner that few 

local defense analysts or policymakers had hitherto expected. Instead 

of operating in its traditional role of junior partner in either a U.K.-or 

U.S.-led coalition, in East Timor Australia acted as chief contributor and 

lead nation: “that nation with the will and capability, competence, and 

inuence to provide the essential elements of political consultation and 

military leadership to coordinate the planning, mounting, and execution 

of a coalition military operation.”1

Involvement in Operation Stabilise, as the INTERFET deployment 

was known, nevertheless, severely stretched the ADF’s available resources 

and revealed a yawning gap between advertised and actual capability. 
102 David Stevens

Evolving from the post-Vietnam War pullback from the Southeast Asian 

region, the existing “Defence of Australia” doctrine was “threat based” 

and had envisioned the ADF primarily providing defense-in-depth for 

the Australian mainland.2

 In eect, the high-technology assets operated 

by the Royal Australian Navy (RAN) and Royal Australian Air Force 

(RAAF) would allow control of Australia’s sea and air approaches, leaving 

the Australian Army to deal with those enemy forces that managed to leak 

through the barrier.3

 Such a strategy le the army in particular with little 

capability for, or doctrinal interest in, the projection of military power 

at a distance. Yet, as the situation in East Timor developed into the most 

serious regional crisis since Vietnam, it seemed inevitable that Australia 

would need to intervene, and that to halt the escalating violence such 

intervention would need to be substantial.

From the start ADF planners recognized the need to assert INTERFET’s authority across all levels of a fractured society, making face-to-face 

contact with both potential belligerents and local supporters vital. is 

practical need inevitably placed a high priority on assembling a broadbased coalition willing to deploy signicant forces ashore.4

 e tendency 

at the time and subsequently to examine the operation primarily in terms 

of “boots on the ground” has, however, served to seriously skew our more 

general understanding of the part played by other force elements.5

 In fact 

INTERFET was very much a joint and combined force, and as its commander, Australian Army Major General Peter Cosgrove, unhesitatingly 

acknowledged, the naval presence was not “an incidental, nice to have ‘add 

on’.”Rather, he continued, “it was an important indicator of international 

resolve and most reassuring to all of us who relied on sea lifelines.”6

 Yet more 

than this, the capability, responsiveness, and exibility of coalition naval 

assets ensured INTERFET could operate in a secure environment, allowed 

in-theater mobility, and then oered continuing sustainment. “Mass,” 

Norman Friedman underlines in Seapower as Strategy, “has to come by 

sea,”7

 and in terms of logistics support multinational sea power provided 

INTERFET’s functioning foundation.

It is within this context of coalition interdependence, or “strength 

through diversity,” that we can most usefully examine the combined naval 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 103

role in East Timor. Australia did not have the maritime assets available 

to go in alone, even had such an option been desirable. Close to seamless 

cooperation, something that Western navies have long looked upon as 

operational bedrock, proved vital to provide appropriate capabilities and 

get the best out of individual force elements.

Background 

Situated just south of the Equator between the Timor and Banda seas, 

the island of Timor is at the eastern end of the Lesser Sunda Archipelago 

and some four hundred nautical miles from the nearest large Australian 

port at Darwin. Mountainous, thickly vegetated and poorly developed, the 

island is about 470 kilometers long and 110 kilometers wide. Politically 

and culturally, it is divided into two. West Timor, a former Dutch colony, 

passed to the new Republic of Indonesia in 1949 with the dissolution of the 

Dutch East Indies. East Timor, on the other hand, had been colonized by 

Portugal. Not until 1975, following a regime change in Lisbon, did moves 

begin to replace the colonial administration with a popular assembly. In 

a sad foretaste of future events, Portugal proved unable to control the 

violent clashes between those East Timorese who sought independence 

and those who favored integration with Indonesia, and eectively 

abandoned the territory to civil war. On the pretext of restoring order, 

Indonesia invaded on 7 December 1975 and assisted the pro-integration 

parties with establishing their own provisional government. Ignoring calls 

by both the United Nations Security Council and the General Assembly 

to respect East Timor’s territorial integrity, the Indonesian parliament 

formally incorporated the province into the Republic on 17 July 1976.8

ereaer the General Assembly routinely rearmed the right of East 

Timor’s 800,000 people to self-determination, but largely limited practical 

assistance to the promotion of dialogue between the various interest groups. 

ese measures did little to quell local dissatisfaction with the profound 

social changes imposed by the imported Indonesian administration, or to 

prevent the province from remaining a serious internal security problem. 

e continuing large military presence not only overwhelmed any attempts 

at normality but also ensured that the Indonesian national armed forces
104 David Stevens

East Timor

(TNI) dominated the development process.9 Moreover, attempting to 

cut o pro-independence guerrilla groups from popular support, the 

TNI regularly resorted to a heavy-handed policy that kept international 

attention focused on Indonesia’s poor human rights record.10 Events such 

as the well-documented 1991 massacre in the East Timorese capital of Dili 

simply highlighted the depth of the continuing tragedy.11

e rst real hopes for reform came with another external regime 

change. In May 1998 Indonesian President Suharto’s 31 years of authoritarian rule came to an end, and the following month new President B. 

J. Habibie announced that his administration might be prepared to give 

East Timor special status within the Republic. Subsequent tripartite talks 

between Indonesia, Portugal, and UN Secretary-General Ko Annan 

eventually reached agreement on the use of a direct ballot to determine 

Courtesy National Geospatial Agency
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 105

East Timorese willingness to either accept substantial internal autonomy or formally separate from Indonesia.12 Responsibility for arranging 

the popular consultation fell to the UN, and in June 1999 the Security 

Council established the United Nations Mission in East Timor (UNAMET), involving up to 280 civilian police ocers and 50 military liaison 

ocers. UNAMET did not have a mandate to enforce security, but UN 

Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) 1236, adopted on 7 May 1999, had 

already stressed the Indonesian government’s responsibility to ensure the 

safety of international sta and observers.13

At this time the TNI still maintained some 18,000 troops in East Timor. 

But far more volatile were the more than 20,000 members of various armed 

militia groups, who supported autonomy over independence and planned 

to inuence the vote through a widespread campaign of intimidation. Command and materiel linkages between the TNI and militia were clear to outside 

observers, even if “the extent to which TNI’s actions on the ground were sanctioned by, or ordered from Jakarta” remained murky.14 e pro-independence 

FALINTIL (National Armed Forces for the Liberation of East Timor) guerrilla army, by contrast, could deploy just 2,000 men and was following a policy of 

restraint.15 Militia activity became more intense during July 1999, with threats 

made against UNAMET sta and thousands of East Timorese forced to leave 

their homes. Despite a three-week delay caused by the community unrest, the 

ballot was held successfully on 30 August 1999. Some 95 percent of registered 

voters went to the polls, and more than 78 percent of these decided to reject 

the autonomy proposal and opt instead for independence.16

e result, however, sparked an escalating campaign of planned retributive violence.17 Unwilling to accept their loss, militia groups, at times 

supported or sanctioned by Indonesian security forces, rampaged through 

towns attacking residents, burning homes, and destroying local infrastructure. Over the next few weeks several thousand East Timorese were murdered while another 500,000 ed to safety.18 Indonesia emphatically denied 

any TNI involvement and initially opposed any suggestion of a foreign security presence, but its own attempts to restore order, including a declaration of martial law, had little or no eect. On 8 September, following the 

deaths of four local UNAMET workers, the UN announced a total withdrawal. Calls from the international community for action on the deepening 
106 David Stevens

humanitarian crisis grew more strident, and over the next week, the UN 

secretary-general maintained constant contact with President Habibie 

and those states likely to play a key role in mounting and supporting a 

peace-enforcement operation.19 On 12 September Habibie bowed at last to 

the pressure and announced Indonesia’s readiness to accept external assistance. ree days later the UN Security Council adopted Resolution 1264:

Determining that the present situation in East Timor constitutes a threat 

to peace and security, [and] Acting under Chapter VII of the Charter of 

the United Nations. . . . Authorizes the establishment of a multinational 

force under a unied command structure, pursuant to the request of 

the Government of Indonesia conveyed to the Secretary-General on 12 

September 1999, with the following tasks: to restore peace and security 

in East Timor, to protect and support UNAMET in carrying out its 

tasks and, within force capabilities, to facilitate humanitarian assistance 

operations; and authorizes the States participating in the multinational 

force to take all necessary measures to full this mandate.20

e secretary-general had earlier invited Australia to lead the multinational force.21 In ocially announcing acceptance, Australian Foreign Minister Alexander Downer expressed his delight that the UNSC resolution was 

unanimous and strongly worded. Unusually for the UN, the mandate was “unambiguous and clear cut.”22 Indeed, in comparison with most other UN-sponsored missions, there were several remarkable features about the INTERFET 

deployment, not least the speed with which it was mounted followed by 

its clear and unqualied success. Elated by the partnership established 

between the UN and the people of East Timor, Secretary-General Annan 

soon proudly held up INTERFET as a model peace-enforcement operation.23

For Australians, however, perhaps the most notable feature of Operation 

Stabilise was that the operation had taken place under their leadership. 

Preparation and Planning

An archipelago comprising more than 17,000 islands, Indonesia is 

both the largest and most populous nation in Southeast Asia and shares with 

Australia more than a thousand miles of maritime boundary. As more than 

one foreign policy analyst has noted, Australia needs Indonesia more than 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 107

Indonesia needs Australia,24 and this strategic reality was reinforced regularly 

in the security context. “Our defence relationship with Indonesia,” noted the 

1994 Defence White Paper, “is our most important in the region and a key 

element in Australia’s approach to regional defence engagement. It is underpinned by an increasing awareness of our shared strategic interests and 

perceptions.”25

Like most of the Western world, Australia, while expressing concern 

for humanitarian issues, had readily acquiesced to Indonesia’s 1975 invasion 

of East Timor. ree years later Australia announced its decision to “recognize de facto” that the province was part of Indonesia.26 Notwithstanding the 

objections of a vocal East Timorese lobby, Australian politicians had thereaer trod warily around the issue, seemingly unwilling to risk trade and 

security ties with their most important neighbor.27 Even so, as evidence of the 

deliberate pattern of violence and intimidation mounted in the rst months 

of 1999, the situation garnered increasing political attention. Buoyed by 

growing international and public demands for action, East Timor rapidly 

moved from its position as an irritant in the bilateral relationship to the top 

of Australia’s regional foreign policy agenda.28

e aring of ethnic tensions within several Indonesian provinces in 

the wake of President Suharto’s departure had already raised Australian 

fears of a wider descent into lawlessness. President Habibie enjoyed an 

uncertain legitimacy in Indonesia, and as early as May 1998 the ADF 

became aware that it might have to deploy forces to evacuate Australian 

citizens working in the country.29 By the end of the year Chief of the 

Defence Force Admiral Chris Barrie, RAN, had publicly warned that the 

ADF needed to be ready for a “very signicant military operation . . . much 

more widespread than anything we might have contemplated 15 to 18 

months ago.”30 Barrie gained agreement to raise the readiness and strength 

of certain ADF elements, and when announcing these measures in March 

1999, Australian Defence Minister John Moore included East Timor in the 

context of regional contingencies that might arise at short notice. Moore 

noted that a peacekeeping mission was not yet in prospect, but added, “e 

Government’s responsibility, and our intention is to be in a position to be 

able to respond eectively to a considerable range of possibilities.”31
108 David Stevens

Indonesian authorities were not consulted on developing ADF plans, 

but discussions between Australia and possible coalition partners were 

already underway at various diplomatic and military levels.32 An obvious 

rst port of call was New Zealand, where the ANZAC tradition and 

long-standing cross-Tasman alliance had made the two defense forces 

highly interoperable.33 Australia had yet to seek a denite commitment, 

but there seemed little doubt that New Zealand supported a substantial 

and fully cooperative eort. e chief of the New Zealand Defence Force, 

Air Marshal Carey Adamson, later acknowledged how his force elements 

had been chosen in consultation with Admiral Barrie, how they were 

readily placed under Australian control, and how close cooperation proved 

crucial to getting the best out of scarce assets.34 Integration with the Royal 

New Zealand Navy was so close that the frigate HMNZS Canterbury’s 

commanding ocer, Commander Warren Cummins, RNZN, later 

described how in practical terms his ship “became an Australian frigate.”35

Coalition warships from Italy, Thailand, Portugal, and Australia crowd the wharf at Darwin, 

Australia.

Sea Power Centre–Australia
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 109

Given East Timor’s geographical proximity to Australia, and U.S. preoccupation with the campaign then underway in Kosovo, ADF planners 

expected practical support from the Northern Hemisphere to be far more 

limited. Ties with the U.S. were nevertheless exploited wherever possible. 

From an early date the U.S. military became involved in contingency planning,36 and initial advice from Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Sta General 

Hugh Shelton indicated that though the U.S. would not provide “shooters,” 

assistance with logistics, intelligence, and communications was likely.37

Such assurance, even without political agreement, comforted planners 

already identifying large gaps in Australian capability. By U.S. standards 

Australia maintains only a small force at high readiness, and the ADF was 

being thoroughly scoured for both deployable and enabling forces. 

Sustainment was the most dicult issue facing ADF planners, and 

from an RAN perspective the most signicant shortfall was in heavy seali, 

in part due to the delays in modernizing two Newport-class amphibious 

transports purchased from the U.S. Navy in 1994.38 is le only the heavy 

landing ship HMAS Tobruk, itself long overdue for an extended maintenance 

period.39 In a hurried if signicant addition to its force structure, in May 1999, 

the RAN commissioned HMAS Jervis Bay, an 86-meter, fast wave-piercing 

catamaran built for commercial ferry service and chartered directly from 

the builder. Although not acquired with East Timor specically in mind, the 

voyage from Darwin to Dili and return was within Jervis Bay’s unrefueled 

range at 40 knots, and during Stabilise, she was to prove her worth time 

and again.40 For a substantial military contingency, however, additional 

seali capacity would be needed and must either come from other coalition 

partners or involve further short-notice commercial charters.

As the referendum drew closer, the ADF continued to turn over some 

of the “what ifs” attendant upon a Service Assisted Evacuation from East 

Timor, which had by now received the ADF code name Operation Spit-

re. Most of the detailed work was done by the newly established Deployable Joint Force Headquarters (DJFHQ), an army organization located in 

Brisbane, which later formed the core of INTERFET’s Joint and Combined 

Task Force Headquarters. DJFHQ and later INTERFET Commander Major 

General Cosgrove has admitted that this work “was far from the depth of 
110 David Stevens

planning desirable for an emerging military contingency.”41 But regardless of military prudence, Cosgrove understood that the Australian government and public, not to mention the international community, would 

expect any substantial on-the-ground presence in East Timor to be ready 

and inserted quickly. Hence DJFHQ simultaneously developed plans for a 

larger and longer-term peacekeeping-type commitment. In essence, Cosgrove took the high-end evacuation plan and modied it to require the insertion of a light infantry brigade through Dili, with the addition of some 

more robust capabilities and a logistics component. 

Australian planners were already working with UN security sta and 

assumed that the ADF would lead any deployed multinational force.42 But 

while they were aware of signicant international lobbying by Australian 

and New Zealand diplomats, neither the expected composition nor 

structure of the force nor the extent and strength of the UN mandate 

could yet be guaranteed. Also uncertain was the level of cooperation 

to be expected either from Indonesian authorities or, more particularly, 

from the TNI, which at the very best would be uneven and might actually

HMAS Jervis Bay sails from Dili after delivering more INTERFET troops to East Timor.

Sea Power Centre–Australia
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 111

be hostile. For the previous quarter-century the armed forces had been the 

primary implementers of Indonesian policy in East Timor. Control was 

now slipping from their grasp. Australia’s leading role in bringing about this 

change appeared to most Indonesians as a departure from the previous stance 

of cooperation and understanding, and an act against their national pride.43

Among other complications, this pervasive attitude meant that any deployed 

force would need to deal with a major public misinformation campaign 

generated by the Indonesian media, with ow-on eects into the region.

Australia’s diplomatic maneuvering and operational plans needed 

to strike a careful balance, ensuring that Indonesian sensibilities were not 

directly oended, while adopting a rm posture that would help the TNI to 

withdraw in an orderly fashion. An important consideration was to secure 

a strong local component to legitimize Australia’s leadership role, improve 

its regional image, and lend INTERFET credibility as a whole. Indonesia 

specically asked for an ASEAN (Association of Southeast Asian Nations) 

presence in the force,44 but determining how far these nations might commit 

posed problems. Joining INTERFET, aer all, “would mean a departure 

from the principle of mutual noninterference by which ASEAN members 

had always been bound, politically and psychologically,” and would be 

a considerable step for them to take.45 As late as 14–18 September, Vice 

Chief Air Marshal Doug Riding, RAAF, was still conducting a “whistlestop 

tour” through Southeast Asia, attempting to inuence the nature of the 

contributions and help shape the structure and capabilities of the force.46

Results were mixed. ailand announced on 16 September that it would 

provide INTERFET’s deputy commander and ultimately sent some 1,600 

troops, the largest national contingent aer Australia.47 e Philippines, by 

contrast, contributed a “humanitarian relief task force” to INTERFET and 

balanced this by sending a medical team to West Timor.48

e maritime component of Deployable Joint Force Headquarters had 

only been set up at Maritime Headquarters in Sydney in January 1999, and 

in late August a small planning team was assigned to assist with Operation 

Spitre.49 e bulk of the team received orders to move from Sydney 

to Brisbane on 7 September, just prior to the release of the Operation 

Stabilise warning order.50 ereaer DJFHQ (M) became the Naval 
112 David Stevens

Component Command, “an ‘Environmental Sub-Unit Command’ under 

Commander INTERFET,”51 and began planning in earnest for the larger 

operational commitment. Responsible for the command and control of 

maritime units assigned to INTERFET, the naval component immediately 

established connectivity with the various ships and headquarters 

organizations involved in the deployment. It then worked to develop 

the maritime concept of operations while simultaneously contributing 

to all parts of the joint and combined planning task. Notwithstanding 

the ADF’s long-standing claim to be a joint organization, the army was 

not used to the other two services questioning what they were doing and 

why they were doing it. As such, a rst step for the newly appointed Naval 

Component Commander (NCC), Commodore J. R. Stapleton, RAN, was to 

establish trust with Cosgrove, who had not previously worked with either

INTERFET Naval Component Commander, Commodore J. R. Stapleton, RAN, left, and his Chief 

of Staff, Commander Daryl Bates, RAN.

Sea Power Centre–Australia
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 113

him or the Air Component Commander (ACC), Air Commodore Roxley 

McLennan, RAAF. Stapleton even recalls having to barge into his rst joint 

planning meeting in Brisbane because he had not been invited to attend.52

e frenetic pace of early activity contributed to such oversights, but 

the separate commanders quickly established a good working relationship, 

as did their key sta ocers.53 Fortuitously, several in the naval component 

had already gained experience with Cosgrove’s organization, having 

completed the planning and, more important, the CPX (Command Post 

Exercise) phase for Exercise Crocodile 99, a major Australian-U.S. joint 

event that had begun in August and was aimed primarily at improving 

interoperability.54 is exposure proved extremely important to the 

successful planning and execution of Stabilise, for as one senior member 

of the naval sta observed: “e value of knowing your opposite number, 

the planning team, planning methods and knowing the requirements/

capabilities of the other services can not be underestimated [sic].”55

NCC’s aim throughout Stabilise was to support the land forces in 

achieving their goals, which in the initial stages were based on the insertion 

of the maximum combat forces in the minimum time. To this end, early 

maritime planning focused on area surveillance, protection of the sea 

lines of communication to East Timor, and provision of appropriate seali 

assets to bring in troops and heavy equipment. Key stakeholders readily 

appreciated these aspects of the maritime plan, but non-naval planners 

were found to be far less familiar with the importance of the naval role 

in many other areas, notably broader maritime tactical operations, 

combat support services, and port operations. It took time to establish 

a better understanding of naval capabilities throughout HQ INTERFET 

and for early and extensive consultation with the naval component to 

become a matter of course. e results were evident in some of the initial 

directives associated with Stabilise. Tobruk, for example, noted in her 

post-deployment report that these were largely land-oriented and did 

not consider maritime issues.56 e joint task force commander, Captain 

(N) Roger Girouard, CF, similarly observed that, in comparison with a 

Canadian headquarters, at HQ INTERFET the air and naval components 

were essentially “add-on elements.”57
114 David Stevens

As the coalition formed, it constantly reviewed plans, and teams from 

the participating nations provided advice on the assets assigned.58 Identied 

capability shortfalls were passed up the command chain, and Admiral Barrie 

remained in constant touch with his foreign counterparts.59 Yet, because the 

circumstances on the ground were both in crisis and constantly changing, 

even determining the overall operational framework for the deployment 

remained a challenge. Quickly appreciated by all was the absence of hostnation support, a situation worsened by the knowledge that what little 

infrastructure existed in East Timor was rapidly being destroyed.Nor would 

any commercial contractors be available in Dili, or indeed, any population 

center closer than Darwin. is latter aspect posed a signicant problem for 

a moderate-size defense force like the ADF, which had generally expected to 

contract out many of its support tasks. e push during the preceding years 

to outsource noncore functions with the intention of improving the ADF’s 

combat eectiveness also meant that essential trades ranging from cooks to 

terminal handlers were in short supply.60

INTERFET eventually included contingents from 22 nations, of which 

10 provided naval assets as detailed in Tables 1 and 2. In terms of both hulls 

(22 vs. 14) and ship days in theater (971 vs. 784), the RAN would eventually 

be in the minority, but in the initial phase the naval force was primarily 

Australian. Ad hoc arrangements regarding command and control and other 

key issues would be required, but successfully operating with this coalescing 

multinational force was in no way daunting to Stapleton. His appointment 

as the Naval Component Commander derived from his existing role as 

Commodore Flotillas (COMFLOT), the immediate commander of the 

RAN’s seagoing eet. Like most RAN ocers, he had spent much of his 

professional career working closely with allied and regional navies, including 

several years on exchange service. e Australian ships he had available had 

been involved in a succession of bilateral and multilateral exercises and 

were already worked up to a high eciency level. Several members of the 

international contingent, notably New Zealand and the United Kingdom, 

had likewise been active in recent combined exercises in Australian waters. 

Stapleton had therefore just worked with them at sea, was aware of each 

ship’s individual capabilities, and knew their commanding ocers well.61
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 115

Table 1. Maritime INTERFET Coalition Vessels

Nation Ship Period allocated to INTERFET

Canada Protecteur (AOR 509) 23 Oct 1999–23 Jan 2000

France Vendémiaire (FFG 734) 20 Sep–17 Nov 1999

Siroco (LSD 9012) 10 Oct–25 Nov 1999

Prairial (FFG 731) 16 Oct–29 Nov 1999

Jacques Cartier (LST 9033) 28 Nov 1999–12 Jan 2000

Italy San Giusto (LPD 9894) 26 Oct 1999–15 Feb 2000

New Zealand Endeavour (AOR 11) 21–24 Sep 1999, 28 Jan–23 Feb 2000

Te Kaha (FFH 77) 19–26 Sep 1999

Canterbury (FFH 421) 26 Sep–12 Dec 1999

Portugal Vasco Da Gama (FFG 330) 16 Nov 1999–22 Feb 2000

Singapore Excellence (LST 202) 10 Oct–27 Nov 1999

Intrepid (LST 203) 10 Oct–13 Dec 1999

Perseverence (LSL 206) 9 Jan–17 Feb 2000

Thailand Surin (LST 722) 28 Oct 1999–23 Feb 2000

United Kingdom Glasgow (DDG 88) 19–29 Sep 1999

United States Mobile Bay (CG 53) 20 Sep–5 Oct 1999

Kilauea (T-AE 26) 20 Sep–2 Oct 1999

Belleau Wood (LHA 3) 5–28 Oct 1999

Tippecanoe (T-AO 199) 16–24 Oct 1999

San Jose (T-AFS 7) 25–31 Oct 1999

Peleliu (LHA 5) 26 Oct–27 Nov 1999

Juneau (LPD 10) 28–31 Jan 2000
116 David Stevens

Table 2. Maritime INTERFET – Australian Units

Ship Period allocated to INTERFET

Anzac

(FFH 150)

19–29 Sep 1999

Adelaide

(FFG 01)

19 Sep–19 Oct 1999

Success

(AOR 304)

19 Sep–28 Oct 1999

Darwin 

(FFG 04)

19 Sep–3 Nov 1999

Australian Clearance 

Diving Team Four

19 Sep–2 Dec 1999

Hydrographic Office 

Detached Survey Unit

19 Sep–2 Dec 1999

Tobruk

(LSH 50)

20 Sep–6 Nov 1999

Balikpapan

(LCH 126)

20 Sep–13 Nov 1999

 8 Dec 1999–15 Jan 2000

Brunei

(LCH 127)

20 Sep–17 Nov 1999, 8 Dec 1999–15 Jan 2000,

15–23 Feb 2000

Labuan

(LCH 128)

20 Sep–14 Oct 1999, 10 Nov–8 Dec 1999,

19–23 Feb 2000

Jervis Bay

(AKR 45)

21 Sep 1999–23 Feb 2000

Tarakan

(LCH 129)

30 Oct–8 Dec 1999

13 Jan–16 Feb 2000

Sydney

(FFG 03)

3 Nov–19 Dec 1999

Australian Clearance 

Diving Team One

2 Dec 1999–17 Feb 2000

Newcastle 

(FFG 06)

19 Dec 1999–26 Jan 2000

Betano

(LCH 133)

19 Jan–19 Feb 2000

Melbourne 

(FFG 05)

20 Jan – 23 Feb 2000
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 117

Because Australia had taken the role of lead nation, by default 

the ADF’s command structure became the coalition force command 

concept. In ADF parlance, Major General Cosgrove was the “supported” 

commander, leaving the non-deploying Commander Australian eatre 

(COMAST), Air Vice Marshal R. B. Treloar, RAAF—the ADF’s designated 

operational level commander—as the “supporting” commander. In 

consequence, RAN units destined for East Timor might be assigned directly 

to Commander INTERFET (Major General Cosgrove as CTF 645) or 

remain under the COMAST Maritime Commander (Rear Admiral J. R. 

Lord, RAN, as CTF 627). But in either case, they ended up working for 

Commodore Stapleton, who remained dual-hatted as both NCC (CTG 

645.1) and COMFLOT (CTG 627.1). e command chain worked exibly 

enough, but did blur organizational responsibilities for subordinates 

and hence could become confusing, especially for units from navies 

less familiar with RAN operations. It also necessitated the creation of a 

separate collective signal address, “MARITIME INTERFET,” in order to 

direct all assigned maritime forces.

Some units from contributing nations were not allocated to either 

task force, meaning that NCC did not have operational control or even 

tactical control, but other command and control problems came directly 

from the diverse nature of the participants and the primacy of their own 

national objectives. ough all contributing nations were ostensibly 

deploying forces to help the East Timorese people, no member of the 

coalition wished to antagonize Indonesia unnecessarily or put at risk their

Coalition ships sit close off Dili Harbor: HMAS Success, HMAS Adelaide, and FNS Vendémiaire.

Sea Power Centre–Australia
118 David Stevens

own bilateral relationship. is consideration ensured Operation Stabilise 

maintained an overtly and highly sensitive political nature, and meant that 

all participants placed varying levels of restrictions on INTERFET tasking 

while retaining close contact with their own national command structures.

Most problematic for NCC were those units required to pass all tasking 

requests to home locations via their local national command elements in 

HQ INTERFET. Delays of up to three or four days were common, ruling 

out the possibility of any short-notice tasking. Following a request from 

Stapleton, most of the contributing nations soon allocated liaison ocers 

to the component, greatly helping to reduce response times and improve 

relationships. Indeed, good working relationships were the catalyst for a 

well-coordinated eort, and from the beginning Stapleton understood 

that it could never be a matter of laying down the law. Rather he needed 

to chip away at any resistance by building up liaison. He therefore made a 

point of establishing contact with units even before they arrived. As part 

of the joining procedure, he would attempt to determine what capacity 

they brought, the rules of engagement (ROE) under which they intended 

to work, and the particular limitations (political or other) within which 

they needed to work.62 e naval component sta would then produce an 

individual concept of operations for that unit.

An area needing especially close attention was the complex legal 

environment, which magnied the challenges involved in creating a 

cohesive operating framework.63 Unlike other peacekeeping operations 

during the 1990s, notably the Kosovo deployment where the UNSCR 

expressly recognized the sovereignty of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia,64

the United Nations had never accepted Indonesian claims to sovereignty 

over East Timor. In fact, apart from Australia and the United States, all 

other nations contributing to INTERFET had taken a similar stance on East 

Timor, seeing it as a “UN-designated non-self-governing territory” under 

de facto Indonesian control.65 is status immediately confused such issues 

as the legal status of East Timorese waters, and hence the delineation of 

the area of operations (AO), and had a direct impact on the supporting 

documents Australian authorities were producing on INTERFET’s behalf. 

As the authorized ROE lacked any detail with regard to rights of navigation, 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 119

maintaining consistency of approach could be dicult, particularly for 

those navies not used to operating in archipelagic regions. Comprehensive 

brieng and advice from NCC’s legal ocer became an essential component 

of the joining routine for all new arrivals.

An Australian naval task group commander is accustomed to 

operating with a small sta, but usually with backup provided by the ship 

in which the team is embarked. Because the RAN did not yet have available 

an appropriate aoat command platform,66 Stapleton and his sta deployed 

ashore with the remainder of HQ INTERFET, and in this context had the 

smallest component command in terms of numbers of people and the 

largest in terms of assets. As deployed to East Timor, the naval component 

comprised only ten RAN ocers and some six other ranks, with various 

coalition liaison ocers coming and going throughout the operation as 

illustrated in Table 1. is small group eventually controlled a force of 

35 warships, coordinated the eort of 8 other naval ships that operated 

purely in support of INTERFET, and assisted with the management of 

some 35 merchant ships.67 In addition, from the day of insertion NCC 

became harbor master for all East Timorese ports, managing the entry 

into theater of all military vehicles, equipment, and personnel, and the 

port requirements for commercial shipping and vessels carrying internally 

displaced persons and humanitarian assistance.

Control and Insertion

With the determination that securing Dili would be the key to 

controlling East Timor, the date for INTERFET’s insertion into the capital, 

D-day, was set for 20 September. In parallel with the nal stages of the 

Stabilise planning process, naval forces began gathering in Darwin. e 

growing RAN and RNZN contingent was joined in mid-September by the 

Aegis guided missile cruiser USS Mobile Bay and destroyer HMS Glasgow. 

Already on Far East deployment, Glasgow was an obvious selection for 

the British. Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacic Command (USCINCPAC) 

Admiral Dennis Blair, USN, likewise diverted Mobile Bay from participation 

in Crocodile 99 soon aer President Bill Clinton conrmed on 9 September 

that the United States would support an Australian-led peacekeeping force.68
120 David Stevens

Stapleton began brieng ship command teams on the broad outline of the 

maritime operational plan on 14 September, although the uidity of the 

situation on the ground made matters interesting. Arriving in Darwin on 

25 September, the multi-role vessel HMNZS Canterbury still found the 

state of aairs somewhat disorganized with operation orders and tasking 

messages at a minimum.69

Such criticism largely reects the diculty of rapidly bringing 

together an ad hoc coalition with minimal time to conduct negotiations 

or adopt framework documents. Cosgrove has recalled that “on the day of 

the operation, only a few of the likely force elements of INTERFET could 

be described with any accuracy or nality.”70 Notwithstanding Mobile 

Bay’s presence and the arrival of Commander, U.S. Forces INTERFET 

Brigadier General J. G. Castellaw, USMC, at Darwin on 17 September,71

even the possible U.S. contribution was still being considered and would 

not be settled for some time. Some of the participation agreements were 

reportedly not concluded at all during the period of the INTERFET 

deployment.72 Adopting a pragmatic approach was the only solution, with 

HQ INTERFET generally proceeding on the basis that an agreement was 

operative even though the contributing nation might not yet be a party. 

Overall direction of Stabilise took several days to settle down, but 

the naval organization at least was already largely in place. e senior 

Australian unit, the frigate HMAS Adelaide, had been designated CTG 

627.2 and composite warfare commander as early as 10 September.73 is 

task organization was similar to that used in recent exercises and oered 

no surprises to the other navies then represented. e predominance of 

RAN and RNZN combat assets at this stage also made ROE for the task 

group quite manageable. One of the Naval Component Commander’s 

responsibilities had been to ensure that authorized ROE were adequate for 

maritime purposes, and with a cohesive force and robust UN mandate this 

was not overly dicult.74

On 18 September Adelaide sailed her task group—comprising the 

frigate Anzac, replenishment ship Success, and landing ship Tobruk; the 

heavy landing cra Balikpapan, Brunei, and Labuan; together with the 

destroyer HMS Glasgow and the frigate HMNZS Te Kaha—from Darwin 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 121

for the AO. e simultaneous departure of so many ships received extensive 

media coverage, eectively putting to rest any continuing speculation 

surrounding the insertion of INTERFET. Once clear of the harbor, the 

task group dispersed into distinct elements based on functional tasking, 

with escorts covering the logistic and amphibious units. Even as these 

units sailed, other INTERFET naval assets, including USS Mobile Bay, the 

small New Zealand tanker HMNZS Endeavour, the French frigate FNS 

Vendémiaire, and Australian frigate HMAS Darwin were already at sea 

just outside East Timorese waters. 

In late August the Australian Maritime Commander, Rear Admiral 

Lord, had recalled Darwin from a Southeast Asian deployment and tasked 

her with participation in Operation Spitre. Arriving in the waters o 

southeastern East Timor on 6 September, the frigatebecame the rst coalition 

unit on station, and for the next 12 days patrolled a 60-by-20-nautical-mile 

box near the Wetar Strait.75 Initially positioned to provide search and rescue, 

ight deck, and basic medical support for army helicopters transiting from 

Australia, Darwin was well placed to begin building and maintaining a 

comprehensive surveillance picture. Indonesian military assets showed 

interest, and pleasantries were exchanged, but by maintaining her station 

outside territorial waters the frigate was under no obligation to move. 

Darwin was also well positioned to escort the fast transport HMAS Jervis

Bay, which on three occasions sailed briey from Darwin with a ground 

security force embarked and ready to assist with the handling of evacuees. 

In the event, none of these additional support measures was needed, and 

RAAF and Royal New Zealand Air Force aircra extracted safely almost 

2,500 authorized personnel between 6 and 14 September.76

Following the announcement of INTERFET, TNI movements around 

East Timor increased, and interaction with coalition units became less 

friendly. In addition to the thousands of Indonesian troops still maintained ashore, military aircra were active from airelds in West Timor, 

while at least two submarines, together with several logistic ships and 

surface combatants, operated o the coast. Early identication of all contacts was essential as the TNI seemed determined to make its presence felt. 

Some Indonesian warships, recalled Commander Cummins, “were more 
122 David Stevens

aggressive in their actions than others, they were all very quiet, they 

wouldn’t talk and they wouldn’t radiate and the rst indication was generally a visual bearing and some of them got quite close especially at night.”77

Although mainstream thought in the TNI understood that mischance 

needed to be avoided, there were some in the TNI “who, for other reasons, 

were not as worried about that, and some whose sense of outrage clouded 

their judgment.”78 Without any means to identify these “rogue elements,” 

coalition commanders had to consider all Indonesian military assets a potential threat until they retired from the area. At the same time, INTERFET aimed to avoid confrontation. Following advice to either maintain 

the status quo or just keep things calm, Darwin maintained her patrol in 

the lead-up to D-day, moving into the outer areas of her box to avoid misunderstandings but be able to maintain a comprehensive maritime picture. 

As in most littoral operations, the greatest threat came from unalerted 

air contacts coming quickly o the coast, and it was now that the unique 

capabilities brought by individual coalition members could be readily appreciated. Mobile Bay entered the AO as the most sophisticated combatant available to the coalition. Although operational control remained rmly 

in U.S. hands, the ship readily provided extensive support to the maritime 

task group in a variety of intelligence-gathering and surveillance roles. 

roughout her time in theater, the Aegis cruiser remained Air Warfare 

Commander and her weapons, sensors, and battle management systems 

“meant that the force could operate with a high degree of condence, even 

without the continuous presence of friendly ghter aircra.”79

Mobile Bay did not operate alone, and during the initial insertion all 

coalition surface combatants and maritime patrol aircra were eectively 

integrated and able to support an area wide surveillance picture through 

standard “LOCATOR” reports and Link 11. e vast array of sensors these 

units operated and, equally important, their ability to display, manipulate, and 

communicate the collected information provided INTERFET commanders 

with the tools to make educated decisions. ere were problems, for example, 

in marrying the maritime surveillance picture with that on land, but the 

capability to detect and track multiple contacts in several dimensions, and 

for as long as was needed, ensured that INTERFET received a recognized 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 123

picture extending out to at least 400 nautical miles from Dili. With this level 

of battlespace surveillance the likelihood of the force being taken by surprise 

was greatly minimized if not completely removed. 

Although high-frequency Link operations were hampered by East 

Timor’s mountainous geography, the linked picture was also relayed 

to mainland Australia via the OTCIXS (Ocer in Tactical Command 

Information Exchange Subsystem) network to the Joint Intelligence 

Centre at HQ Australian eatre in Sydney. Hence, when on 19 

September Cosgrove ew into Dili for discussions with the senior TNI 

ocer in East Timor, Major General Kiki Syahnakri, he arrived with a 

good understanding of the situation. Concerned by the time it might take 

to build up INTERFET combat power ashore, Cosgrove made clear his 

requirements for aireld and port use and deployment areas. Indonesian 

authorities seemed taken aback by the size and rapidity of the intended 

deployment, but as a result of these discussions Cosgrove was able to 

make his insertion plan a little less confrontational, delaying slightly the 

immediate deployment of the Australian Army’s Black Hawk helicopters.80

e rst few days of the operation were nonetheless tense. e 

situation ashore was highly charged, and Cosgrove placed great reliance 

on an assortment of coalition warghting capabilities. Adopting what he 

has described as “a Rooseveltian approach” (“Speak soly and carry a big 

stick.”), Cosgrove acknowledged the advantage INTERFET gained from 

“the persuasive, intimidatory or deterrent nature of major warships.”81

e Operation Stabilise execution order went out late on 19 September, 

and the following dawn, the residents of Dili awoke to nd the destroyer 

Glasgow, frigates Anzac and Darwin, and the tanker Success just o the 

harbor. Darwin detached to patrol the western approaches, while Anzac, 

assuming the role of Dili Guardship, provided close escort protection for 

Success. An hour later the rst of 15 RAAF and coalition C-130 transport 

aircra allocated for the initial insertion of land forces arrived at Dili 

airport.82 Small parties of INTERFET Special Forces rst secured the airport 

and then began moving into the devastated and still burning town. Later in 

the day Major General Cosgrove and his command element arrived to set 

up HQ INTERFET, although it was not fully established until 25 September.
124 David Stevens

Sea Power Centre–Australia

A chartered merchant ship unloads army vehicles at Dili.

On 21 September, watched closely by a number of Indonesian naval 

vessels at anchor and alongside, the coalition amphibious group arrived 

at Dili to begin landing INTERFET’s heavy equipment. Special Forces 

had already secured the wharf and, while clearance divers worked quickly 

to remove a wreck placed by the Indonesians at the bottom of the berth, 

a Hydrographic Oce Detached Survey Unit (HODSU) conducted 

a rudimentary survey of the port approaches to conrm navigational 

safety.83 Unloading began at dawn and by sunset the entire port was 

open and a beach landing site had been cleared and was operating. at 

same day Jervis Bay completed the rst of her ferry runs from Darwin 

to Dili to add bulk to the troop buildup.84 With more than 3,000 troops 

and their equipment landed by air and sea within the rst 48 hours, 

the initial insertion was robust, rapid, and clearly professional, helping 

to make the force appear larger than it actually was. But it was at the 

port, rather than at the more remote aireld, that this demonstration 

of ecient and determined operations made the greatest impression. 

ousands of civilian and military onlookers were le in no doubt either 

about INTERFET’s intentions or the fact that the TNI were no longer in 

control.85
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 125

ese rst amphibious lodgments also added emphasis to the necessity 

of protection operations. As necessary the movements of high-interest 

contacts, such as the two Indonesian submarines, were continuously 

observed and surveillance responsibilities handed over between coalition 

units.86 ere was no illumination by re-control radars, but the coalition’s 

seamless monitoring le no room for waywardness. During the rst 

few days Anzac, Glasgow, and Darwin received additional support from 

Adelaide, Te Kaha, and Mobile Bay, which, when not providing close 

escort to and from Darwin, patrolled the eastern and western approaches 

to Dili. e impact these large, gray, and obviously well-armed assets had 

on the many observers ashore should also not be underestimated. Purely 

through presence, the coalition’s maritime forces plainly demonstrated 

both international resolve and INTERFET’s ability to defend itself at its 

most vulnerable time. e Canadian CJTF commander put it succinctly:

. . . an armada is still an impressive and intimidating sight. e 

coalition’s massed tonnage and naval might in the approaches to 

Dili helped convince the TNI and the Government of Indonesia that 

the international community had in fact ranged itself in full support 

of an independent East Timor, in a way that coalition forces ashore 

could not. Sea power as a diplomatic force is alive and well.87

Other coalition commanders went further. Air Marshal Adamson, 

for one, concluded that the reason the Indonesian military threat “didn’t 

become anything more than just a threat . . . was because of the strong and 

vigorous naval presence we had right from the beginning.”88 Most important, 

this deterrent eect was present irrespective of an individual coalition unit’s 

national ROE. An outside observer could not miss seeing that INTERFET 

had brought along the capability to provide an overwhelming response 

to a threatening action. is display limited what potential belligerents 

could do, as they had no way to determine what they might get away with. 

Militia provocations and challenges to INTERFET’s authority did take place 

ashore, but they were invariably low-level, cautious, and unorganized, doing 

nothing to prevent INTERFET from gaining and maintaining the initiative.

In eect, the presence of maritime forces provided INTERFET with a 

multidimensional protective umbrella, or “ring of steel,”89 as Commander 
126 David Stevens

Cummins described it—one that limited the possibility of external 

interference and directly empowered land force commanders, allowing 

them to concentrate on the mission at hand. Equally signicant, highend combat capabilities combined with the inherent mobility of maritime 

forces went far toward making the coalition presence seem ubiquitous. 

Moreover, should the situation ashore ever have become untenable, 

the naval component formed the only credible basis for an emergency 

extraction plan. Together these factors were tremendous condence 

builders for INTERFET forces as a whole, and the Naval Component 

Commander ensured they were maintained for as long as was needed.

Implicit in all this maritime activity was the requirement for 

sustained high-level interoperability. “INTERFET,” as one New Zealand 

academic study concluded, “functioned in the crucial rst week because 

the Australian armed forces could interoperate with diverse contingents 

drawn from Britain, France, New Zealand and the United States.”90 In 

the maritime environment interoperability was best evidenced in the vital 

role of Dili Guardship whose responsibilities included allocating force 

protection for seali and sustainment assets, developing and maintaining 

the recognized maritime and air picture, and acting as local warfare 

commander. During the rst critical week the role routinely passed 

between the dierent combatant units of the RAN, Royal Navy, and U.S. 

Navy.91 Condence in the easy transfer of such responsibilities can only be 

obtained from common operational doctrine and close familiarity among 

units. As highlighted by Captain James Goldrick, then the director of the 

RAN’s Sea Power Centre, frequent, challenging, and realistic “bi-lateral 

and multi-lateral exercises pay huge dividends in this regard,” allowing 

mutual experience to easily translate into the operational sphere.92

Interoperability also provides context for understanding connectivity 

with information and intelligence sources. Here the C4I (command, 

control, communications, computers, and intelligence) support provided 

by U.S. forces played a pivotal role, with USCINCPAC’s Defense 

Information Systems Network (DISN), MSQ-126, arriving at Darwin 

with 18 personnel on 19 September.93 A U.S. eet systems support asset 

designed for rapid deployment to provide DISN services for early-entry 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 127

forces, the MSQ thereaer “provided DSN (Defense Switched Network), 

NIPRNET (Non-Classied Internet Protocol Router Network), SIPRNET, 

video, GCCS (Global Command and Control System), and AUTODIN 

(Automatic Digital Network) messaging.”94 For the Australian Naval 

Component Commander, the U.S.-sponsored GCCS, a successor to the 

Joint Operation Tactical System, proved to be an invaluable command 

analysis tool and secondary communications system. rough GCCS, 

the naval component had both eective situational awareness and a 

ship-shore communications system working before midnight on D-day, 

a remarkable achievement. Indeed, because most other systems ashore 

took time to establish, ship systems at rst provided the backbone of 

INTERFET communications, and because he had ready access, the Naval 

Component Commander initially had a far better intelligence picture 

than anyone else in HQ INTERFET.95 In a practical sense this meant that 

workarounds, such as Stapleton hand-carrying information to Cosgrove, 

were sometimes necessary.

e safe insertion of INTERFET had been achieved, but there 

remained much to accomplish. Even as INTERFET deployed, those 

opposed to East Timorese independence completed the nal acts of their 

“scorched earth” policy, and few buildings in Dili remained habitable. On 

28 September a Canadian Strategic Reconnaissance Team arrived and 

gave a sobering description of the situation:

Flying into Dili, a coastal town ringed by substantial hills, res were 

still evident and a smoke haze was everywhere. e city was partially 

alight, while half remained occupied by the TNI. At the west end, 

refugees were crowded into standing room only in an old warehouse, 

unsure of whether to fear a resurgence of TNI/militia outrage or 

believe the disinformation about the “murdering INTERFET killers 

and rapists.” Troops and trucks and repower were everywhere, 

but given that the heights were not yet secured, the vulnerability 

of INTERFET’s toehold in East Timor was also evident. Militia 

soldiers were known to be present, although the town remained 

largely deserted. e militia’s bounty on the INTERFET leadership 

demanded robust personal security. e TNI remained in large 

numbers, notionally restricted to the barracks, but they and the 
128 David Stevens

gunboats and submarines in the area made it clear that Indonesia 

was still interested in what was going on and that a turn for the worst 

could get ugly very fast.96

While the TNI remained in strength, INTERFET would nd it dicult 

to concentrate on the militia, but working to the coalition’s advantage was 

Australia’s previous investment in its military relationship with Indonesia. 

Built up through many years of close professional contact, the TNI’s leadership 

had a clear understanding of the ADF’s competence, eectiveness, and 

determination. ere was enough mutual respect, and indeed friendship, 

at senior levels to allow each side to understand the other’s way of thought 

and how each would respond. is was nowhere more apparent than in the 

discussions that took place between Rear Admiral Lord and his Indonesian 

counterpart, Commander Western Fleet, on the continued presence of 

Indonesian surface and subsurface units in the vicinity of East Timor.97 By 

keeping the TNI fully briefed on INTERFET’s intentions and registering 

concerns directly with the appropriate Indonesian commander, INTERFET 

ensured that there was “a predisposition to talk through issues rather than 

shoot through them,” and this dialogue continued through to the end of 

the operation.98 On 24 September Indonesia lied martial law and began 

their military pull out from East Timor. By 31 October this withdrawal had 

eectively been completed. 

Consolidation and Sustainment

e initial focus on the insertion of INTERFETs combat forces 

soon gave way to the consolidation phase of Operation Stablise, aimed 

at allowing UN operations to continue and INTERFET support to build 

up. At the outset Major General Cosgrove had ordered that INTERFET 

elements would not attempt to live o the local economy, therefore 

everything had to be brought in. Oen there were up to 18 commercial 

ships in Dili harbor and two to three shipping movements a day, “an 

important reminder,” as one assessment noted, “that eective sea li in 

strategic terms rests even more upon the ability to access commercial 

tonnage than it does upon military vessels.”99 Protection of sea lines of 

communication thus remained an important maritime task throughout 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 129

the operation and was achieved mainly through constant monitoring 

and patrols. A warship, for example, would maintain visibility on each 

merchant ship from the time it entered the AO until it anchored, oering 

chartered shipping a welcome measure of reassurance. 

e absence of local infrastructure remained a challenge, and the 

inability of chartered shipping to load and unload without access to suitable 

wharfage and specialized handling equipment was a severe constraint. In 

fact, the inadequacies of the port facilities, lack of lay-down space, and 

movements of equipment all conspired to slow down and sometimes 

halt the ow of supplies.100 Nevertheless, the Dili aireld had similar 

diculties and, unlike the port, had to shut down at night.101 Logisticians 

well understood that seali was far more ecient and eective for force 

sustainment and the nal balance was clear. e 11 nations contributing 

to the Coalition Airli Wing ew 3,400 sorties, carried 9,500 tons of 

freight, and transported 38,000 passengers,102 yet more than 91 percent of 

cargo and most of the passengers delivered to East Timor came by sea.103

Hence, even as the intensity of the maritime tactical situation 

reduced, the transport and amphibious capability of the maritime forces 

became more important. roughout the rst month, thousands of 

troops poured into Dili as did heavy equipment, fuel, and supplies. Once 

INTERFET had established its authority in the capital and its surrounds, 

coalition ground forces moved out to take control elsewhere, which 

Cosgrove labeled an “oil spot concept.”104 In addition to occupying the 

smaller inland towns the operational strategy required three major troop 

lodgments to be mounted from Dili. e rst two aimed to prevent the 

militias using Indonesian West Timor as a safe base from which to foray 

into East Timor. Operation Lavarack, which began on 1 October, secured 

the northwestern half of the inter-Timor border. It was followed ve days 

later by a major landing at Suai on the south coast, Operation Strand, 

which eliminated the militia presence in the southwest border region. 

e last major lodgment, Operation Respite, which began on 22 October, 

aimed to relieve the geographically isolated Oecussi enclave—a district on 

the northwest coast separated by some eighty kilometers of Indonesian 

territory from the rest of East Timor and overowing with refugees.105
130 David Stevens

roughout these operations coalition maritime capabilities, and 

above all amphibious units, proved essential to any realistic eorts to make 

land forces mobile over long distances. Although the initial insertion 

might be by troop-carrying helicopter, heavy equipment invariably came 

over the shore, as did follow-on logistic support.106 Aer the initial Suai 

landing, Tobruk conducted four return trips from Darwin to Suai, during 

which she transported almost two thousand tons of cargo and 642 soldiers. 

Each of these “Military Seali/Amphibious lodgements” was, as noted in 

Tobruk’s post-operational narrative, “denitely an Allied aair: Tobruk

transported cargo and troops from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and 

Ireland, while being escorted by or working in concert with Australian, 

Canadian, French, New Zealand, United Kingdom and United States 

warships and aircra.”107

Lodgment was not without diculties, particularly at Suai where 

the majority of Canadian and New Zealand equipment was found to 

be containerized, “irrelevant,” as the Canadian CJTF noted, “in a thirdworld country with no handling capacity.”108 e initial solution entailed 

mid-stream ooading by craning the containers from Tobruk into 

a heavy landing cra for subsequent pick-up by a side-loading truck. 

Although just workable in benign sea states, the procedure was neither 

ecient nor particularly safe. Far preferable was the use of heavy li 

helicopters to pick up containers directly from Tobruk’s deck, but these 

were a rarity among the coalition, particularly at sea. Indeed, only U.S. 

forces possessed the necessary rotary-wing assets. On 29 September 

U.S. Secretary of Defense William Cohen advised Australian authorities 

that the amphibious assault ship USS Belleau Wood would provide 

heavy li capabilities with its U.S. Marine Corps CH-53E Super Stallion 

helicopters.109 Without these aircra, the unloading operation might 

take two to three days; with their assistance, it could be achieved in less 

than seven hours.110

Belleau Wood, complete with a contingent of Marines from the 31st 

Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) arrived in the AO on 5 October and 

was relieved by USS Peleliu, with a contingent of the 11th MEU on 26 

October. Although U.S. policy aimed to minimize its footprint ashore, 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 131

The heavy lift ship HMAS Tobruk approaches Dili wharf to unload her cargo of Australian Army 

vehicles and equipment.

participation by these large and highly capable units oered a signicant 

show of force at a critical time. ey not only armed the unmistakable 

U.S. backing as INTERFET established control of the border with West 

Timor but also showed real depth to the multinational forces committed. 

At least one analyst has argued that without these vessels, “the speed 

with which INTERFET expanded its authority would have been 

signicantly retarded.”111 Although the long-term contribution made by 

RAN assets cannot be overlooked,112 without doubt the continuing U.S. 

involvement oered unmatched political leverage and stands as a useful 

example of naval presence used for commitment rather than purely for 

security reasons.

Meanwhile, for the coalition’s surface combatants and their organic 

aircra, the maintenance of a “presence factor” also continued as a major 

consideration in planning, with Cosgrove using these units as symbols 

Sea Power Centre–Australia
132 David Stevens

of his seriousness and intent up until INTERFET’s last day in theater.113

From the time of an individual troop insertion until nal withdrawal, 

a frigate would remain on patrol within sight of the shore as the Local 

Area Warfare Commander. Providing what was termed “constructive 

reinforcement,” the ship oered cover as necessary, together with health 

support services, aeromedical evacuation, air mobility operations, and 

lily-pad and refueling support for army helicopters.114 Sustained presence 

was particularly important during the initial surveillance and intelligencegathering missions ashore, for on at least one occasion a Special Forces 

patrol got in over its head and required extraction.115

Direct re support was never required from any of the oshore 

guardships but remained readily available throughout, while the focus on 

the safe delivery of logistic supplies never lessened. Multisensor surveillance 

also remained crucial, but even low-technology capabilities proved useful, 

since deep water existed quite close to the shore, and ships were oen used 

to provide additional visual surveillance of the surrounding coastal area.116

One of the later arriving warships, the frigate HMAS Sydney, reported that 

her “highly visible presence” as Oecussi Guardship in November–December 

1999 “provided the local population, Land Component personnel and ship’s 

Humanitarian Assistance teams great reassurance. In addition it provided 

a strong deterrent to any militia who may have been observing INTERFET 

activity from the hills surrounding Oecussi.”117

Already assuming equal importance for the forces aoat was the 

provision of “morale support” or hotel services. As most of the soldiers 

initially landed were combat troops, they had little capacity for other tasks. 

To many Australian army commanders, it came as a revelation that warships 

could oer a welcome and needed respite from the hot, dry, and dusty living 

conditions their personnel experienced ashore.118Tobruk, for example, when 

either alongside or at anchor, “oered recuperation services of showers, 

laundry facilities, fresh meals, temporary air conditioned comfort, e-mail 

and Interora facilities.”119 Her arrival was oen described as a “God Send” 

by the forces ashore, and during her two-month deployment more than 

1,800 troops used her onboard services, while she continuously sent ashore 

snack and barbecue packs and fresh provisions.
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 133

The INTERFET force hits the beach at Suai in the southwest corner of East Timor. HMAS Labuan, 

HMAS Brunei, and HMAS Balikapan provided the force with the capability to make a beach 

landing to offload their vehicles. HMAS Tobruk moved hundreds of troops from Dili to set up a 

permanent security presence in the border town.

By the end of October, 10,238 coalition personnel had been deployed 

to the AO, and in practical terms INTERFET had returned peace and 

stability to some 80 percent of East Timor. UNSCR 1264 had agreed that 

INTERFET should be replaced as soon as possible by a UN peacekeeping 

operation and invited the secretary-general to plan and prepare for such 

a deployment. e combination of INTERFET’s rapid progress and the 

decision, on 19 October, of the Indonesian People’s Consultative Assembly 

to recognize East Timor’s independence allowed for the establishment 

of the UN Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) on 

25 October. UNSCR 1272 (1999) endowed UNTAET with “overall 

responsibility for the administration of East Timor” and empowered it “to 

exercise all legislative and executive authority including the administration 

of justice.”120 INTERFET’s transition to UNTAET did not begin, however, 

for another three months with the nal transfer of responsibilities taking 

place on 23 February 2000.121 ereaer INTERFET forces either moved 

to the UNTAET command structure or redeployed to home locations. 

Sea Power Centre–Australia
134 David Stevens

In the meantime, with the level of maritime warfare tasks relatively 

low, the majority of the Naval Component’s effort went toward logistic 

sustainment of the land forces, together with engineering repair services 

and mobility tasks around the AO.122 To simplify reporting and tasking, 

the Naval Component had by this stage been functionally subdivided 

into five broad elements: Alpha—Dili Guardship, Bravo—Amphibious 

and Afloat Support, Charlie—Escort Duties and Suai Guardship, 

Delta—Oecussi Guardship, and Echo—Rest and Recreation visits to 

Darwin.123 In effect, within the AO a three-layer approach existed:

In the inner harbour and local coastal area there were very small 

amphibious ships that the Australians have, the LCHs. ere were 

a number of other nations who brought in similar size ships and 

so they were providing the local coastal and small port re-supply 

around the coast. en you had the middle layer of the large 

amphibious ships that were doing the big haulage backwards and 

forwards from Darwin. Everything worked in and out of Darwin. 

ere was a steady stream of ships coming in and out around the 

coast and they were providing the bulk stores, which were then o-

loaded onto the smaller stu or ashore. en in the outer perimeter 

you had the warships that were providing the Dili guardship 

for escorts and that type of stu and the command and control 

facilities as well.124

e approach of the wet season in November threatened to further 

complicate movement in the AO. e south coast of Timor experiences 

an average of three cyclones per year which, even without these heavy 

monsoonal rains, make the few East Timorese roads and airelds 

unusable.125 is le seaborne resupply to regional centers as the only 

viable solution, one that might be better described, to paraphrase recent 

U.S. Navy “Sea Power 21” concept developments, as “inadvertent Sea 

Basing.”126 Cosgrove was typically straightforward about the “crucial 

nature” of this relationship: “We surrounded East Timor with oating 

warehouses, gas stations, air ports and docks and motels. It would have 

been a real struggle to maintain tempo and achieve sustainment ashore, 

without our aoat logistic capability.”127
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 135

Dependence on oshore support was nowhere more apparent than 

in the provision of fuel. Although there was some fuel ashore, it belonged 

to the Indonesians and neither the INTERFET command nor the UN was 

willing to touch it. us, for the rst three months of the operation, naval 

units were the only source of the diesel (F76) and aviation (F44) fuel that 

the coalition consumed at some thirty thousand liters a day.128 e lack of 

facilities to transfer fuel ashore was a particular weakness, and fuel from the 

available tanker was initially transferred to a dump ashore using collapsible 

fuel drums underslung from an RAN Sea King helicopter. Fuel trucks were 

brought into the theater only in mid-October, and these were then carried 

to the tanker using a landing cra. Neither of these techniques was overly 

ecient, being described as “akin to lling tanks by buckets.”129 Moreover, 

as the force dispersed, the need for fuel broadened geographically, and so 

the complexity of fuel distribution increased as did reliance on the available 

tanker. e maintenance of adequate fuel stocks required close liaison 

among the environmental component commands, oering another insight 

into the importance of the wider coalition contribution. 

Until mid-October, Success and Endeavour were the only tankers 

available to INTERFET, and with Success required to remain in the AO to 

provide fuel ashore, Endeavor maintained a shuttle service. A typical return 

run from either Singapore or Darwin saw Endeavour deliver 150 tons of 

aviation fuel and 2,200 tons of diesel fuel to INTERFET and then conduct 

replenishments of fuel and provisions with coalition surface combatants.130

Just before departing for home on 20 October, Endeavour topped up the 

tanks of the incoming Canadian replenishment ship HMCS Protecteur. 

In welcoming Protecteur, Rear Admiral Lord highlighted traditional 

linkages: “Your arrival brings a welcome boost to the INTERFET aoat 

support forces and adds another important element to the international 

communities [sic] response to East Timor. e long and successful 

association between our two navies will ensure your rapid integration with 

the INTERFET maritime forces.”131 Success was in need of a maintenance 

period, however, and about to follow Endeavour out of the AO. What 

Lord had not highlighted was that Protecteur would soon become the 

naval component’s only tanker and thus a potential single point of failure 
136 David Stevens

for the entire operation.132 Particularly noteworthy in this context is that 

the early Canadian vision for Protecteur’s employment was based not 

on maritime replenishment, but on her sister ship HMCS Preserver’s 

experience in Somalia in 1993 and other missions in Florida and the 

Bahamas. Protecteur was to be “relatively Dili-centric, providing a medical 

team ashore, humanitarian aid and to serve as a oating command post 

for the Canadian Joint Task Force Commander.”133

at Protecteur could easily absorb a signicant role change reinforced Captain Girouard’s assessment that she “was a viable and exible platform for the mission envisaged.”134 During her time in the AO, 

Protecteur also assumed the duties of Task Group Logistic Commander, 

responsible for ordering supplies and coordinating their provision for the 

whole of the naval task force. But once an element of routine had set in, 

humanitarian projects did receive a greater level of priority. In fact, from 

the earliest days of Stabilise naval specialists had gone ashore as work parties to clean and repair buildings, construct ablution facilities, undertake 

plumbing and electrical services, and assist terminal handlers with the 

ooading of military cargo. HQ INTERFET and its barracks were only 

rendered habitable through the eorts of naval shore parties.135

As INTERFET facilities ashore improved, these parties changed 

focus to assist with rebuilding the civilian infrastructure. A number of 

nongovernmental organizations, or NGOs, had arrived in INTERFET’s 

wake, but none had the resources or people to achieve much more than 

food distribution until aer December 1999.136 Because the visibility of 

humanitarian assistance compared with other activities was disproportionately high in the eyes of higher authority and the media, the Naval 

Component Commander ensured that each coalition unit had the opportunity to put such parties ashore.137 By the end of the operation naval units 

had expended more than 20,000 hours of humanitarian assistance, saving 

lives and providing shelter to many thousands of East Timorese. 

Coalition Observations 

INTERFET was a strong coalition and the system, although set up 

hurriedly, worked well, but several issues deserve further comment. First 

is the importance of nurturing the coalition itself. e ad hoc nature of the 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 137

INTERFET structure made for a complicated operational environment, 

not made easier for other national components by the fact that, in the rst 

instance, the HQ INTERFET sta was almost completely Australian. Clearly, 

the personality and political skills of the force commander were crucial.138

Bringing a welcome breath of cultural reality to purely technological 

considerations of interoperability, Cosgrove has remarked how managing 

the relationships among the dierent coalition partners not only took up a 

great part of his day, but “were absolutely key to success”:

e robust and rough and ready lip service we pay to the 

interoperability issues between proudly dierent, but vastly 

similar, national and military cultures such as those of the USA and 

Australia does not ring true when the potential combined force has 

a dierent make-up. Platitudes such as “sh or cut bait” or “if it’s 

too hot in the kitchen . . .” don’t mean much if the coalition won’t 

form, or if having formed, won’t work. We have all been working 

on these relationship issues for decades, so I’m not saying we’re 

starting from scratch but if the requirement is for true burden 

sharing then part of the burden is a sensitivity to accompany our 

clear and erce mission focus.139

Commodore Stapleton and his successor, Commodore B. D. 

Robertson, RAN,140 have likewise observed that coalition management 

was their biggest issue, and they took great care to foster their areas of the 

relationship matrix.141 Convoluted national command and control systems 

and limitations on tactical control could make exible tasking dicult, 

but to avoid any impression that his was a purely Australian headquarters, 

Stapleton had made liaison ocers an integral component from an early 

stage. ese ocers in turn formed a key part of the individual network 

of connectivity maintained by each national element and proved vital to 

the Naval Component Commander when negotiating workarounds. It 

must be noted, however, that the presence of so many nationalities also 

caused security problems. e importance of the Global Control and 

Command System during INTERFET’s insertion has been mentioned, 

but its continued use became impossible once coalition ocers joined 

the NCC sta full time. In eect, because he could not have ashore all 

the communications gear he needed, NCC had to “dumb down” as 
138 David Stevens

INTERFET became more multinational. Fortunately, he could “smart up” 

again simply by going back on board a RAN ship.

Communications nevertheless had to be maintained across the force, 

and here coalition building from a naval perspective had a distinct advantage. 

In an interview published in the December 1999 edition of Proceedings,

Australian Chief of Navy Vice Admiral David Shackleton elaborated on 

some of East Timor’s early lessons. ese, he noted, were “typical”: “navies 

can meet almost anywhere. You can talk on a radio and you can set up an 

arrangement.” “Navies,” he continued, “are very good at forming and doing 

business in a coalition way that I think armies and air forces nd dicult.”142

e INTERFET experience reinforced the points that language problems 

tend not to be signicant at sea, and that the NCC could construct a force 

that communicated because all the naval elements had common operating 

procedures. If there was ever any doubt, then the message could always be 

sent in plain English, albeit with increased possibility of compromise. 

At the same time, operating with a disparate force that included both 

high- and low-capability navies meant that there were multiple levels of 

interoperability to consider. e Australian Navy, as Shackleton also noted, 

has “to be interoperable with just about everybody.”143 In practice, NCC 

had to be able to communicate both up and down. Yet, even for the RAN 

and U.S. Navy, despite years of working together and operating compatible 

equipment, high-level interoperability did not just happen. One might have 

expected cryptographic commonality to be a C4I staple, but even this aspect 

was found to require an inordinate amount of time and eort.144 Only the 

willingness of individual units to remain exible and adapt to changing 

circumstances brought success. Because the naval component operated as 

an “aligned” rather than an “integrated force,” the same need for individual 

exibility also became necessary when determining relationships between 

ships. Darwin’s post-deployment report notes that any problems in this 

regard “were quite manageable,” but adds that this was “due to the dedication 

of involved personnel to get the job done.” 145

Notwithstanding such eorts, each nation, and indeed each ship, 

presented dierent challenges. e Royal ai Navy’s logistic ship Surin (LST 

722), to take one example, arrived in a poor materiel state and required a 

long maintenance period in Darwin before being operationally employed. 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 139

Meanwhile some vessels, or at least their commanders, appeared to prefer 

port visits to NCC’s operational tasking, and long or unpredictable periods of 

“national tasking” oen severely limited their utility.146 National restrictions 

relating to the carriage of specically “military” materiel vice “humanitarian” 

stores and equipment further limited the usefulness of some of these 

deployed ships. e French government, for instance, was one of the rst 

to oer naval units to the coalition but had decided that “its response would 

be humanitarian” and therefore only assets to support such eorts would 

be deployed.147 ese sorts of national constraints meant that capabilities 

brought to, or weighting within, particular task elements were sometimes 

less than desired and at other times disproportionately heavy. us too many 

surface combatants in lieu of logistic support units, when transport resources 

were stretched to the limit in the latter phases, on occasion reduced the 

NCC’s ability to relieve assigned units and provided redundancy.148

Dierences in approach among individual units became a critical 

consideration in this context. e Naval Component Commander 

experienced no problems tasking the New Caledonia-based landing ship, 

FS Jacques Cartier. By contrast, her predecessor, the larger FS Siroco, 

had arrived directly from France with signicantly dierent procedures. 

Apparently unaware that Darwin was a commercial rather than a naval 

port, Siroco initially claimed she could not accept a lower priority for 

loading and would therefore sail for Dili with signicantly less cargo than 

planned. As the Australian Defence Force had no inuence over routine 

commercial shipping, and the NCC had allowed Tobruk to depart the AO 

only aer the French had formally signed up to the task, there was no 

slack to play with. Only by sending the French national commander from 

Dili to Darwin was the problem eventually resolved. Not surprisingly, the 

NCC noted in a brief to the Australian Maritime Commander: “Owing 

to the political complexities and diverse nature of the forces involved, 

tasks which would normally be conducted without detailed planning or 

instructions require high levels of liaison and monitoring.”149

Finally, mention must be made of ROE, which within an ad hoc 

multinational operation are generally likely to be more contentious than in 

a formalized alliance such as NATO.150 From the beginning of Operation 

Stabilise all commanders recognized that national policies might not 
140 David Stevens

always coincide. Even the deployed U.S. forces had severe limitations on 

the equipment they could use, where they could (or, more important, 

could not) go, and what they could do.151 All units felt able to decline a 

tasking if they perceived it to be in conict with national foreign policy 

or ROE. At the same time, the NCC recognized that some nations were 

not as advanced on this issue as others and had yet to develop a mature 

ROE framework. If time allowed, an individual commander would refer 

the matter in dispute to the relevant national command element in HQ 

INTERFET for resolution. If the problem could not be resolved here, it 

would then be passed to national headquarters at home.

Nevertheless, the risks to coordination, timing, and readiness within 

the force were real, and once more a pragmatic approach proved essential. 

e answer was always to match forces with activity, allowing INTERFET 

needs to be satised without compromising unique national interests. e 

Singaporeans, for example, were exceptionally keen to assist the coalition. 

At the same time, as a member of ASEAN, they were extremely sensitive 

to regional perceptions and did not wish to appear as a big international 

player. e three Singapore Navy LSTs were therefore given the role of 

providing a continuous ferry service from Darwin to Dili. Although 

relatively low key, they worked in tandem with other coalition seali 

assets, and their contribution remained instrumental in establishing the 

land component of INTERFET ashore. Remarking on “the ease with 

which the Singaporean Navy slotted into the Coalition, particularly the 

way in which they related to the RAN,” Commodore Robertson gave most 

credit to the RAN’s long-running program of regional engagement.152 In 

this sense, Australia was able to bring a valuable partner into the coalition 

in a manner that might not have been so easy had another nation with 

global responsibilities, and the associated negative undertones, provided 

the lead. 

e main lesson here is that ships are self-contained; hence, units 

without appropriate ROE, capabilities, or skill sets can, if required, be 

isolated to some extent. is tactical separation potentially reduces the 

need of the commander to provide a level of supervision that might drag 

away more capable assets from where they are needed most. Even ashore, 

Cosgrove deliberately divided East Timor into more and less dicult areas, 
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 141

ensuring that tough areas, such as those on the borders, were handled 

only by forces with the requisite skills and experience for “peace making” 

rather than “peace keeping.”153 In many respects, however, this was only 

workable because the higher-level threat failed to materialize, for as one of 

the rst detailed studies of the operation pointed out: 

A truly multinational and ad hoc peace-enforcement force with a 

diverse membership is workable only if the mission does not involve 

high-intensity operations against competent opponents employing 

sophisticated weapons oensively. In this sense INTERFET was 

fortunate not to encounter opponents that were willing to wage 

war against it in a more eective manner. It should also be pointed 

out that it was possible to be misled as to the apparent ease by 

which INTERFET established its authority. e determination and 

eciency that characterized INTERFET operations, particularly on 

the border, in the Oecussi enclave and in the vicinity of Dili rapidly 

nipped any opposition in the bud. If anything the rm response and 

coherent policy of the force demonstrated that in order to make a 

force multinational without sacricing functional interoperability, 

a limited number of countries need to accept responsibility for the 

conduct of any oensive operations that need to be undertaken.154

In East Timor as so oen elsewhere, the military commander needed 

access to a balanced set of joint capabilities. Yet apart from the United States, 

few nations today could ever hope to mount such an expeditionary force. 

Hence the key for all INTERFET commanders was to get the individual 

members of the coalition working as much as possible as a unied force. 

In reality, the breadth of maritime tasks undertaken during Stabilise could 

not have been achieved without contributing nation support. is holds 

true from both a practical and political perspective, for there were always 

two dimensions to the operation: what INTERFET was actually doing, and 

what it was perceived to be doing. e upshot of all this was that the naval 

component needed to be not just interoperable and cohesive but exible 

and willing to compromise. e NCC and his sta maintained a constant 

balancing act. Dealing with both bilateral and a multilateral relationships, 

they had to remain focused on the success of the INTERFET mission while 

ensuring that each national contingent achieved its political objectives. 
142 David Stevens

Conclusions

 Operation Stabilise was a success, but in historical terms the insertion 

and sustainment of INTERFET was by no means an enormous undertaking. 

No matter how well led and implemented the actual operation, the fact 

remains that the ADF was stretched to the breaking point in providing a 

small division-size expeditionary force only some four hundred miles 

from Australia: 24 hours by sea, 90 minutes by air. Success, therefore, 

might equally be attributed to external factors, especially two critical ones: 

Indonesia’s decision not to oppose the coalition, and U.S. political support. 

In view of the importance of such outside issues in shaping the operational 

environment, a common observation has been that fortune smiled on 

INTERFET.155 Dili to Darwin was just within the ADF’s capabilities, no 

threat—human or natural—disrupted INTERFET’s supply lines, all essential 

units managed to stay operational, and Australia’s friends proved willing to 

cooperate. Stabilise also began at just the right time, with Exercise Crocodile 

99 establishing good working relationships among the individual service 

planners and smoothing the integration of the component commands. 

But one should not forget that diligence is the mother of good 

fortune. Multinational interoperability provided INTERFET’s lynchpin, 

and at a fundamental level Stabilise worked because disparate forces 

could function together to share the operational burden. Importantly, 

this interoperability came about not just through advanced technological 

compatibilities but also from person-to-person links. us crucial to 

implementing the operation were the ADF’s deliberate eorts to develop 

relations with both regional states and allies. is was nowhere more 

obvious than in the maritime arena, which possessed the added benet 

of the Western world’s long-practiced policies of naval cooperation. 

Many years of joint training, standardized doctrine, familiarity with each 

other’s ways and habits, and compatible equipment ensured that coalition 

navies achieved and sustained the required levels of interoperability. 

is competence and the ability of ships to carry out a large number of 

disparate activities simultaneously for extended periods ensured that the 

Australian Navy could call on its core coalition partners with a level of 

condence unmatched by other environmental components.
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 143

e views presented in this chapter are those of the author and do not necessarily 

represent those of the Royal Australian Navy or the Australian government.

Notes

1. “e Lead Nation Concept in Coalition Operations,” MWG Report to the Multinational 

Interoperability Council, 20 December 2000.

2. For the ocial view, see Commonwealth of Australia, Defending Australia: Defence White 

Paper 1994 (Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1994).

3. David J. Campbell, “Maritime power and the Australian Defence Force,” in Maritime 

Power in the 20th Century: e Australian Experience, ed. David M. Stevens (Sydney: Allen 

& Unwin, 1998), 249–58.

4. Alan Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks: Australian Defence Force 

Participation in the International Force East Timor, Land Warfare Studies Centre, Paper No. 

304, Canberra, November 2000, 39–42.

5. A member of the Australian public was quoted during the Sydney INTERFET welcome 

home parade as saying: “I didn’t know the Navy was in Timor.” Cited in Paul G. Kinghorne, 

“OPERATION STABILISE—Australian Naval Participation in East Timor,” Naval Supply 

Newsletter, June 2000, 25.

6. Peter Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture at Georgetown University,” Journal of the Australian 

Naval Institute (April–June 2000): 9.

7. Norman Friedman, Seapower as Strategy: Navies and National Interests (Annapolis, MD: 

Naval Institute Press, 2001), 3.

8. For an East Timor chronology, see http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/Untaetchrono.html, 

accessed 20 April 2006.

9. TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia).

10. For an insightful and detailed summary of the TNI’s multifaceted role in East Timor, see 

Robert Lowry, e Armed Forces of Indonesia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1996), 151–62.

11. On 12 November 1991 Indonesian troops red upon a peaceful memorial procession to 

a cemetery in Dili that had turned into a pro-independence demonstration. More than 271 

East Timorese were killed. Total East Timorese casualties during the 1975–1999 Indonesian 

occupation have been estimated at between 100,000 and 200,000.

12. “Question of East Timor,” Report of the Secretary-General, 5 May 1999, at http://www.

un.org/peace/etimor/docs/UntaetDr.htm, accessed 20 April 2006.

13. For the text of the resolution, see http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/docs/UntaetDrs.htm, 

accessed 20 April 2000.

14. East Timor in Transition 1998–2000: An Australian Policy Challenge, Department of 

Foreign Aairs and Trade, Canberra, 2001, 61.

15. Peter G. Edwards and David Goldsworthy, eds., Facing North: A Century of Australian 

Engagement with Asia, vol. 2, 1970s to 2000 (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2003), 

236.

16. Report of the Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Aairs Defence and Trade 

(JSCFADT), “A Visit to East Timor: 2 December 1999,” Parliament of the Commonwealth of 

Australia, Canberra, December 1999, 46.
144 David Stevens

17. Militia goals included removing the foreign presence, wreaking vengeance on 

proindependence supporters, and sending a warning to other Indonesian regions with 

secessionist movements. See Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 245.

18. East Timorese casualties in the wake of the referendum have been variously estimated at 

between 1,400 and 30,000.

19. For the text of Ko Annan’s press statements during this period, see http://www.un.org/

News/ossg/sg/pages/speeches_search.html, accessed 20 April 2006.

20. For the full text of the resolution, see http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/docs/UntaetDrs.

htm, accessed 20 April 2006.

21. Ko Annan made the approach to the Australian prime minister on 6 September 1999. 

See Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 248.

22. JSCFADT, “Visit to East Timor,” 50.

23. Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks, ix.

24. See, for example, Carl ayer, “Australian Perceptions and Indonesian Reality” (Lecture 

at the New Zealand Institute of International Aairs [Dunedin Branch], Hocken Hall, e 

University of Otago, Dunedin, 12 May 1988).

25. Defending Australia: Defence White Paper 1994, 87.

26. Cited in Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 217.

27. As late as December 1998, Prime Minister John Howard had rearmed Australian 

support for Indonesian sovereignty, although he admitted that “a decisive element of East 

Timorese opinion is insisting on an act of self-determination.” See Edwards and Goldsworthy,

Facing North, 228.

28. Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 216.

29. David M. Horner, Making the Australian Defence Force (Melbourne: Oxford University 

Press, 2001), 9.

30. “Massive plan to evacuate 10,000,” Age newspaper, Melbourne, 16 December 1998.

31. ADF Media release MIN067/99, 11 March 1999.

32. Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks, 39–41.

33. e ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) tradition arose from the 

amphibious landing at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915.

34. Interview with Air Marshal Carey W. Adamson, 31 January 2002, RNZN Museum. Copy 

held by Sea Power Centre–Australia (SPC–A).

35. Interview with Commander Warren M. Cummins, 15 February 2000, RNZN Museum. 

Copy held by SPC–A.

36. “How Cosgrove led his warriors for peace,” Sydney Morning Herald, 31 January 2000.

37. Adamson interview, 31 January 2002.

38. HMA Ships Kanimbla (ex-USS Saginaw) and Manoora (ex-USS Fairfax County).

39. “Operation Stabilise,” e Navy: Magazine of the Navy League of Australia 62, no. 1 

(January–March 2000): 3–10.

40. Brian D. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” Journal of the 

Australian Naval Institute (April/June 2000): 11.

41. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 6.

42. Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 241.
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 145

43. In an apparent response to Australia’s role in the East Timor crisis, on 16 September 1999 

Indonesia abrogated a bilateral defense treaty signed in 1995.

44. ASEAN comprises Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, 

Singapore, ailand, and Vietnam.

45. Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 250.

46. Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks, 40.

47. By mid-November 1999 Australia’s commitment ashore had reached approximately 

5,500 troops. See Horner, Making the Australian Defence Force, 22.

48. Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 252.

49. Kinghorne, “OPERATION STABILISE,” 24.

50. e ADF contribution to East Timor actually took place under the banner of Operation 

Warden. Operation Stabilise was the coalition aspect.

51. Bradley A. White, “Maritime Operations in East Timor: e HMAS MELBOURNE 

Experience,” Journal of the Australian Naval Institute (April/June 2000): 16.

52. Interview with Commodore James R. Stapleton, RAN, December 2004, Naval History & 

Heritage Command (NHHC), Washington, DC. Copy held by SPC–A.

53. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 10.

54. Commonwealth of Australia, Defence Annual Report 1999–2000 (Canberra: Defence 

Publishing Service, 2000), 270.

55. Kinghorne, “OPERATION STABILISE,” 24.

56. HMAS Tobruk, “Operational Report 18 Sep 99-05 Nov 99,” 5 November 1999, SPC–A.

57. Captain (N) Richard Girouard, “Op Toucan,” Maritime Aairs (Fall 2000): 27.

58. For example, U.S. INTERFET liaison ocers deployed to Brisbane on 31 August 1999. 

See Lyle M. Cross, Randy P. Strong, and Dave Delauney, “EAST TIMOR: A Case Study in C4 

Innovation,” CHIPS—e Department of the Navy Information Technology Magazine (Winter 

2003), at http://www.chips.navy.mil/archives/03_winter/webpages/timor.htm, accessed 14 

February 2006.

59. Adamson interview, 31 January 2002.

60. Kinghorne, “OPERATION STABILISE,” 24.

61. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

62. Ibid.

63. For a detailed discussion, see Michael Kelly, Timothy L. H. McCormack, Paul Muggleton, 

and Bruce M. Oswald, “Legal aspects of Australia’s involvement in East Timor,” International 

Review of the Red Cross, no. 841, 101–139.

64. UNSCR 1244 (1999).

65. Kelly et al., “Legal aspects of Australia’s involvement in East Timor.”

66. Manoora and Kanimbla have since taken on the role of command ship, with both vessels 

eectively performing this task during Operations Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom.

67. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 10.

68. For an Australian perspective on the development of U.S. involvement in East Timor, see 

Edwards and Goldsworthy, Facing North, 248–49.

69. Cummins interview, 15 February 2000.

70. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 7.
146 David Stevens

71. Cross et al., “EAST TIMOR: A Case Study in C4 Innovation.”

72. Kelly et al., “Legal aspects of Australia’s involvement in East Timor.”

73. HMAS Adelaide, “Report of Proceedings–September 1999,” 12 October 1999, SPC–A.

74. Discussion with NCC Chief of Sta in 1999 Captain Daryl W. Bates, RAN, 21 February 

2006.

75. Peter G. Lockwood, “RAN Participation in East Timor: Perspective from HMAS Darwin” 

(Presentation at 2001 King Hall Naval History Conference, Canberra, 27 July 2001). Copy 

held by SPC–A.

76. David Wilson, Warden to Tanager: RAAF Operations in East Timor (Maryborough, 

Queensland: Banner Books, 2003), 9.

77. Cummins interview, 15 February 2000.

78. e Brisbane Institute, “Questions to Major-General Cosgrove,” 16 May 2000, at http://

www.brisinst.org.au/resources/cosgrove_peter_cos.html, accessed 20 April 2006.

79. James V. P. Goldrick, “East Timor,” Journal of the Australian Naval Institute (April/June 

2000): 25.

80. Interview with Major General Peter Cosgrove, December 1999[?], RNZN Museum. 

Copy held by SPC–A.

81. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 9.

82. Wilson, Warden to Tanager, 13.

83. Like the clearance divers, the three-man HODSU was embarked in Success and called 

forward as soon as a special forces presence was established in the port precinct.

84. Jervis Bay averaged three trips per week between Darwin and Dili. Up to the end of 

February 2000 she had carried 10,740 passengers, 447 vehicles, and 2,505 tons of cargo. See 

HMAS Jervis Bay, “Report of Proceedings–February 2000,” 6 March 2000, SPC–A.

85. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

86. HMAS Adelaide, “Report of Proceedings–September 1999.”

87. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 29.

88. Adamson interview, 31 January 2002.

89. Cummins interview, 15 February 2000.

90. Centre for Strategic Studies (CSS), “Strategic and Military Lessons from East Timor,” 

Strategic Brieng Papers, vol. 2, pt. 1, February 2000. See http://www.vuw.ac.nz/css/docs/

Strategic_Brieng_Papers/Vol.2%20Feb%202000/East%20Timor.pdf, accessed 1 May 2006.

91. HMAS Anzac, “Report of Proceedings–September 1999,” 6 October 1999, SPC–A.

92. Goldrick, “East Timor,” 25.

93. “Special Navy comm unit supports the East Timor peacekeeping force,” at http://www.

gcn.com/print/vol18_no33/749-1.html, accessed 16 May 2006.

94. Cross et al., “EAST TIMOR: A Case Study in C4 Innovation.”

95. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

96. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 26–27.

97. Interview with Commodore James R. Stapleton, RAN, 3 November 2000, RNZN 

Museum. Copy held by SPC–A.

98. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 6.

99. Goldrick, “East Timor,” 24.
Combined Naval Role in East Timor 147

100. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 27.

101. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

102. Peter J. Criss, “Air Operations in Australia’s Defence,” United Service 52, no. 3, 25.

103. 91.7 percent by weight and 93.2 percent by volume. See Kinghorne, “OPERATION 

STABILISE,” 26.

104. e “oil spot” concept entails establishing dominance in key locations from which the 

surrounding and interconnecting areas are inuenced and subsequently controlled.

105. For details of these operations, see Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks, 74.

106. All beaches used for logistics were rst swum by clearance divers and surveyed by 

HODSU to establish their suitability.

107. John M. Pritchard and Peter D. Arnold, “A Much Neglected Lady Proves She Can Still 

Deliver the Goods: HMAS TOBRUK’s role in Operation Spitre/Warden/Stabilise,” Journal 

of the Australian Naval Institute (April/June 2000): 21.

108. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 28.

109. “Operation Stabilise,” e Navy, 7.

110. “Stallion lis a series of rsts,” Navy News Special INTERFET edition, December 1999, 

13.

111. Ryan, Primary Responsibilities and Primary Risks, 80.

112. Belleau Wood’s team assisted on 23 October and ooaded 22 ISO 20-foot containers. A 

similar operation, on 29 October, using Peleliu’s team ooaded 16 ISO 20-foot containers. 

It is worth noting that the remaining 101 containers carried by Tobruk during the operation 

were ooaded using her own crane. See Pritchard and Arnold, “A Much Neglected Lady 

Proves She Can Still Deliver the Goods,” 21.

113. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 12.

114. White, “Maritime Operations in East Timor,” 17.

115. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 27.

116. Cummins interview, 15 February 2000.

117. HMAS Sydney, “Conduct of a Surveillance and Presence Mission,” 3 December 1999, 

SPC–A.

118. See, for example, “Interview with Vice Admiral David Shackleton,” U.S. Naval Institute 

(USNI) Proceedings (January 2002): 62; and White, “Maritime Operations in East Timor,” 18.

119. Pritchard and Arnold, “HMAS TOBRUK’s role in Operation Spitre/Warden/Stabilise,” 

21.

120. For the full text, see http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/docs/UntaetDrs.htm, accessed 20 

April 2006.

121. Although the INTERFET handover began on 1 February 2000, UNTAET had already 

initiated operations and established the basic elements of its administrative structure.

122. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 12.

123. White, “Maritime Operations in East Timor,” 16.

124. Cummins interview, 15 February 2000.

125. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 14.

126. See http://www.nwdc.navy.mil/Concepts/Sea_Basing/SeaBasing.aspx, accessed 2 May 

2006.
148 David Stevens

127. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 9.

128. Figure cited in John Crawford and Glyn Harper, Operation East Timor: e New Zealand 

Defence Force in East Timor 1999–2001 (Auckland: Reed Publishing, 2001), 74.

129. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 12.

130. “Operation Stabilise,” e Navy, 6.

131. Message, Maritime Commander Australia to HMCS Protecteur, 200616ZOCT 99, 

SPC–A.

132. Girouard, “Op Toucan,” 28.

133. Ibid., 26.

134. Ibid.

135. “Working Party Joins in Spirit,” Navy News Special INTERFET edition, December 1999, 

7.

136. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 13.

137. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

138. Ryan, “Primary Responsibility and Primary Risks,” 28.

139. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 7–8.

140. Robertson assumed duties as NCC from November 1999.

141. Stapleton interview, December 2004.

142. “Australian Operations in East Timor,” Interview with Vice Admiral Shackleton, USNI 

Proceedings (December 1999): 4.

143. “Interview Australian Chief of Navy,” USNI Proceedings (January 2000): 57.

144. Extract from HMAS Darwin, “Post-deployment report,” 6 November 1999, SPC–A.

145. HMAS Darwin, “Post-deployment report.”

146. Kinghorne, “OPERATION STABILISE,” 29.

147. “France moves quickly on UN request,” Navy News Special INTERFET edition, December 

1999, 11.

148. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 10.

149. “Brief to Maritime Commander visit to East Timor,” 18 October 1999, East Timor File, 

SPC–A.

150. Eric S. Miller, Interoperability of Rules of Engagement in Multinational Maritime 

Operations, CRM 95–184 (Alexandria, VA: CNA, October 1995), 14.

151. Discussion with Captain Daryl W. Bates, February 2006.

152. Robertson, “Not Learning the Lessons of Operation Stabilise,” 11.

153. Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 7.

154. Ryan, “Primary Responsibility and Primary Risks,” 64.

155. General Cosgrove himself has noted the “ever present part that luck played.” See 

Cosgrove, “e ANZAC Lecture,” 9.
149

CHAPTER 5

A Limited Commitment to 

Ending Civil Strife: e U.S. Navy 

in Operation Stabilise

Sarandis Papadopoulos

The dening characteristic of naval operations in the post–Cold War 

world is their direct link to events ashore. Given the predominance 

of Western maritime strength, few states would choose to challenge the 

ships of Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, or the United States, 

especially when operating in concert with one another. Mindful of 

the changing nature of operations aoat, the sea services of these four 

countries, along with those of eight other nations, supported a United 

Nations intervention to quell civic strife in East Timor, many of whose 

people sought independence from the much larger Indonesia. Operation 

Stabilise, conducted in late 1999, stands out as a key example of how naval 

capabilities can help resolve conicts on land.

East Timor had been a territory of Portugal until 1974, when a 

newly democratic Lisbon government ended its control of the colony 

and an East Timorese government took power.1

 Indonesia, glimpsing 

an opportunity to gain control of what its more extreme nationalists 

called the “27th province,” occupied East Timor in 1975 and only added 

to the tensions there. A November 1991 massacre in Dili, the capital, by 

troops of the Indonesian National Armed Forces, or TNI, began to turn 

international opinion against the occupation.2

 Compounding the strife, a 

severe regional economic decline began in 1997, drawing U.S. government 

attention. Following the collapse of the dictatorship of President Suharto, 

in 1999 new President B. J. Habibie allowed a referendum in East Timor 
150 Sarandis Papadopoulos

on independence from Indonesia. Pro-independence forces won the 

plebiscite, but militia groups loyal to Jakarta and rogue TNI elements 

threatened a breakdown of law and order.3

 e United Nations stood 

determined to prevent widespread banditry and killings by intervening 

with military force. Such a force would interpose itself between the 

Timorese population and potential attackers.

Australia proved key to bringing in the U.S. government to support 

the East Timor operation. Leadership from Canberra was essential as 

the post–Cold War world saw humanitarian and peacekeeping forces 

increasingly assembled on a regional basis and operating under UN 

auspices.4

 In this case, Australia assumed the status of lead nation, a role 

allowing a more limited U.S. government commitment, with its forces 

playing a supporting role.

e UN-sponsored plebiscite took place on 30 August. More than 

78 percent of the East Timorese rejected circumscribed autonomy within 

Indonesia, instead demanding outright independence.5

 A series of attacks 

on the pro-independence supporters in East Timor began the next day by 

militia members working with Indonesian military support. Beginning on 

8 September, Australian and New Zealander military aircra evacuated 

UN observers and refugees from the trouble zone, making the mission 

of the armed services a humanitarian one.6

 At the time, United Nations 

observers reported that TNI soldiers were aiding the pro-Jakarta militia 

members who attacked the Timorese.7

 Given the prospect of large-scale 

massacres, the Canberra government suggested it would enthusiastically 

welcome any form of American support for a UN-mandated peacekeeping 

force to enforce the withdrawal of Indonesian troops.8

On 15 September 1999 United Nations Security Council Resolution 

(UNSCR) 1264 requested the deployment of military forces to the 

troubled island, specifying that the soldiers shield residents of East Timor 

and establish peace and security there.9

 Under the authority of the United 

Nations, ships from Australia, Canada, Great Britain, and the United 

States, along with four other nations, initially supported land forces 

ashore, eventually drawn from 20 nations’ armed services and police 

forces.10 Troops of the 3rd Brigade, Australian Army, reinforced by British 

and New Zealander units, rst began landing in Dili on 20 September. 
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 151

Additional contingents of soldiers and police landed over the next three 

weeks, raising the number of personnel on the island to more than 8,000.

By authorizing intervention “to restore peace and security,” UNSCR 

1264 eectively created a peacemaking mission under Article 42 of 

Chapter VII of the UN Charter.11 e mandate was, therefore, politically 

robust. e command became the International Force East Timor, or 

INTERFET.12 Indonesian troops began withdrawing westward by sea three 

days aer international forces rst landed in Dili. Once again, securing 

sea control—accomplished through common doctrine, familiarity 

inculcated through training, and interoperable command, control, and 

communications—allowed naval forces to assist land power in separating 

violent groups ashore.

The U.S. Commitment

One should view the East Timor intervention against the backdrop of 

the region’s political importance to the United States and its peacekeeping 

operations worldwide. While the crisis drew headlines in the United 

States, Southeast Asia attracted little interest among Americans as a 

prospective theater for the commitment of large combat forces.13 Given 

the heavy demand for U.S. military forces elsewhere, Washington made 

clear its disinclination to deploy sizable forces to East Timor.14 Instead, 

American sentiment favored a constrained military obligation. On 29 

September 1999 U.S. Secretary of Defense William Cohen summed up 

the prevailing sentiment: “We are not the world’s policeman, and we do 

not seek to fulll that role. What we do seek is to promote stability and 

democracy wherever we can and in whatever capacity we can, and we are 

in a supportive role right now.”15 American forces would participate but in 

a limited manner.

e operational reason for the low U.S. Navy commitment lay in 

the sea service’s tempo in peacekeeping and enforcement actions. During 

spring 1999 three American aircra carrier battle groups (CVBGs) and an 

amphibious ready group (ARG) were committed to combat actions against 

the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. e eight-week-long Operation Allied 

Force, followed up by a long-term ground commitment, involved American 

forces in the eort to prevent ethnic cleansing in Kosovo.16 During the year 
152 Sarandis Papadopoulos

another CVBG and an ARG remained committed to supporting maritime 

interdiction operations in the Middle East and enforcing the no-y zone 

over Iraq in Operation Southern Watch. e commitment of another ARG 

to Turkey for earthquake relief in August and September 1999 further 

strained U.S. naval resources.17 e U.S. Navy would have been hard pressed 

to deploy large forces in support of the East Timor intervention. 

At the same time 1999 saw the United Nations engaged in the 

second-largest number of peacekeeping operations in its history, straining 

member nation resources.18 us few countries could spare troops for 

intervention in East Timor. e Australian commanders of Operation 

Stabilise would have to leverage every asset at their disposal.

e unstable Timorese situation into which American service members stepped compelled them to tread a ne line between conicting 

requirements. INTERFET called on U.S. personnel to serve as part of a 

multinational force working under a UN mandate. As participants in Stabilise they operated under the direction of a foreign commanding ocer, 

Major General Peter Cosgrove of the Australian Army. e Americans

therefore had to adapt to unfamiliar command, control, and planning 

practices conducted by a “bewildering” array of actors.19

Indonesia and Timor

Courtesy National Geospatial Agency
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 153

Intervening in East Timor would place the Americans in risky 

circumstances. e outside intervention had begun with regional 

nations, Australia and New Zealand, performing a humanitarian 

mission. Given the chaos developing on the ground in East Timor 

and indeed throughout Indonesia, the Americans realized they might 

nd themselves working in an unstable “failed state” instead.20 e 

U.S. government wanted to avoid a situation in which a humanitarian 

operation deteriorated into a civic breakdown as seen earlier during 

the Somali and Rwandan crises, with the intervention forces on the 

ground, including Americans, too few in number to handle a collapse 

of internal security.21 For that reason U.S. leaders decided to limit their 

commitment ashore.22

e uncertain nature of the American commitment to INTERFET 

meant the Navy and Marine Corps forces had only a vague idea of 

their mission o Timor. During the summer of 1999, U.S. military sta 

members planned a set of responses to an evolving “situation in Timor” 

that paid close attention to questions of intelligence, geography, and the 

supply constraints.23 Even aer the intervention began, Marine Brigadier 

General John Castellaw, commander of the U.S. Forces INTERFET, 

remarked to a Washington Times reporter on 30 September 1999, “We are 

proceeding without a plan, doing our best as it’s been laid out.”24 Such 

indistinct responsibilities, both before and aer the start of Operation 

Stabilise, would call for adaptability on the part of U.S. forces. 

Castellaw laid out four goals for U.S. forces in the region, conforming 

to the overall INTERFET mission and his own national instructions, while 

retaining the greatest degree of initiative possible:

1. Establish a comprehensive force protection plan.

2. Minimize the footprint and exposure of U.S. forces in Dili (and 

other sites within East Timor).

3. Rapidly introduce unique U.S.-only capabilities.

4. Commander, INTERFET remains in charge.25

e general’s intent conformed to his politically mandated instructions 

and acted as informal rules of engagement for the American ships assembling o the coast. 
154 Sarandis Papadopoulos

Brigadier General Castellaw’s orders also reected the U.S. determination to play a noncombat role in East Timor.26 More important, his 

goals maximized the ability of U.S. forces to protect themselves, especially 

from the highest potential threatening source, the Indonesian Navy. e 

American commander had no reasons to expect a direct confrontation with 

the Indonesians but had to consider the possibility. With those priorities, 

the general could remain condent that his forces would provide unique capabilities to INTERFET and General Cosgrove without putting themselves 

at risk ashore.27 It was an impressive balancing act.

Subordination in a foreign-led operation did raise structural and 

doctrinal questions for the U.S. forces committed to East Timor. Castellaw’s 

stricture on the deployment of forces ashore reected the political guidance 

of President Bill Clinton and the U.S. National Security Council (NSC). 

Meeting on 16 September, the NSC mandated an American supporting 

role, with no more than 250 personnel on the ground.28 Apart from a small 

team in Dili, and a number of Air Force transport aircra ying between 

Darwin and Dili, the only other U.S. presence in the region would be Navy 

ships and embarked Marines. Under existing doctrine the Americans 

would have designated their units a “Joint Task Force,” incorporating 

dierent service elements and a planning sta under the command of a 

U.S. ocer.29 Instead, Admiral Dennis Blair (Commander in Chief, U.S. 

Pacic Command) and Castellaw termed the American contingent a “Joint 

Force,” reecting a multiservice composition but without mandating the 

sta members that joint doctrine demanded. Adding a sta would have 

pushed the personnel numbers above the maximum set by the NSC.30

Calling the U.S. group a joint force also enabled it to work under the 

operational control of the foreign-headed INTERFET.31 U.S. Navy ships 

were not assigned to the joint force but designated “Joint Task Force –

Timor Sea Operations,” probably because their crew numbers would 

also have exceeded the personnel ceiling. ese units reported directly 

to Castellaw. American naval forces added their considerable capabilities 

to the UN operation but did not compromise U.S. government political 

restrictions.
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 155

U.S. Forces Participate in Stabilise

Despite their relatively small numbers, the U.S. Navy ships available 

for Operation Stabilise made a signicant contribution, for their crews held 

several advantages that made them familiar with allied tactics and doctrine. 

Initially, the sole American warship available in the region was the guided 

missile cruiser USS Mobile Bay, engaged with the Royal Australian Navy in 

Exercise Crocodile ’99. e ship’s fortuitous presence in a scheduled exercise 

allowed the crew to accustom themselves to Australian military procedures, 

giving them condence in the force they supported. Better, the ship’s parent 

command, U.S. Seventh Fleet, had two years earlier identied several 

incompatibilities between the American and Australian planning processes.32

Aer working with the same Australian command participating in the East 

Timor operation—the 3rd Infantry Brigade—lessons-learned reports had 

identied diering national approaches to preparing amphibious landings.

e reports suggest that the two navies possessed background information 

helpful for quickly resolving the incompatibilities. Finally, Major General 

Cosgrove oered another, personal, counterbalance to any lack of familiarity 

between the American and Australian forces: in 1979 he had graduated from 

the U.S. Marine Corps Command and Sta College.33

Mobile Bay oered unique capabilities to the maritime component 

of INTERFET. In particular, she was an Aegis combat system-equipped 

cruiser, ideal for gaining a comprehensive understanding of the air and 

ocean environment around Dili.34 Locally acquired data could be combined with intelligence details from outside the theater delivered through 

the ship’s Trojan Spirit II satellite communication systems.35 Once collated, 

Mobile Bay’s Link-16 system could automatically share information with 

the other warships through their compatible Link-11 systems, relying on 

a process called “concurrent interfacing.”36 Further complemented by information acquired by a U.S. EP-3 Aries electronic intelligence aircra 

based near Darwin, Australia, the cruiser oered a comprehensive understanding to the international force.37 No other ships in INTERFET could 

build such a complete air picture, and the ground forces committed to the 

operation certainly had nothing comparable in their inventory for sharing 
156 Sarandis Papadopoulos

combat data. e cruiser therefore served a vital purpose in its ability to 

warn UN forces of potential threats from the air or sea.

e U.S. Military Seali Command also supported INTERFET. 

With a civilian crew, the USNS Kilauea, a 20,000-ton ammunition ship, 

le Exercise Crocodile ’99 to support Operation Stabilise.38 While not 

employed as a cargo vessel, Kilauea operated from her enclosed hangar 

two CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters, aircra capable of moving up to 10,000 

pounds or 25 people by air.39 e ship could oer a mobile, self-supporting 

oating air base, a so-called lily pad, wherever and whenever the UN force 

required one. Helicopters based on board also made the 500-mile transit 

from Darwin to East Timor.40 Initially, Kilauea and Mobile Bay constituted 

Joint Task Force–Timor Sea Operations.

As the international force expanded its control of East Timor, a 

U.S. amphibious warfare ship, USS Belleau Wood, pitched in to support 

Operation Stabilise. In reality a small aircra carrier, the ship carried 

much of the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), built around a 

reinforced infantry battalion.41 She arrived o East Timor around 1 

October, and Belleau Wood’s embarked aircra, from Marine Medium 

Helicopter Squadron 265, oered a reinforced heavy-li air group 

crucially important to the INTERFET force.42 e squadron operated a 

mix of CH-46 and CH-53 Sea Stallion machines ideally suited to moving 

heavy payloads.43 Transport planes based in Australia could deliver only 

a limited supply of food by parachute to the island’s civilian population. 

e CH-53s, in contrast, moved large amounts of food by air from ships 

oshore. Sea Stallions of USS Peleliu, another amphibious ship of the 

Belleau Wood class, alone delivered more than 1.5 million pounds of 

humanitarian supplies and equipment in one month. Helicopters could 

also avoid the already overburdened and violence-prone mountain 

roads and deliver cargoes directly to isolated villages. e Marine units 

prevented more extreme hunger among the people, of whom more than 

200,000 were refugees.44

By and large the ground components of the MEU, as well as most 

U.S. forces, did not go ashore. Indeed, some additional command and 

control elements worked in Darwin. e 130 or so Americans in Dili 

provided intelligence, communications, and civil aairs support for the
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 157

Assigned to Fleet Surgical Team 5 aboard USS Belleau Wood, Navy physician Lieutenant Commander Sara H. Arnold administers medicine to an East Timor child. Arnold was among the many 

doctors from the Belleau Wood Amphibious Ready Group who took part in humanitarian visits in 

East Timor after civil strife in that country.

international force headquarters.45 e limited ground commitment 

conformed to Brigadier General Castellaw’s goals of maintaining force 

protection and keeping a small footprint on the ground in East Timor. It 

also reected the U.S. government’s desire to provide limited support to 

the United Nations and back up the operation’s lead country, Australia.46

Belleau Wood’s arrival o East Timor came at a crucial time in 

Operation Stabilise. Some nations contributing to INTERFET, such as 

New Zealand, lacked the logistical means needed to support their forces 

“over the shore,” that is, directly from ships at sea.47 Similarly, the Canadian 

Forces did not posses a single amphibious vessel capable of supporting the 

reinforced infantry company committed ashore. e Canadians relied on 

aircra and other nations’ shipping to move soldiers and deliver supplies. 

e Australian supply capabilities became stretched to the limit as they 

attempted to make up for other nations’ lack of resources. Major General 

USMC photo
158 Sarandis Papadopoulos

Cosgrove considered the supply services provided by Australian sources 

to have operated “well above design capability.”48 But American military 

airli oered an important, perhaps vital, margin of support. In the words 

of Defense Secretary Cohen, the U.S. airli became a “force multiplier,” 

allowing the peacekeeping operation to continue.49

Despite logistical limitations, on 10 October General Cosgrove 

sped up the timetable for sealing the border with Indonesia’s West Timor 

province. He saw an opportunity to end the violence and accelerate the 

occupation of all East Timor. e general deployed an Australian infantry 

battalion by air to a series of border villages, eectively preventing 

inltration by pro-Indonesian militia members.50 e rapidity of these 

troop movements proved key to the UN force’s success in protecting 

the civilian populace from militia attacks and stood in contrast to the 

deliberate buildup of some other multilateral operations.51 In doing 

so, however, the general placed one-third of his infantry in exposed 

positions that were hard to supply with the limited number of Australian 

helicopters available. Resorting to U.S. Marine Corps helicopters allowed 

Cosgrove to make the move with a higher degree of condence for distant 

deployment and resupply missions.52 e multilevel exibility of the UN 

units, especially the operational mobility enabled by naval forces, came 

through strongly in this phase of the Timorese operation.

When Mobile Bay departed Indonesian waters on 26 October, 

Belleau Wood assumed responsibility for all American support for 

Operation Stabilise, including command, control, and communications.53

In early November, the amphibious warfare ship headed home to Sasebo, 

Japan, for a long-overdue operational pause. Peleliu deployed from the 

Arabian Gulf as a replacement and served for another month as the 

American warship hosting the largest transport helicopters. In January 

2000 the smaller amphibious transport dock ship USS San Antonio and 

the embarked Marines supported the same mission during the UN force’s 

occupation of the “Oecussi enclave,” an outlying segment of East Timor 

separated by 50 kilometers of Indonesian territory.54 Finally, the USNS San 

Jose, an auxiliary eet support ship, relieved Kilauea to maintain supplies 

for the peacekeepers.
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 159

Following the completion of INTERFET’s mission on 23 February 

2000, the UN transferred authority to a police force with a more modest 

mandate. e United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor 

(UNTAET) would operate with up to 8,950 military personnel, plus 200 

military observers and 1,640 police.55 ese peacekeepers would complete 

execution of Operation Stabilise. Only a small number of American service 

members remained ashore in East Timor throughout the peacekeeping 

mission. A contingent of 30 military personnel, under a parallel U.S. 

command structure and employing national rules of engagement, worked 

on the ground alongside UNTAET, while American warships periodically 

visited for transport, humanitarian, or civic assistance missions.56 A 

reection of the considerable stretch confronting the U.S. armed services, 

the limited number of Americans on the ground fullled the demands 

placed upon them, while maintaining a low prole.

Operational Challenges

U.S. Navy forces encountered logistical diculty in making wholesale 

deliveries of supplies to East Timor. In large measure this challenge stemmed 

from the episodic nature of the deployment, marked by intermittent activity

The amphibious assault ship USS Belleau Wood, which provided American support for Operation Stabilise, heads to her new homeport of San Diego, California, August 2000.

USN photo, Lt. Lisa Brackenbury
160 Sarandis Papadopoulos

and long lulls. As a result minor shortages arose. For example, in October, 

Mobile Bay reported a shortage of F44 aviation fuel, resulting from its 

extensive support for helicopter ights to destinations far inland from 

the ship. Indeed one report submitted by the cruiser labeled F44 a “rare 

commodity in theater,” and requested an oiler to resupply the naval forces 

committed to INTERFET.57

Retail delivery of supplies also became complicated during Operation 

Stabilise. e absence of a joint task force as the designated administrator 

of such deliveries proved one reason for the shortfall.58 Because the U.S. 

force did not include a supply vessel, the lack of some spare parts became 

a problem. For common supply items the Australian logistical chain could 

support the U.S. ships, but items exclusively used by the Americans had to 

come directly from national sources. Ordering the items by satellite telephone 

or email proved straightforward. But Singapore and Guam, both more than 

1,500 kilometers distant, constituted the nearest American supply depots, 

and no regularly scheduled vessels steamed from there to support the two 

U.S. ships.59 Neither the Navy supply system nor the regional bases formally 

knew the warships’ location, leading to one order of items being shipped by 

air to Sasebo, Japan, rather than to Guam. Consequently, Mobile Bay’s crew 

called for replacements for damaged items (casualty reports, or “CASREPs”), 

either by satellite telephone or email, and had them transported to Australia 

because the “husbanding agent in Sydney will know where the ship is.”60

Operating outside of the customary U.S. command structure compelled the 

Americans to improvise a workable supply system.

e 130 Americans making the ground-based communications and 

intelligence commitment to INTERFET, critical to mission success in East 

Timor, also required logistics support.61 e communications and personnel 

were own in from Darwin, 800 kilometers away, by just four medium-range 

aircra. Naval units oshore kept the personnel supplied for two months. 

Delivery of medical care to the U.S. personnel who were rushed to 

the tropical region of East Timor proved dicult.62 Malaria was a constant 

worry, especially for helicopter crews who ew to points throughout 

the island. Uniforms treated with permanent insect repellent were in 

short supply, and service members considered their insect repellant 
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 161

unsatisfactory.63 e preventive medical sta and other naval medical 

personnel recognized these deciencies and recommended several 

measures for later deployments to tropical regions, especially those 

aicted by civil unrest that oen limited the access to public health.

Toward the end of the deployment, Commander Seventh Fleet noted 

his dissatisfaction with the meteorological support provided by Belleau 

Wood and Peleliu. Given INTERFET’s dependence on aerial delivery 

of supplies, quick collection and delivery of meteorological data were 

essential to the safe operation of helicopters and xed-wing aircra in 

East Timor.64 Heightening his concern was the possible development of 

erce tropical cyclones that begin hitting the region in November. e 

meteorological teams took anywhere from three to seven days to fully 

develop their understanding of the region’s weather, too long to determine 

the meteorological eects on Operation Stabilise.65

Assessment

Measured in terms of the goal to clear Indonesian troops from East 

Timor and establish an independent government based in Dili, INTERFET 

and UNTAET were unqualied successes. Allied forces protected the 

local population from further massacres while suering few casualties 

of their own. at the force accomplished its mission by overcoming the 

obstacles of distance and political constraints makes its success all the 

more impressive.

From the U.S. perspective, Operation Stabilise yielded outstanding 

results. Working within a narrow set of political restrictions, American 

military forces provided vital support to INTERFET forces in East Timor. 

On the political side, the presence of U.S. Navy warships and aircra as well 

as a small ground contingent signaled the importance Washington placed 

on the success of the Australian-led UN mission. at presence also served 

as a brake on the destabilizing activities of the militias, bandits, and even 

the Indonesian armed forces. From operational and tactical standpoints, 

the American naval presence was equally crucial. U.S. Navy units provided 

a comprehensive and robust picture of the air and sea around East Timor, 

oered helicopter transport to points throughout the country, served as 
162 Sarandis Papadopoulos

oating bases just oshore, delivered food and other supplies to coalition 

troops and starving Timorese villagers, and conducted a full range 

of command, control, communications, intelligence, and civic action 

services. Despite some challenges delivering spare parts, medical care, 

and meteorological analysis, the U.S. Navy satised the need to minimize 

the American commitment to the region, while it helped establish the 

independence of East Timor and deliver its people from civil chaos.

Notes

1. http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/UntaetB.htm, accessed 25 January 2006.

2. Larry Dinger, “East Timor and U.S. Foreign Policy: Making Sausage” (Unpublished paper, 

National War College, Washington, DC, 2000), 2–3, at http://www.ndu.edu/library/n2/

n005603D.pdf, accessed 26 October 2005. American opinion on East Timor proved quite 

polarized in the 1990s; see Noam Chomsky et al., “Ending 20 Years of Occupation: East 

Timor and U.S. Foreign Policy,” Columbia University, 9 December 1995, at http://www.

zmag.org/chomsky/talks/9512-timor-etan.html, accessed 27 October 2005.

3. Dinger, 3–5. Concern of the United Nations dated from December 1975 when the General 

Assembly had passed a resolution calling for East Timorese self-determination. See A/

Res/3485 (XXX) “Question of Timor,” 12 December 1975, at http://daccess-ods.un.org/

TMP/4636015.html, accessed 27 October 2005.

4. Ian Clark, “Why the ‘World’s Policeman’ Cannot Retire in Southeast Asia: A Critical 

Assessment of the ‘East Timor Model’” (Unpublished master’s thesis, U.S. Naval Postgraduate 

School, Monterey, CA, June 2002), 7–9. The same impulse compelled the West European 

Union to commit ground troops to the former Yugoslavia as part of UNPROFOR, and naval 

forces to Operation Sharp Fence, both in 1992.

5. On the plebiscite, see http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/missions/unmiset/background.

html, accessed 25 January 2006. See also K. Day, “Australian Peacekeeping Operations in 

East Timor,” May 2000, 1, at http://www.ngic.army.smil.mil/products/htf/NGIC-1122-0041-

00/art3.htm, accessed 5 December 2005.

6. Clark, “Why the ‘World’s Policeman’ Cannot Retire,” 10.

7. http://daccessdds.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/N99/262/20/PDF/N9926220.

pdf?OpenElement, accessed 25 January 2006.

8. Dinger, “East Timor and U.S. Foreign Policy,” 5.

9. For the Security Council resolution, see http://www.un.int/usa/sres1264.htm, accessed 16 

December 2005.

10. Listing of forces taken from “Riots, Rebellions, Gun Boats and Peace Keepers: East Timor,” 

at http://www.britains-smallwars.com/RRGP/EastTimor.html, accessed 21 November 2005.

11. For the charter, see http://www.un.org/aboutun/charter/index.html, accessed 23 January 

2006.

12. INTERFET forces executed Operation Stabilise, while Australian forces employed the 

operational name Warden for their contributions.
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 163

13. Alan Ryan, “Australian Army Cooperation with the Land Forces of the United States: 

Problems of the Junior Partner,” Land Warfare Studies Centre, Working Paper No. 121, 

January 2003, 20.

14. On the questions addressed to U.S. President Bill Clinton regarding an American ground 

force presence in East Timor, see Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: William 

J. Clinton, 1999, book 2 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office [GPO], 2001), 1514, 

1526, 1528, 1546.

15. As quoted in James Hessman, “U.S. Escalated Support for INTERFET Mission,” Sea 

Power 42, no. 11 (November 1999): 30.

16. H. H. Gaffney et al., U.S. Naval Responses to Situations, 1970–1999 (Alexandria, VA: 

CNA, December 2000), 61–66.

17. William Cobble et al., For the Record: All U.S. Forces’ Responses to Situations, 1970–2000

(Alexandria, VA: CNA, June 2003), 107.

18. James Dobbins, “The UN’s Role in Nation-Building: From the Belgian Congo to Iraq,”

Survival 46, no. 4 (Winter 2004–05): 82.

19. USS John S. McCain, “Operational Groups,” Navy Lessons Learned Database, 14 April 

2000.

20. Clark, “Why the ‘World’s Policeman’ Cannot Retire,” 4.

21. On the inadequate force levels in Somalia, see Dobbins, 85. On the direct comparison 

to Rwanda, made by the President of the United States, see Public Papers of the Presidents: 

William J. Clinton, 1999, book 2, 1542.

22. Debra Beutel, “A JTF In Support: How U.S. Forces Can Achieve Success by Influence” 

(Unpublished paper, Naval War College, Newport, RI, 10 May 2002), 10.

23. U.S. Forces INTERFET, “Operation After Action Report. Part I: Executive Overview,” 11 

February 2000, 2.

24. As quoted in Beutel, “A JTF In Support,” 10. Brigadier General Castellaw was Deputy 

Commander, 3rd Marine Expeditionary Force.

25. As listed in Beutel, “A JTF In Support,” 11.

26. Excerpt of interview with Lieutenant General John Castellaw, October 2006, n.p. I am 

indebted to Dr. Nathan Lowery, U.S. Marine Corps Museum, for providing me with this 

source.

27. On the U.S. providing transportation, communications, and intelligence support for 

Operation Stabilise, announced on 13 September 1999, see Public Papers of the Presidents: 

William J. Clinton, 1999, book 2, 1528.

28. James Glynn, “Operation Stabilise: U.S. Joint Force Operations in East Timor” (Unpublished 

Master of Military Studies thesis, U.S. Marine Corps Command and Staff College, 20 April 

2000), 12–13. Linda Kozaryn, “U.S. Limits Assistance to East Timor,” suggested the limit was 

200 personnel; see Armed Forces Information Service, 17 September 1999, at http://www.

defenselink.mil/news/Sep1999/n09171999_9909162.html, accessed 25 January 2006.

29. Glynn, “Operation Stabilise,” 5.

30. Ibid., 17.

31. Ibid., 19.

32. See Commander Seventh Fleet, “Australian Defense (sic) Force Battle Procedure Not 

Compatible with U.S. Expeditionary Forces Doctrine,” Navy Lessons Learned Database, 4 

May 1997.
164 Sarandis Papadopoulos

33. See Major General Cosgrove’s biography, at http://www.awm.gov.au/people/1070841.asp, 

accessed 1 February 2006.

34. I am indebted to Dr. David Stevens of the Sea Power Centre–Australia for pointing out 

this unique U.S. Navy contribution to Operation Stabilise, in conversations in July 2005.

35. Glynn, “Operation Stabilise,” 8, 9, especially n. 7.

36. On the operational particulars of Link-16 ships, see Aegis Program Manager, Logicon 

Inc., Understanding Link-16: A Guidebook for New Users (San Diego, CA: Logicon Tactical 

Systems Division, April 1994), 7-2–7-7, A-10–A-11.

37. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 5.

38. Ibid., 3.

39. For USNS Kilauea, see http://www.msc.navy.mil/inventory/ships.asp?ship=kilauea&t

ype=AmmunitionShip; for the lift capacity of a CH-46, see http://www.globalsecurity.org/

military/systems/aircraft/ch-46.htm, both accessed 20 January 2006.

40. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 3.

41. On USS Belleau Wood and the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations 

Capable), see letter, President Clinton to Speaker of the House of Representatives J. Dennis 

Hastert, as required by the War Powers Resolution, in United States, President William J. 

Clinton, “A Report Regarding Forces in East Timor,” 8 October 1999, House Document 106-

141 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1999), 1.

42. There is some confusion on the arrival date of USS Belleau Wood; Glynn, “Operation 

Stabilise,” 6–7, reports her arrival as 5 October. The Dictionary of American Naval Fighting 

Ships lists a 14 September arrival, with helicopter missions beginning on 1 October, the date 

I have elected to use. See http://www.history.navy.mil/danfs/b4/belleau_wood.htm, accessed 

20 January 2006.

43. James Folk and Andy Smith, “A LOGCAP Success in East Timor,” Army Logistician 37 

(Jul/Aug 2000), at http://www.almc.army.mil/ALOG/issues/JulAug00/MS566.htm, accessed 

16 December 2005.

44. Numbers vary; see the 12 September entry at http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/

Untaetchrono.html, accessed 24 January 2006.

45. See Kozaryn, “U.S. Limits Assistance.” INTERFET’s American headquarters staff came 

from all four U.S. services and rotated through in sequence. For example, Army 11th 

Signal Brigade troops replaced Marines of the 11th MEU in the communications work for 

INTERFET. See “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 7, 33–34. For an Indonesian view 

of U.S. military strength, see “Indonesia: US Merely Sends Communications Personnel for 

INTERFET,” Antara (29 September 1999): 1.

46. See the comments of Admiral Dennis Blair, Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Command, 

24 September 1999, as quoted in “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 24.

47. Air Marshal Carey Adamson, New Zealand Defence Force, “East Timor,” (Brief to Chiefs 

of Defence Conference 2000, on humanitarian operations and multilateral efforts in East 

Timor), 2. Copy in author’s files.

48. As quoted in Clark, “Why the ‘World’s Policeman’ Cannot Retire,” 30.

49. For Cohen, see Douglas Gillert, “U.S. Support Increases to East Timor ‘Operation 

Warden’,” Armed Forces Information Service, 29 September 1999, at http://www.defense.gov/

news/Sep1999/n09291999_9909292.html, accessed 25 January 2006. Lieutenant General 

Castellaw applied the same metaphor; see Beutel, “A JTF In Support,” 12.
U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise 165

50. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 6.

51. Day, 3. On the contrast between the UNTAET experience and other UN operations, see 

Colm Mangan, “Multi-national Commitments to Peace Support Operations. A small state’s 

experience” (Presentation at the International Commission of Military History Colloquy, 

Potsdam, Germany, 25 August 2006), 3.

52. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 7; and Beutel, “A JTF In Support,” 12. With the 

departure of the U.S. Navy ships, four contractor-flown aircraft replaced their helicopters 

starting in November 1999. See Folk and Smith, “A LOGCAP Success.”

53. http://www.history.navy.mil/danfs/b4/belleau_wood.htm, accessed 15 December 2005.

54. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 10–11, 35.

55. President William J. Clinton, “Periodic Report of the U.S. Military Force in East Timor,” 

25 August 2000, House Document 106-288 (Washington, DC: GPO, 2000), 1. For slightly 

varying numbers, see UNTAET Press Office, “Fact Sheet 2: UNTAET Basic Facts,” April 

2002, http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/fact/fs2.PDF, accessed 31 January 2006.

56. President William J. Clinton, “A Report Regarding Forces in East Timor,” 25 February 

2000, House Document 106-203 (Washington, DC: GPO, 2000), 1–2.

57. USS Mobile Bay, “Fuel (F44) In Theater,” Navy Lessons Learned Database, 2 October 

1999.

58. One Marine Corps major characterized the combat service support of U.S. forces as 

“inefficient” and created “from scratch.” See Glynn, “Operation Stabilise,” 20–21.

59. USS Mobile Bay, “Logistics,” Navy Lessons Learned Database, 2 October 1999.

60. Ibid.

61. Lynn Cross et al., “East Timor: A Case Study in C4I Innovation,” CHIPS: The Department 

of the Navy Information Technology Magazine (Winter 2003): 30, at http://www.chips.navy.

mil/achives/03_winter/PDF/timor.pdf, accessed 30 November 2006.

62. “Operation Stabilise After Action Report,” 33; Navy Environmental and Preventive 

Medicine Unit 6, “Lessons Learned from Operation Warden/Stabilise, 28 September to 17 

December 1999,” copy in author’s files.

63. Navy Environmental and Preventive Medicine Unit, “Lessons Learned,” 2, 3, 6, 7.

64. Commander Seventh Fleet, “Pacific METOC Conference Hot Wash Up Report,” Navy 

Lessons Learned Database, 2 December 1999.

65. Ibid. On the Australian cyclone season, see http://www.bom.gov.au/info/cyclone/, 

accessed 27 January 2006.
167

CHAPTER 6

e U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition 

Maritime Interception in

Operation Enduring Freedom, 

2001–2002

Jerey G. Barlow

Initiating Operation Enduring Freedom

On the morning of 11 September 2001, hijackers seized four American 

airliners in ight and used them as weapons against United States 

high-value targets. Two airliners were crashed separately into the Twin 

Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, igniting raging 

res that eventually caused the structures to implode cataclysmically. A 

third passenger plane was crashed into the Pentagon, breaching a side 

of the massive building and starting extensive res. e fourth aircra, 

which headed to Washington, D.C., toward what was believed to be a 

major political target (possibly the White House or the Capitol), crashed 

into a eld in southwestern Pennsylvania during a struggle between the 

passengers and the hijackers for control of the plane. In all, nearly 3,000 

people were killed. Within a day of the attacks, American intelligence 

agencies had linked the coordinated strikes to the al-Qaeda terrorist 

organization led by Osama bin Laden, which used territory in Afghanistan 

as its base of operations.

On 12 September the United Nations Security Council passed 

Resolution 1368 condemning the terrorist attacks. NATO’s North Atlantic 

Council acted that same day, invoking Article 5 of the Washington Treaty, 

which states that an attack on one member is an attack on all. In a similar 
168 Jerey G. Barlow

fashion, the ANZUS allies, agreeing with the United States and Australia 

that Article 4 of the ANZUS Treaty applied to the terrorist attacks against 

New York City and the Pentagon, invoked their treaty obligations to support 

the United States.1

 In Central Command’s area of responsibility (AOR), 12 

September was the day that the USS Enterprise carrier battle group had 

been scheduled to out-chop, having been relieved on station by the USS 

Carl Vinson carrier battle group. Under the circumstances, Enterprise’s 

departure was cancelled. With this change in plan, General Tommy R. 

Franks, Commander in Chief, U.S. Central Command (USCINCCENT) 

had an available naval force of 25 ships, 177 aircra, and 18,000 personnel 

on station in the North Arabian Sea, ready if needed to undertake combat 

operations.2

 

In the days following the 11 September attacks, Afghanistan’s Taliban 

government refused repeated demands by the U.S. government either 

to turn over Osama bin Laden or to close down the al-Qaeda terrorist 

training camps operating on its territory.3

 It quickly became evident to 

President George W. Bush, and his senior foreign policy and defense 

advisors, that only military action would compel the Taliban’s compliance. 

Since Afghanistan lay within Central Command’s AOR, Secretary of 

Defense Donald Rumsfeld directed General Franks on 12 September to 

prepare a series of “credible military options” ranging all the way up to 

full-scale combat operations for dealing with Osama bin Laden, al-Qaeda, 

and those who facilitated their terrorist activities.4

On 14 September the United States Congress passed a joint resolution 

(S.J. Res 23) authorizing the President of the United States “to use all 

necessary force against those . . . [who] aided the terrorist attacks.” When 

signed into law four days later, it furnished the Defense Department with 

the authority to prepare a military response to the terrorists’ 9/11 attacks. 

is initial American response to terrorism was designated Operation 

Enduring Freedom (OEF) on 25 September.5

 

On 21 September General Franks briefed President Bush on possible operations that Central Command (CENTCOM) could conduct, 

including a proposal to destroy the al-Qaeda network inside Afghanistan 

and topple the Taliban regime that was supporting it. When, a few days 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 169

later, this proposal became Franks’ recommended military course of action, Secretary Rumsfeld approved it. Franks briefed the plan to President 

Bush on 2 October. Bush, aer approving the plan, directed that combat 

operations begin on 7 October.6

 

Forging Coalition Support for OEF

On 3 October 2001 Air Force General Richard B. Myers, Chairman 

of the Joint Chiefs of Sta, authorized CENTCOM to conduct exploratory military-to-military discussions with the many countries that had 

expressed a willingness to take part in Operation Enduring Freedom. Interestingly, the week before, General Franks had requested the assignment 

to CENTCOM of military forces from the United Kingdom.7

e following day, at the request of the United States, the NATO allies 

expanded the list of options that the alliance could take in the campaign 

against terrorism. ey agreed upon eight specic actions that included 

enhancing intelligence sharing related to terrorist threats, replacing 

assets in NATO’s area of responsibility to cover those assets withdrawn 

to support operations against terrorism, and allowing the United States 

and other allies access to ports and airelds on NATO-member territory 

(including refueling evolutions) during antiterrorism operations. ese 

actions put operational teeth to the alliance’s earlier invocation of Article 

5 of the Washington Treaty.8

On 7 October, the day the initial American air strikes took place in 

Afghanistan, President Bush delivered an address to the nation. He told 

the American people:

On my orders, the United States military has begun strikes against 

al Qaeda terrorist training camps and military installations of the 

Taliban regime in Afghanistan. ese carefully targeted actions 

are designed to disrupt the use of Afghanistan as a terrorist base 

of operations, and to attack the military capability of the Taliban 

regime.

We are joined in this operation by our staunch friend, Great Britain. 

Other close friends, including Canada, Australia, Germany and 

France, have pledged forces as the operation unfolds.9
170 Jerey G. Barlow

Shortly aer the president’s speech ended, British Prime Minister Tony 

Blair publicly announced Britain’s military participation in the strikes, 

telling reporters in a press conference held at 10 Downing Street, “I can 

conrm that last Wednesday the US Government made a specic request 

that a number of UK military assets be used in the operation which has 

now begun. And I gave authority for these assets to be deployed. ey 

include the base at Diego Garcia, reconnaissance and ghter support 

aircra and missile ring submarines. Missile ring submarines are in use 

tonight.”10

NATO announced on 9 October that its Standing Naval Force 

Mediterranean (SNFM), then participating in Exercise Destined Glory 

2001 o the southern coast of Spain, would be ordered to the Eastern 

Mediterranean to conduct maritime presence operations in support of 

the international campaign against terrorism.11 Although the operation, 

designated Active Endeavour, formally began on 26 October, it actually 

had started on 6 October when SNFM headed east.12 One of the force’s 

important roles was checking the origin and destination of ships sailing 

through the Suez Canal.13

British support for an increased naval presence in OEF gathered 

steam during October 2001. ree Royal Navy submarines—HMS 

Triumph, HMS Trafalgar, and HMS Superb—were already in the AOR. 

And, in fact, the missile submarines Triumph and Trafalgar had been 

involved in launching Tomahawk land attack missiles (TLAMs) against 

al-Qaeda and Taliban targets in Afghanistan since the commencement of 

OEF.14 Fortuitously, during September and October 2001, a sizable U.K. 

maritime task group (in the largest deployment of British forces overseas 

since the Falklands War) was participating in Saif Sareea II, an exercise 

with the Omani armed forces as a part of the Royal Navy’s overall Exercise 

Argonaut 2001.15

On 26 October, a Ministry of Defence spokesman told the House of 

Commons:

Our current forces are primarily congured to assist in the coalition’s 

air campaign. at campaign will continue and develop over time 

and so must the capabilities that we assign to it. We have therefore 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 171

decided to create a large and rebalanced force in the region. . . . What 

I can do is describe the forces that we will reassign to Operation 

Veritas from Exercise Saif Sareea 2 [II] when the exercise nishes 

next week.

ose forces will comprise the following: the aircra carrier HMS 

Illustrious, which will be re-equipped for helicopter operations; 

the assault ship HMS Fearless; a submarine presence able to launch 

Tomahawk missiles [HMS Triumph and HMS Trafalgar]; the 

destroyer HMS Southampton; the frigate HMS Cornwall; seven Royal 

Fleet Auxiliaries—the RFAs Sir Tristram, Sir Percivale, Fort Victoria, 

Fort Rosalie, Bayleaf, Brambleleaf and Diligence; and four additional 

support aircra consisting of Nimrod maritime patrol aircra and 

Hercules transport planes.16

Rear Admiral James Burnell-Nugent, who had been commanding the 

maritime portion of Exercise Saif Sareea, was assigned command of the 

naval task force.17 e overall British contribution to OEF was designated 

Operation Veritas. e Type 23 frigate HMS Kent, the rst of the British 

surface ships participating in Saif Sareea to detach for service in the 

Arabian Gulf, became the new Armilla Guardship. e frigate carried out 

the role of maintaining a permanent British naval presence in the Gulf 

and undertook maritime interception operations (MIO) in support of UN 

Security Council Resolutions (UNSCRs) 661 and 665.18 

Kent was on station and conducting MIO as early as 8 October. e 

British task force headed by HMS Illustrious, however, did not begin 

operations in the AOR as part of the coalition naval forces until early 

December 2001.19 A portion of this delay was likely due to issues relating to 

the British rules of engagement (ROE) for Operation Enduring Freedom.

Australia, like the United Kingdom, responded quickly to the terrorist 

attacks on 9/11. By 18 September, Royal Australian Air Force personnel 

on exchange duty with the U.S. Air Force were ying in combat air patrols 

over the continental United States. And, as of that date, the Australian 

government had authorized Australian Defence Force exchange personnel 

attached to American military services to deploy with U.S. forces on 

operations, both inside the United States and abroad.20
172 Jerey G. Barlow

On 16 October, in response to President Bush’s request the day 

before that Australia activate its commitment to join the coalition force, 

Australian Prime Minster John Howard publicly detailed his country’s 

contribution to Operation Enduring Freedom. e deployed naval portion 

of the Australian Defence Force consisted of a task group comprising an 

amphibious command ship, the LPA HMAS Kanimbla (a converted former 

U.S. LST) equipped with organic helicopter support; an escorting frigate, 

HMAS Adelaide; and a second frigate, HMAS Sydney, with embarked 

helicopter capability, directed “to assist in the coalition’s protection of 

shipping eort.”21 In point of fact, however, Sydney was being sent to the 

region as a relief for the guided missile frigate HMAS Anzac, which was 

already operating in the AOR as part of the Maritime Interception Force 

(MIF), enforcing UN sanctions against Iraq.22 e prime minister noted 

that the bulk of the Australian forces committed would be deployed by 

mid-November 2001. e Australian military contribution to OEF was 

designated Operation Slipper.

Sydney, because of her requirement to relieve Anzac in theater, was 

dispatched separately to the Arabian Gulf by Maritime Headquarters after she completed her OLOC (Operational Level of Capability) workup 

and assessment. She arrived on station on 9 November 2001. In the meantime, the task group consisting of Kanimbla and Adelaide readied for deployment. e task group commander, Captain Allan Du Toit, and his 

sta joined Kanimbla on 31 October. Following completion of its workup 

in the waters of the Western Australian Exercise Area, TG 627.1 le 

Australia on 16 November, headed for the Gulf. Following a fueling stop 

and short nal workup period at Diego Garcia, the task group sailed on 29 

November 2001 for the Middle East area of operations (MEAO). Kanimbla and Adelaide entered the MEAO on 2 December and passed through 

the Strait of Hormuz four days later.23

e United States’ third major coalition partner, Canada, also 

responded quickly to the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York City and at the 

Pentagon. e Canadian government sought to demonstrate its support 

by furnishing a “fast, visible reaction.” On 7 October Canadian Prime 

Minister Jean Chrétien stated that his country would furnish a range of 

sea, air, and land forces to the coalition being formed to ght terrorism. 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 173

e following day, Minister of National Defence Art Eggleton laid out the 

military forces that would be provided for the country’s participation in 

the antiterrorist campaign, to be designated Operation Apollo. He noted 

that Canada would commit one-third of its warships, six aircra, and a 

portion of Joint Task Force (JTF) 2—its antiterrorist unit—to the eort.24

With specic regard to the ships involved, the rst to be sent to the 

Gulf was the Canadian patrol frigate Halifax, which was already serving 

with the Standing Naval Force Atlantic.25 Because NATO had invoked 

Article 5 of the Washington Treaty, the Ottawa government believed 

this action lent legitimacy to its decision to redirect the ship elsewhere. 

Halifax was immediately dispatched to the Gulf region, arriving there 

the last week of October. Meanwhile, the Canadian Navy was ordered to 

assemble a task group for service in the CENTCOM area of responsibility. 

Commodore D. W. Robertson and his sta, embarked in the Tribal-class 

guided missile destroyer HMCS Iroquois, departed on 17 October from 

Halifax with the task group’s two other ships, the patrol frigate HMCS 

Charlottetown (which had just returned from the region in July) and the 

resupply ship HMCS Preserver. Following several days of working-up 

exercises, the command sailed for the Gulf. e Canadian task group had 

in-chopped the CENTCOM AOR in mid-November, and by the following 

week steamed in the North Arabian Sea o the Pakistani coast, serving as 

the escort for the U.S. Marine amphibious ready group (ARG) preparing 

to conduct operations into Afghanistan.26

e nal Canadian warship to arrive in the Gulf during 2001 was the 

West Coast-based patrol frigate HMCS Vancouver. On 30 October, she 

departed Esquimalt and headed south to San Diego to integrate into the 

USS John C. Stennis carrier battle group. On 12 November 2001, following 

a week of working up, the Stennis force, with Vancouver serving as part 

of the escort, sailed from San Diego for Southwest Asia. e command 

in-chopped the CENTCOM AOR on 15 December, and Vancouver was 

detached to operate in the North Arabian Sea.27 

In addition to the major coalition partners, an impressive number 

of other countries contributed warships or other forces employed in the 

CENTOM AOR in maritime tasks during Operation Enduring Freedom. 

ese included Bahrain, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Japan, the 
174 Jerey G. Barlow

Netherlands, Poland, and Spain. France, for example, provided a carrier 

battle group (CVBG) built around the nuclear carrier Charles de Gaulle

to support combat operations in the North Arabian Sea. Germany sent 

a force of three frigates and a supply ship that operated in the Horn of 

Africa region. Italy furnished its only carrier battle group, built around 

the aircra carrier Garibaldi, which like the French CVBG operated in 

the North Arabian Sea. And although Poland had no ships in the AOR, it 

supplied a special forces unit that served as boarding teams for maritime 

and leadership interceptions in the Northern Arabian Gulf and North 

Arabian Sea.28

Maritime and Leadership Interdiction Operations

At the time operations against al-Qaeda and Taliban forces in 

Afghanistan began in October 2001, American warships and those of 

certain coalition navies had been carrying out maritime interceptions in 

support of UNSCRs 661 and 665 for some 11 years. e year before, at the 

time of the tenth anniversary of the rst UNSCR maritime interception 

operation in connection with the embargo of Iraq, it was determined 

that since the start of such operations in August 1990, U.S. and coalition 

warships had queried 29,307 merchant ships, boarded 12,763 of these 

vessels, and diverted 748 of them for inspection in ports of coalition 

countries.29 And during calendar year 2001 alone, forces employed in 

MIO had conducted 2,570 queries of merchantmen and 1,276 boardings, 

and had diverted 95 of them for inspection.30

General Franks’ eater Campaign Plan for Operation Enduring 

Freedom dened U.S. Central Command’s mission in the following 

manner: “to destroy al Qaeda; to end support of terrorism by states and 

non-state organizations; to eliminate terrorist access to weapons of mass 

destruction to provide military support to humanitarian operations; 

and, once these objectives were achieved, to prevent the re-emergence of 

terrorism.”31 e campaign plan was to be carried out in four phases—

Phase I, “Setting Conditions for Initial Operations”; Phase II, “Initial 

Combat Operations”; Phase III, “Decisive Combat Operations”; and Phase 

IV, “Sustainment and Prevention of Terrorist Re-emergence.”32
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 175

In preparing for pending operations in his AOR, General Franks 

reorganized his theater command structure according to functional 

componency. He assigned Vice Admiral Charles W. Moore Jr., commander 

of the U.S. Naval Forces Central Command (COMUSNAVCENT) and the 

U.S. Fih Fleet, as Combined Forces Maritime Component Commander.33

COMUSNAVCENT’s own area of responsibility included the Arabian 

Gulf, Arabian Sea, Gulf of Oman, Red Sea, and portions of the Indian 

Ocean (an area of some 7.5 million square miles, or almost three times the 

size of the continental U.S.).34

On 1 November 2001 USCINCCENT promulgated the second of 

three operations orders connected to military operations in Afghanistan.35

e operation order noted, “We are now transitioning to Phase II-Stage 2 

(Continued Operations).” It specically tasked COMUSNAVCENT with 

a number of missions, including the following: “[Maintain] maritime 

superiority to ensure uninterrupted access and movement through the 

Arabian Gulf and [support] CJFSOCC [Combined/Joint Forces Special 

Operations Component Commander] by conducting precision strikes 

against al Qaida, Taliban C2, and Taliban military targets. . . . Support 

CJFACC [Combined/Joint Forces Air Component Commander] with 

aircra sorties to include strike, CAS [close air support], and counter-air 

missions . . . [and] Conduct maritime intercept missions.”36 

In the months before the events of 9/11, the Fih Fleet generally 

was a force numbering around twenty ships, including an aircra carrier 

battle group—with an air wing composed of 85 or more planes—and 

an amphibious ready group. e number of assigned personnel was on 

the order of 15,000, with some 1,000 of these stationed ashore. Because 

of the ramp up of naval forces engendered by Operation Enduring 

Freedom, however, the number of U.S. and coalition warships in 

COMUSNAVCENT’s area of responsibility grew to as many as 130 ships; 

up to 70 were U.S. Navy warships.37 

Fih Fleet was organized into nine task forces: TF 50 (Battle Force), 

TF 53 (Logistics Force), TF 54 (Submarine Force), TF 55 (Middle East 

Force), TF 56 (Special Tasks), TF 561 (SEAL Force), TF 57 (Maritime Patrol Force), TF 58 (Amphibious Force), and TF 59 (Coalition Integration 
176 Jerey G. Barlow

Force).38 Vice Admiral Moore established Task Force 50 shortly aer 9/11 

to furnish the required command structure for the several carrier battle 

groups operating in the North Arabian Sea. e initial Commander Task 

Force (CTF) 50 was Rear Admiral omas E. Zelibor, on board USS Carl 

Vinson.

39 Although Task Force 50’s principal eort was conducting air operations into Afghanistan, its supporting tasks included the protection of 

the amphibious ready groups and the Combat Logistics Force, maritime 

interception, and support to MIO and to intelligence, surveillance, and 

reconnaissance operations in the Horn of Africa region.40 

As had been the case in the 11-year period before September 2001, 

MIO forces focused on containing the oil-smuggling operations from 

Iraqi ports. Under UNSCR 986 (14 April 1995), Iraq had been permitted 

to use the prots from the sale of its oil for in-country humanitarian relief (designated the Oil-for-Food Program). If Iraq could get around this 

closely monitored program by allowing its oil to be shipped illegally by 

third parties, it stood to make a substantial amount of untraceable income 

that could be used for any purpose, including beeng up its rearmament 

eorts. e source for both the legal and illegal oil coming out of Iraq 

was the Mina al-Bakr Oil Terminal, located at the mouth of the Khawr 

Abd Allah—a bight at the head of the Arabian Gulf where the territorial 

waters of Kuwait, Iraq, and Iran converge.41 e principal destination for 

the smuggled oil was the United Arab Emirates (UAE), south of Qatar on 

the Saudi Arabian peninsula. Alternative destinations that were less frequently used were the port of Bandar Abbas in Iran and ports in Yemen, 

Pakistan, and India.42 

In early October 2001, the NAVCENT sta draed a position paper 

(in message form) on the potential use of coalition naval forces in follow-on 

operations relating to OEF. It postulated that coalition forces in support of 

Enduring Freedom could contribute to a variety of missions like ongoing 

maritime interception actions, logistic support, escort operations, and 

future operations against terrorists operating outside of Afghanistan. 

With respect to ongoing maritime interceptions, the paper specically 

noted, “ese will be in support of U.N. Security Council sanctions on 

Iraq and will require both surface combatants and patrol boats with 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 177

boarding teams capable of non-compliant boarding and maritime patrol 

and reconnaissance aircra.”43

During November 2001, as OEF ground operations caused the loss 

of Taliban control in major Afghan cities, General Franks, Vice Admiral 

Moore, and their stas began analyzing the eect this would have on the 

leadership of the Taliban and al-Qaeda. It quickly appeared that both alQaeda leaders and Taliban government ocials would possibly attempt to 

ee rst into Pakistan from Afghanistan and then escape from the former 

by sea or air to countries where they could seek refuge. Commander Task 

Force 50, for example, postulated that in such an event Osama bin Laden 

and other senior al-Qaeda members would attempt to escape to countries 

such as Somalia, Sudan, Yemen, the Philippines, Indonesia, and Malaysia, 

using small watercra such as dhows or helicopters, small planes, or 

possibly commercial ights.44

At this time U.S. naval intelligence estimated that as many as 25 

vessels were associated in some way with bin Laden and al-Qaeda. ese 

ships were assessed as being generally engaged in legitimate shipping 

activity in the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, and other Middle Eastern waters, 

but were thought possibly also to have been chartered by or carried cargo 

for al-Qaeda.45

CTF 50 decided to dra an operational plan that maximized the 

employment of U.S. and coalition naval forces to seal o terrorist sea and 

air escape routes emanating from southern Pakistan. is necessitated 

expanding the existing NAVCENT maritime interception operations to 

include seizure of escaping terrorists. e new mission was designated 

“leadership interdiction operations” (LIO).46

Commander Destroyer Squadron 9, embarked in the carrier 

Carl Vinson, was initially designated as the commander for leadership 

interdiction operations. Eventually, in addition to the U.S. Navy, the navies 

of four coalition partners—the United Kingdom, Canada, France, and 

Italy—took part in LIO patrols, which began in the Gulf of Oman on 23 

November 2001 and commenced in the North Arabian Sea six days later.47

e LIO rules of engagement authorized coalition warships to stop 

and visit non-government vessels based on “reasonable suspicion.” While 
178 Jerey G. Barlow

the rules permitted the coalition ship commander to query such vessels 

and conduct consensual visits, COMUSNAVCENT had to authorize the 

use of disabling re to force a vessel to stop. American LIO rules of engagement allowed coalition warships to search and seize nongovernment 

vessels based on what was called “actionable intelligence”—dened as 

sucient indicators for a reasonable person to believe the vessel is “actively supporting international terrorism” (i.e., transporting Taliban 

leaders or al-Qaeda terrorists). However, boarding of suspicious warships

Gulf of Oman
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 179

or government vessels would only be allowed based on actionable 

intelligence, and nonconsensual boardings could only be undertaken with 

authorization from the U.S. Secretary of Defense.48

Halifax, the rst Canadian ship to in-chop the AOR during 

Operation Enduring Freedom, began operating initially as a Strait of 

Hormuz escort. She transitioned quickly, however, into patrolling for 

oil smugglers along the coast of the UAE.49 Before leaving Canadian 

waters, Commodore Robertson had resisted having his task group take 

on maritime interception force duties, and so he and the Canadian sta 

had agreed on a eet protection role for his ships.50 Accordingly, when the 

Canadian task group in-chopped, it had been assigned responsibility for 

serving as the defensive escort for the U.S. ARG operating o Pakistan. is 

situation changed, however, once leadership interdiction operations were 

initiated, and the Canadian government authorized more robust rules of 

engagement to clarify noncompliant boarding tactics in connection with 

these new operations.51

Because of the increased strain due to the combination of MIO 

tasks in the Arabian Gulf and LIO tasks there and in the Arabian Sea, 

Vice Admiral Moore decided in early February 2002 that the span of 

control was simply too great for the existing sea combat commander 

to oversee everything. Accordingly, aer consulting with Commodore 

Robertson, he granted Robertson the coordination authority for the Gulf 

of Oman sector “west of 60E,” the Southern Arabian Gulf, and the Strait 

of Hormuz escort operations. erefore, during February and March 

2002, the Canadian task group commander led a multinational task 

group composed of Canadian, French, British, U.S., and other warships 

based in the Gulf of Oman.52 In April he turned over his command to 

his successor, Canadian Commodore Eric Lehre, who continued the 

coalition coordination tasking.53 When the Australian task group inchopped the AOR, the Australian government still had not decided 

how this force should be employed operationally. erefore, when its 

ships arrived in Bahrain, there was no authorization “for any kind of 

a mission,” in the words of the then commanding ocer of Kanimbla, 

Commander David McCourt, RAN. 
180 Jerey G. Barlow

Ships from allied navies of the United States, France, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and 

Italy steam in parade formation during Operation Enduring Freedom, 18 April 2002.

Nonetheless, because McCourt anticipated that boarding parties from 

his ship eventually would be used for MIO, he enrolled his personnel in 

the MIO school at Bahrain.54 In the meantime, Captain Du Toit, the task 

group commander, met with the Fih Fleet commander, Vice Admiral 

Moore. As Du Toit recalled:

[Moore] was particularly keen for the RAN to assume a signicant 

warfare command role and for Adelaide and Kanimbla to be 

gainfully employed in the Northern Arabian Gulf (NAG) along with 

Sydney, as part of the MIF. He also recognized that Kanimbla was 

ideally suited to fulll the role of Maritime Interception Operations 

(MIO) command ship. His views were strongly inuenced by the 

recent success of Anzac’s deployment and a brief visit to the MEAO 

by the Maritime Commander Australia and MCC AST [Maritime 

Component Commander Australian eatre], Rear Admiral Geo 

Smith, in late September [2001], during which potential tasking for 

RAN units was discussed.55

It was following a U.S. request and advice from the Chief of the Defence 

Force that the Australian government agreed to make the task group 

available for maritime interception operations. In addition, Captain Du 

Toit was directed to assume the role of Maritime Interception Commander, 

USN photo, PH3 Alta I. Cutler
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 181

in charge of enforcing UN sanctions against Iraq. is assignment was 

rotated monthly with Captain David Jackson, USN, Commander Destroyer 

Squadron 50, with Kanimbla being employed as the MIO command ship. 

On 5 December 2001, the operational control of Du Toit’s task group was 

handed over to CENTCOM’s Combined/Joint Force Maritime Component 

Commander.56 Kanimbla and Adelaide rst sailed for COMISKEY—the 

MIO holding area located less than 100 miles o the Iraqi coast—and spent 

days doing merchant ship clearance operations. ey then moved to the 

middle of the Arabian Gulf and conducted MIO.57

e success of coalition maritime interception operations under 

these command arrangements was demonstrated by the high level of 

continuing merchant vessel queries and boardings. In November 2001 

coalition forces queried 237 ships, boarded 113 of these, and diverted ve 

to COMISKEY. In January 2002 the numbers had risen to 366 ships queried, 132 boarded, and six diverted. And in March 2002 the MIF warships 

queried 331 vessels, boarded 122, and diverted two.58

During the rst ve weeks that leadership interdiction operations 

were being carried out, coalition warships made more than 2,500 queries

Sailors from guided missile destroyer USS Hopper and coastguardsmen prepare to board a dhow 

suspected of smuggling oil out of Iraq. Boarding teams conducted maritime interception operations, searching for contraband cargo aboard merchant ships in the Arabian Gulf. The MIO coalition effort enforced a UN Security Council Resolution imposed against the Iraqi government after 

the 1991 Gulf War.

USN photo, PHC Johnny R. Wilson
182 Jerey G. Barlow

of suspicious ships by radio or visual signal. ese queries had resulted 

in ve consensual boardings and one nonconsensual boarding. LIO 

conducted in the Arabian Sea was complemented at the same time by 

intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance operations carried out in the 

waters surrounding the Horn of Africa. By March 2002 coalition warships 

had successfully carried out some 7,244 LIO queries and conducted 47 

boardings of suspect vessels.59

Conclusions

e coalition navies involved in maritime and leadership interdiction 

tasks during OEF worked smoothly together. is was particularly true 

with the navies of the United States, Great Britain, Australia, and Canada. 

e individual allied navies had been exercising together with the U.S. 

Navy regularly during the past several decades. Furthermore, they shared 

communication systems such as COWAN (Coalition Wide Area Network) 

that allowed ready communication between the ships of the four navies.

Nonetheless, the interaction among the four navies was not completely 

seamless. ey each had to function under separate national rules of 

engagement, and these ROE diered from each other in the restrictions 

they imposed on actions by the respective navies. NAVCENT’s sta found 

that the strictures of the Royal Navy’s rules of engagement, for example, 

made it dicult for the British to integrate easily into the MIO eort. As a 

February 2002 debrieng of NAVCENT’s N3 (Operations) sta revealed, 

the constraints imposed by the ROE handicapped the Royal Navy’s ability 

to take part in the Task Force 50 eort. One American staer noted, “UK – 

they let TF50 go thru process & then back away → know they can’t do it [.]”60

For their part, American commanders in the CENTCOM 

AOR found that the high classication of U.S. planning information 

dramatically slowed their ability to share the details of operational plans 

and intelligence with their coalition colleagues during the initial period 

of the commitment of forces. As analysts for the Oce of the Chief of 

Naval Operations’ Deep Blue planning organization commented in their 

post-conict assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of the U.S. 

Navy in OEF, “Countries will not relax or adjust their national rules of 

engagement if the U.S. Navy will not tell them what they might be called
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 183

Crewmembers from guided missile cruiser USS Thomas S. Gates conduct MIO training at sea. 

These sailors boarded and inspected vessels to ensure they were in compliance with UN resolutions pertaining to Iraq and not carrying illegal cargo, October 2002.

upon to do.”61 In its January 2002 review of the situation, the NAVCENT 

sta suggested a way around the problem: develop “a ‘Releasable’ 

synopsis of the operational plans and ROE, which could be used to brief 

and inform potential coalition partners.”62

Ultimately, the fact that the maritime interception eort proved as 

successful as it did during OEF, despite such drawbacks, was a testament 

to the enduring value of the training provided by the multinational naval 

exercises and bilateral task group workups that the U.S. Navy and its 

major allied partners had participated in over the previous half century. 

As sailors similarly familiar with both the rewards and perils of regular 

USN photo, PH3 Aron Tayl
184 Jerey G. Barlow

and even continuous operations at sea, they knew how to broker among 

themselves the informal means of cooperation that enabled their forces to 

overcome the rigidities imposed by diering national conceptions of how 

best to respond to the war on terrorism.

e author made full use of both classied and unclassied material from the 

U.S. Navy, the U.S. Department of Defense, and other U.S. government agencies 

and activities. Although the classied information cited or quoted in this chapter 

was reviewed, subsequently declassied, and cleared for open publication by the 

Department of Defense’s Oce of Security Review, the classied documents used in 

draing the chapter retain their original security classications. 

Notes

1. Declassified information from document entitled “Operation ENDURING FREEDOM,” 

n.d. [early February 2002], [1]; NAVCENT Operation Enduring Freedom Records, Archives 

Naval History & Heritage Command (NHHC); declassified information from Robert J. 

Schneller Jr., “OEF Handbook,” 25 September 2003, 4, Archives NHHC; and Australian 

Ministry of Defence Media Release from the Ministry of Defence website entitled, “The 

Australian Defence Force’s response to September 11,” Departmental 463/02, 6 September 

2002, 1; Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

2. Document entitled “NAVCENT TOP 25 EVENTS,” n.d. [late January 2002], [1]; 

NAVCENT Operation Enduring Freedom Records, Archives NHHC; and declassified 

information from “Operation ENDURING FREEDOM,” [1].

3. Letter, Ambassador John Negroponte, Permanent Representative of the United States of 

America to the UN, to the President of the Security Council, S/2001/946, 7 October 2001, 

quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 

Research Paper 01/81 (London: International Affairs & Defence Section, House of Commons 

Library, 31 October 2001), 9.

4. Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 12, citing Bob Woodward, Bush at War (New York: Simon 

and Schuster, 2002), 43–44; and Statement of General Tommy R. Franks, Commander in 

Chief, U.S. Central Command, House Armed Services Committee, 27 February 2002.

5. Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 8. The original name—Operation Infinite Justice—had been 

changed in response to protests by Muslim groups. See also U.S. Department of Defense News 

Transcript: “DoD News Briefing – Secretary Rumsfeld,” 25 September 2001, 1; Operations 

Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

6. Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 14, citing Statement by General Franks, 27 February 2002.

7. Declassified information from document entitled “CJFMCC MAJOR MILESTONES 

[–] OPERATION ENDURING FREEDOM,” n.d. [early February 2002], 1; NAVCENT 

Operation Enduring Freedom Records, Archives NHHC.

8. NATO Press Release 2001/138, 8 October 2001, quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom

and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 29; and article from NATO’s AFSOUTH website 
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 185

entitled “NATO and the Scourge of Terrorism: OPERATION ACTIVE ENDEAVOUR,” 20 

February 2002, 2; Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

9. Bush’s Address to the Nation, 7 October 2001, quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom

and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 14.

10. Blair’s Press Conference, 7 October 2001, quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom and 

the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 14–15.

11. NATO Press Release, 9 October 2001, quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom and 

the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 30; and “NATO and the Scourge of Terrorism: 

OPERATION ACTIVE ENDEAVOUR,” 1–2.

12. “NATO and the Scourge of Terrorism: OPERATION ACTIVE ENDEAVOUR,” 2.

13. Article from the Royal Navy’s website entitled “Exeter Is Back,” 29 January 2002, 

Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

14. Article from the British Ministry of Defense website entitled “Operation Veritas—British 

Forces,” 6 November 2001, 1, Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

15. Article from the Royal Navy website entitled “RFA Ships Play Major Role in Oman,” 23 

October 2001, 1, Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

16. House of Commons Debate, 26 October 2001, quoted in “Operation Enduring Freedom

and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 27.

17. “Operation Enduring Freedom and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” 27.

18. List from the British Ministry of Defence website entitled “UK Forces participating in 

Exercise Saif Sareea II,” 20 September 2001, 1; article from the Royal Navy portion of the 

Ministry of Defence website entitled “Operations: Armilla Patrol,” 1–2, 7 January 2003, 

1–2; and article from the Royal Navy website entitled “Gulf Patrol—Kent Hands Over to 

Portland,” 2 February 2002, all in Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC. 

The submarines Trafalgar and Superb that also had been participating in Exercise Saif Sareea 

II had been detached at the beginning of October to take part in the opening stages of OEF. 

See “UK Forces participating in Exercise Saif Sareea II,” 2. The Armilla Patrol had been 

established in 1980 at the beginning of the Iran-Iraq War in order to ensure the safety of 

British-flagged merchant ships operating in the region. “Operations: Armilla Patrol,” 1.

19. Declassified information from the “Coalition Ships” pages of NAVCENT’s Ship 

Employment Schedules for 1–31 October 2001 and 1–31 December 2001; NAVCENT 

Operation Enduring Freedom Records, Archives NHHC.

20. “The Australian Defence Force’s response to September 11,” 1–2.

21. “Operation Enduring Freedom and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” citing 

an Australian Ministry of Defence Press Release, 16 October 2001; and two, short news 

clips from the Australian Ministry of Defence website—“The Australian contribution [to 

Operation Enduring Freedom],” and “Amphibious Transport (LPA),” both 11 December 

2001; Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

22. Post-Command narrative by Commodore Allan Du Toit, Royal Australian Navy, of 

his tour as the Australian Task Group Commander in the Arabian Gulf during “Operation 

Slipper,” n.d., Enclosure 3 to Australian document NA(W) 2-5/4716, 22 March 2005, 

13; Curator Branch Collections, NHHC. Anzac’s participation in the MIF was as part of 

Australian contribution to the UN sanction enforcement regime, designated Operation 

Damask by the Australian government.

23. Post-Command narrative by Commodore Allan Du Toit, 13–14.
186 Jerey G. Barlow

24. Article from the Canadian Forces website entitled “Backgrounder: The Canadian Forces’ 

Contribution to the International Campaign Against Terrorism,” BG-02.001f, 7 March 2003, 

2; Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC; “Operation Enduring Freedom

and the Conflict in Afghanistan: An Update,” citing a Canadian Department of Defense press 

release, 8 October 2001; and Robert H. Caldwell, “The Canadian Navy, Interoperability, and 

USN-Led Operations in the Gulf Region from the First Gulf War to 2002,” chap. 7 herein, 

217.

25. The last Canadian warship in the Gulf, HMCS Winnipeg, had departed for home in early 

August 2001. Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 219.

26. “Backgrounder: The Canadian Forces’ Contribution to the International Campaign 

Against Terrorism,” 3; and Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 220.

27. “Backgrounder: The Canadian Forces’ Contribution to the International Campaign 

Against Terrorism,” 3–4; and Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 228, citing Richard Gimblett, Operation 

Apollo: The Golden Age of the Canadian Navy in the War Against Terrorism (Ottawa: Magic 

Light Publishing, 2004), 52.

28. Report from the White House website entitled “Campaign Against Terrorism [:] A 

Coalition Update,” 26 March 2002, 7–9; and explanatory list from the CENTCOM website 

entitled “Comprehensive List of Support for War Against Terrorism from some Coalition 

Partners as Compiled by the DoD,” 7 June 2002, [6]–[7], [9], [12], [15], and [18]; both in 

Operations Subject Collection, Aviation Archives NHHC.

29. Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 46, citing Edward J. Marolda and Robert J. Schneller Jr.,

Shield and Sword: The United States Navy and the Persian Gulf War (Annapolis, MD: Naval 

Institute Press, 2001), xv. This book is a reprint of the original book published by the Naval 

Historical Center (now Naval History & Heritage Command) in 1998, with minor changes 

in wording.

30. Table entitled “Calendar Year MIO Totals,” 4 May 2002; NAVCENT Operation Enduring 

Freedom Records, Archives NHHC.

31. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 14–15, quoting the “CFC 

OEF Theater Campaign Plan,” 26 November 2001.

32. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 15.

33. Declassified information from Thomas Bowditch, David Taylor, and Alarik Fritz,

Maritime Command Relationships in OEF (Alexandria, VA: CNA, August 2002), 3.

34. Briefing delivered by Captain Thomas A. Yeager, USNR, and Commander Daniel H. 

Struble, USNR, Operation ENDURING FREEDOM: COMUSNAVCENT and FIFTH Fleet 

Documentation Team, at the Naval Historical Center, 5 June 2002, 3 (notes appended to slide 

labeled “Naval Forces Central Command—5th Fleet”); collection of miscellaneous OEF 

materials assembled by Robert J. Schneller Jr., NHHC.

35. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 19. The first OPORD had 

been issued on 25 September.

36. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 20, quoting CJFC OPORD 

02-02.

37. Yeager and Struble Briefing, Operation ENDURING FREEDOM: COMUSNAVCENT 

and FIFTH Fleet Documentation Team, 4 (notes appended to slide labeled “Task Force 

Organization”).
U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception 187

38. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 28.

39. Yeager and Struble Briefing, Operation ENDURING FREEDOM: COMUSNAVCENT and 

FIFTH Fleet Documentation Team, 5 (notes appended to slide labeled “CTF 50—Striking 

Forces”).

40. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 28–29, citing CTF-50 

Campaign Plan.

41. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 39–40.

42. Ibid., 40, citing Brief, Multinational Interception Force Operational Update for the 

UNSCR 661 Committee, 5 November 2002.

43. Declassified quote from draft message from COMUSNAVCENT to USCINCCENT 

MacDill, regarding C/JFMCC procedures for the assignment of Coalition LNOS [naval 

liaison officers] to the C/JFMCC Headquarters in Bahrain, Z Oct 01, 2–3; Schneller, OEF 

Collection.

44. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 47, citing CTF-50 CONOPS 

Brief on Leadership Interdiction, n.d.

45. Ibid., 47, citing Brief, Japanese Task Group In-chop Conference, 4 December 2001.

46. Ibid., 47–48, citing CTF-50 CONOPS Brief on Leadership Interdiction.

47. Ibid., 48, citing CFMCC OEF SITREP 231903Z NOV 01; and (for commencement of 

Gulf of Oman LIO), “NAVCENT TOP 25 EVENTS.”

48. Ibid., 49, citing Brief, “Global War on Terrorism: Expanding Maritime Interception 

Operations,” 19 January 2002.

49. Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 222.

50. Ibid., 219.

51. Ibid., 219, 223.

52. Ibid., 232.

53. Ibid., 240.

54. Captain David McCourt, RAN, interview with Robert H. Caldwell and Jeffrey G. Barlow, 

27 July 2005, HMAS Stirling, Perth, Australia.

55. Post-Command narrative by Commodore Allan Du Toit, 14.

56. Ibid.

57. McCourt interview. The location of the COMISKEY holding area is discussed in Michael 

Martinez, “A Strike Against Iraqi Smuggling: When the Navy rounds up ships for inspection, 

it holds them in the Persian Gulf ‘Comiskey’,” Chicago Tribune, 18 January 2003, as taken 

from the DOD Early Bird website.

58. “COALITION MIO STATISTICS,” NAVCENT Operation Enduring Freedom Records, 

Archives NHHC.

59. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 49, citing Brief, “Global War 

on Terrorism: Expanding Maritime Interception Operations,” and Daily Watch File Folder, 

TFCC Watch Officer Files, COMUSNAVCENT N3 materials.

60. Unclassified note in NAVCENT Debrief by Captain J. A. Wombwell, USNR, 24 February 

2002, unnumbered page, notebook labeled “NAVCENT Brief Notes”; NAVCENT Operation 

Enduring Freedom Records, Archives NHHC.
188 Jerey G. Barlow

61. Declassified information from Schneller, “OEF Handbook,” 103, quoting Brief, Deep 

Blue, “Course Corrections for the Global War on Terrorism,” 20 March 2002.

62. Ibid., 102, quoting [NAVCENT] Brief, “Welcome Defense Science Board Task Force,” 7 

January 2002.
189

CHAPTER 7

e Canadian Navy, 

Interoperability, and U.S. Navy-Led 

Operations in the Gulf Region 

from the First Gulf War to 2003

Robert H. Caldwell

Introduction

The navy matters in Canada. More oen than not, since the Second 

World War, Canadian national and naval concerns have coincided 

with broader Anglo-American interests, as demonstrated in the Arabian 

Gulf region for the past 15 years. It was no accident that Canada contributed 

the rst coalition task group aer the 9/11 attacks, for she had participated 

in the worldwide surge of U.S. Navy–led maritime surveillance and 

interdiction operations throughout the 1990s. 

e aim of this work is to examine interoperability and to identify 

lessons learned from the Canadian naval experience conducting interdiction 

and escort operations in the Gulf region between 1991 and 2003. e 

underlying premise is that nothing was sold out, that interoperability 

with the U.S. Navy neither caused nor resulted in any Canadian surrender 

of sovereignty thwarting its ability to make choices for the future with 

regard to multinational relations. Indeed, this study’s premise is just the 

opposite: that the Canadian Navy’s considered and conscious decision 

to seek interoperability with the U.S. Navy in the early 1990s actually 

increased the range of options available to the government of Canada when 

it faced the question of what to do following the attacks of 11 September 

2001. Contrary to what some would argue, the evidence suggests strongly 
190 Robert H. Caldwell

that naval interoperability served Canadian interests as a nation-state 

because sea power—and the projection of inuence from the seas—has 

dierent eects than the application of air and land power. Simply put, 

the navy’s interoperability provided profound benets to Canadians that 

far outweighed putative risks to the nation’s autonomy as a sovereign state 

capable of multinational relations with choices for the future. 

is study is a narrow history of a medium-size navy’s experience 

in modern warfare. It is deliberately written with the interests in mind 

of young men and women of the Canadian Navy and the allied navies, 

who it is hoped will nd the lessons useful.1

 Still, it does not claim to be 

exhaustive because we have concentrated on a wide theme, the relevance of 

navies and interoperability, which allows the reader a glimpse into how the 

Canadian Navy responded to changes between 1991 and 2003. 

Sea Control

Sea control is a modern term understood throughout NATO; 

nevertheless, using the term requires care by historians. For example, 

in current publications sea control is listed as one of the four roles of 

maritime forces, separate from command of the sea, sea denial, and 

maritime power projection. Sea control “allows the use of the sea in 

specied areas for specic periods of time . . . the level of sea control 

required will be a balance between the desired freedom of action and 

the degree of acceptable risk. Sea control comprises the control of the 

surface and subsurface environments and the airspace above.” In context, 

while maritime power projection utilizes power from the sea, sea control 

operations “are purely naval in nature” because they are conducted at sea;

while they may inuence the shore, they do not touch it directly.2

By nature, sea control operations “are static and conducted using 

long-range surveillance and airborne weapon delivery systems over large 

areas of sea . . . to allow a mobile force, under aoat command with its 

layered defences of moving close and distant screens, to pass through 

areas of operations . . . without mutual interference or fratricide.” Standard 

NATO doctrine sets out ve elements to sea control operations. e rst 

is “Establishment and Maintenance of a Recognized Maritime Picture” 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 191

(RMP), described as a “picture of the surface, air, and sub surface situation,” 

which is gathered in all maritime operations, “ranging from peacetime 

through increasing tension to hostilities.”3

 In other words, the RMP is 

an agreed-upon and—if it is to be useful—shared sense of situational 

awareness based on information and intelligence of all kinds that gives 

those in charge the condence that they are unlikely to be surprised. 

A concomitant of sea control operations are maritime interdiction 

operations (MIO). In NATO these operations are described under ve 

headings, building up from “seaborne enforcement” to “interdiction of 

enemy forces,” “interdiction of commercial shipping,” “embargoes and 

quarantine,” and nally “blockade.” NATO indicates that interdiction of 

enemy forces “can be conducted against warships and aircra at sea and 

in harbour or other shore bases. Denying an adversary the ability to use 

the maritime portion of [an operational area] . . . hampers attempts at 

manoevre from the sea and frustrates sea control and sea denial operations.” 

Interdiction of commercial shipping is considered a “strategic/operational 

activity designed to erode an opponent’s ability to conduct armed conict. 

At the operational level, loss of supplies could severely limit the mobility 

and repower of an opponent as well as aecting morale.”4

Commodore Eric Lehre, the second Canadian Task Group 

commander to serve in the Gulf in 2002, considered traditional sea 

control to be his “dominant task, even though it was never stated in 

orders.” His Canadian and coalition ships could not conduct “sanction 

enforcement or peacekeeping” until they had “built a maritime picture of 

the area” and deployed their ships and aircra “to control what goes on it.” 

Lehre mused that the term sea control is avoided in our “gentle, coalitionbuilding, cooperative approach to life,” no matter how essential it might 

seem to be.5

 Interoperability was linked to sea control, and the degree of 

interoperability determined the extent to which the Canadian Navy could 

inuence and contribute to these operations. 

Command and Control

e American, British, Australian, and Canadian navies fully understood standardized NATO command and control arrangements used at 
192 Robert H. Caldwell

sea in the 1990s. Command meant the “authority vested in an individual 

of the armed forces for the direction, coordination, and control of military 

forces.” Control expressed the “authority exercised by a commander over 

part of the activities of subordinate organizations . . . not normally under 

his command, which encompasses the responsibility for implementing 

orders and directives. All or part of this authority may be transferred or 

delegated.” For example, tactical control was considered to be the “detailed 

and, usually, local direction and control of movements or maneuvers necessary to accomplish missions or tasks assigned.”6

The Origins of an Interoperable Paradigm

During the Second World War Royal Canadian Navy (RCN) escorts 

sailed with U.S. Navy ships, and vice versa, on convoy protection tasks 

in the Battle of the Atlantic. Aer the war, cooperation continued. For 

example, in 1947 the RCN adopted U.S. Navy communications systems, 

which enhanced interoperability during the Korean War and the Cold 

War. Korean operations were important. e RCN provided individual 

eet destroyers to the United Nations naval coalition from 1950 to 1955, 

and while they were highly eective, the political signicance of the RCN 

eort was diluted because the ships, deployed individually, were not 

“recognizable” as a distinct Canadian contribution.7

 us Canadian naval 

ocers began to cra a new approach that stressed both interoperability 

and maximum national visibility, which could be achieved through grouplevel missions, and not simply individual ship tasks. 

* * *

roughout the mid-1960s the United Kingdom withdrew from its 

security responsibilities “east of Suez,”8

 and the United States was required 

to replace the British obligations, particularly to ensure “the stability and 

security of the strategically vital Persian Gulf region.”9

 e Americans 

have intervened with military force in the Gulf region three times in the 

past 26 years. ese interventions included operations against Iran in the 

1987–1988 Tanker War, against Iraq in the 1990–1991 Gulf War,10 and 

again in Iraq in 2003. Americans have played a vital role in all of these 

operations, particularly between 1991 and 2003, and allied navies have 

reinforced U.S. Navy task forces in these latter actions. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 193

Canada did not participate in the Tanker War, the outcome of which 

shaped relationships in the region.11 e war began with a deterioration of 

relations between the United States and Iran in 1979. By late 1987 tensions 

had arisen between Iran, already at war with Iraq, and the smaller states 

in the Gulf region supported by the Americans, the British, and many 

western European states. ese nations deployed naval forces in late 

1987, and by early 1988 deployments included the “United Kingdom’s 

ten-ship Armilla Patrol and two Dutch, two Belgian, seven Italian, and 

thirteen French ships,” including a carrier.12 On 18 April 1988 the U.S. 

Navy fought its largest surface action since the Second World War and 

destroyed “about half ” of the Iranian navy, while Iraq, America’s ally, kept 

up pressure against the Iranians on land. On 18 July 1988 the Iran-Iraq 

War—and the rst U.S. Gulf war—ended in defeat for the Iranians.13

 Two years later, however, Canada rapidly supported American 

and allied military intervention against Iraq in the Gulf region. Canada’s 

largest military contribution to the 1990–1991 Gulf War was a naval task 

group commanded by Captain (N) Duncan E. “Dusty” Miller, with his 

sta, in the antisubmarine destroyer (DDH) HMCS Athabaskan. ey 

were accompanied by HMCS Terra Nova, a destroyer escort (DDE), and a 

eet replenishment ship (AOR), HMCS Protecteur. One of the navy’s four 

powerful Tribal (or Iroquois) 280-class destroyers, Athabaskan had not been 

modied by the TRUMP (Tribal [class] Update and Modernization Project) 

and reclassied a DDG.14

By December 1990 the Canadian Task Group was conducting 

Multinational Interception Force (MIF) operations with the American 

and coalition naval forces in the northern Gulf region. Nevertheless 

Commodore Ken J. Summers, the commander of Canadian Forces 

Middle East, perhaps remembering the Korean experience, sought a role 

at the group level that ensured Canadian recognition. e Americans 

readily agreed to the Canadian request to protect the Combat Logistics 

Force (CLF), which consisted of the supply ships that accompanied each 

U.S. Navy battle group as well as the British, Dutch, and Australian naval 

forces. e Canadians parlayed the CLF escort task into a eet logistics 

coordinative mission, and in early January 1991 the U.S. Navy designated 
194 Robert H. Caldwell

Captain Miller as a subordinate warfare commander “in his own right: 

UNREP Sierra.”15 By 19 January, Miller and his sta were “coordinating 

the activity of some ten escorts and twenty auxiliaries.”16

Over a decade later Commodore Summers summed up the 

experience:

In hindsight, one can argue that the Gulf War ended the Canadian Navy’s 

pre-occupation with [antisubmarine warfare] . . . and ushered in a new 

era [emphasizing] . . . the utility of a sea control, multi-role capable, 

coordinating navy able to partake and provide the lead in coalition naval 

operations against today’s asymmetric threat. is has been a positive 

change and it was great to be part of that paradigm shi.17

e Canadian eort to coordinate logistics for the large and diverse 

eet demonstrated high interoperability, and when combined with the 

navy’s speed of deployment, both capabilities provided the government with 

options. Canadian historians have concluded that the government “got exactly 

what it wanted: an active but limited participation in the Coalition that was 

conducted at arm’s length from direct American control, and to a degree to 

which a middle power with a limited defence budget can realistically aspire 

in the expensive high-technology business of modern war.”18

1991—HMCS Huron and the Second Maritime Commanders (MACOM) 

Conference

Huron, an unmodied Tribal 280-class DDH, was ordered to replace 

Athabaskan in late February 1991 to impose the “continuing U.N. sanctions 

against Iraq, and to assist the Department of External Aairs in re-establishing 

a Canadian diplomatic presence in the Region.”19 Although Huron was to 

enforce UN sanctions, the historical report from the ship stated that this “did 

not occur once during Huron’s tenure, and the ship simply identied and 

tracked what little peaceful merchant shipping braved the unsure waters of 

the Gulf.”20 At the time interdiction operations remained in a passive and 

largely ineective mode. 

Following her next patrol Huron hosted the Second MACOM Conference, where coalition naval forces’ commanders gathered “to discuss 

the overall maritime strategy and policy for naval forces operating in the 

Gulf in support of United Nations eorts against Iraq.” Commander R. H. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 195

Melnick, the commanding ocer of Huron, chaired this historic meeting. 

Eleven nations were represented from the multinational force: Australia, 

Bahrain, Canada, Denmark, Italy, Japan, Kuwait, Spain, the United 

Arab Emirates (UAE), the United Kingdom, and the United States.21

eir senior naval ocers met to discuss two types of future operations: 

interception of merchantmen and mine countermeasures. 

Rear Admiral R. A. K. Taylor, USN, Commander Task Force (CTF) 

152 spoke rst, and while he admitted that interception operations had been 

“extremely eective in the Arabian Gulf (AG) and the Red Sea (RS),” he 

noted the operations were “an expensive and resource-intensive method of 

enforcing sanctions against Iraq.” e result had been an “overburdening 

of naval assets in the enforcement of sanctions,” and so the “value of using 

military forces in the RS and AG has been eclipsed” by events following 

the war. For example, Taylor stressed the importance of monitoring Iraqi 

shipping: “e most important variable in the equation is when Iraq will 

again be allowed to participate in foreign trade. e importance of this is 

that 60% of prots from international trade will pay war reparations and 

the remaining 40% will contribute to the restoration of the Iraqi economy.”22

Concluding, Taylor discouraged intervention operations and suggested 

that the coalition navies advise their “respective governments” to consider 

terminating “sea-based operations in favor of simplied ashore methods.”23

Clearly the Americans wanted change, and Taylor oered three 

nonmaritime options: 

◆ Precertification of cargo at a loading point.

◆ Inspection of cargo at Aqaba (requiring the consent of Jordan).

◆ Inspection of cargo at the Jordanian/Iraqi border (which eliminates 

adverse effects of boarding vessels on the Jordanian economy).24

Commodore P. J. Cowling, RN, Commander Task Group (CTG) 321.1 

echoed the American view but reminded the coalition navies that he spoke 

for the Western European Union. He agreed with Taylor on the gloomy future 

of intervention operations, arguing that “the military task is virtually impossible . . . because of the number of ports available for trade around the [Arabian Gulf] . . . the diculty in maintaining a real-time picture of merchant 
196 Robert H. Caldwell

shipping due to a lack of available military assets, and the selective implementation of the embargo.” Cowling summed up the situation in June 1991:

e Western European Union . . . meeting in Paris had agreed 

that embargo operations could cease forthwith . . . it remains up 

to the individual governments . . . to support this position and 

to decide how to reallocate resources . . . a number of nations see 

their objectives in the Gulf as not being totally reliant on embargo 

operations. e mere presence of military forces has resulted in a 

renewal of condence as seen by an increase in merchant trac and 

a decrease in insurance rates. e value of reassurance and stability 

provided by this presence must be considered as a worthwhile 

objective within the AG and taken into account when determining 

priorities.25

Each coalition naval representative spoke briey, and all agreed with 

the Anglo-American view on reducing maritime interception operations 

in the region. Both the Australians and the Canadians claimed that they 

were committed until September 1991, and only the Americans advised 

that their presence in the region would continue “indenitely.”26

Two weeks later Huron departed, and Canada’s naval contribution 

to the Gulf ceased. Nevertheless a powerful precedent had been set, and 

the nation’s participation with her coalition partners was popular with 

the Canadian public. Canadians associated the navy with the Gulf region, 

and as the region mattered, so did the navy. Moreover, because of the 

television coverage of the war, as well as the positive press about her naval 

contribution, Canadians had become accustomed to naval forces serving 

alongside the Americans in the region. 

1992—HMCS Restigouche

Notwithstanding the recommendations of the Second MACOM 

Conference, eight months later Restigouche, a west coast, steam-turbine 

destroyer escort commissioned in 1958, was tasked to join the Multinational 

Interception Force to enforce UN Security Council Resolutions (UNSCRs) 

661 and 665 against Iraq. Commanded by Commander D. Baltes, she 

represented the last of the postwar steam ships to serve in a war zone.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 197

Restigouche came round to Norfolk, and in March 1992 joined two 

U.S. Navy ships en route to the Gulf. Together they practiced boarding 

operations and exchanged “ideas and exercise procedures.”27 is 

informal grouping of a Canadian ship with American ships, designed to 

ensure interoperability, was simply an extension of Canadian-American 

cooperation that had continued since the Second World War. 

A month later Restigouche joined the navies of Australia, France, and 

the United States operating at the entrance to the Gulf of Aqaba. Initially she 

was assisted by the United States Coast Guard and then settled into the daily 

routine of boardings. She inspected 18 vessels by the end of April, and on 4 

July, her last day of operations, she conducted her 125th boarding.28

Despite the change in policy and practice, Restigouche’s mission 

was highly successful and she sustained the Canadian prole in the Gulf 

region. She had formed important ties with the U.S. Navy, continuing the 

precedent of training with American ships on passage to their operational 

area, as had been done during the Korean conict. Clearly the navy—

now in receipt of its rst Halifax-class Canadian patrol frigate (CPF) and 

TRUMPed DDH 280s—was in step with the government, and both were 

keen to maintain a visible presence in the region. Restigouche represented 

the prototype single-ship deployment for a worldwide surge in U.S. 

Navy-led maritime surveillance and interdiction operations, and these 

operations would inform Canadian foreign and naval policy throughout 

the 1990s. 

1993–1994—Haiti 

Concurrent with initiatives to participate in interdiction operations 

in the Gulf region, the Canadian Navy and the government participated in 

similar American-led operations in the Caribbean. 

In late 1990 Jean-Bertrand Aristide was elected president of Haiti; 

however, he was deposed and exiled in September 1991. For the next 

two years the Organization of American States (OAS) and the Security 

Council of the United Nations tried to stabilize the deteriorating situation 

in that country.29 An enforced embargo was an option, and in December 

1992 Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney proposed a multinational 
198 Robert H. Caldwell

blockade force made up of ships from “Canada, the United States, France 

and Venezuela.”30

Various measures and sanctions were imposed against the antiAristide regime. e OAS and the Security Council decisively approved 

resolutions including imposing “maritime interception to enforce the 

embargo.”31 e Americans designated the operation Forward Action, and 

they commenced operations, which were joint, involving other services, 

as well as combined, bringing in the armed forces of other countries. 

In September 1993 a Canadian naval task group consisting of 

HMC Ships Preserver, Fraser, and Gatineau sailed for the Caribbean to 

participate in “exercises,” while the UN began to tighten up its relationship 

with Haiti.32 On 15 October the Canadian group was deployed into 

Haitian waters as part of Forward Action. eir orders were to “establish 

an immediate Canadian presence, to enforce UN sanctions, and to assist 

in the evacuation of Canadian and other foreign nationals.”33

The Forward Action Task Force would “hail, board, examine, and 

divert ships not in compliance with U.N. sanctions.” Canadian ships 

and helicopters could enter Haitian airspace and territorial waters 

without clearance and fire warning shots if the situation warranted.34

The effort gained momentum, and “20 ships from France, the United 

States, Argentina, the UK, the Netherlands and Canada” conducted 

interdiction operations.35 The Canadian Task Group commander 

sometimes headed the patrol force, “coordinating the actions of 

all surface and air assets to achieve mission objectives.” These 

responsibilities paralleled those of Commodore Greg R. Maddison, 

the Canadian commander of NATO’s Standing Naval Force Atlantic 

(SNFL), who was conducting coalition interdiction operations at the 

same time in the Adriatic.36

Canadian ships served in the interception force until maritime 

interdiction operations ceased on 1 October.37 United Nations Mission 

in Haiti deployed the following year, and Aristide, in exile in Montreal, 

Quebec, returned as the lawful president of Haiti.38 Having gained 

additional experience with the U.S. Navy, the Canadian Navy welcomed 

the opportunity to coordinate operations on its behalf. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 199

1994—Defense Policy, Task Groups, New Ships, and Revised 

Operational Training

During the 1990s the Canadian government had supported 

fundamental changes to the navy, and all emphasized interoperability with 

the U.S. Navy. e 1994 Canadian “White Paper on Defence” stated clearly 

that Canada would maintain a general-purpose, combat-capable naval 

task group on the east and west coasts, each consisting of a maximum of 

“four combatants, either destroyers, frigates or submarines, with a support 

ship and appropriate maritime air.”39 e navy’s goal was to prepare to 

deploy, or redeploy from other multilateral operations, a single element 

or the vanguard of a task group “within three weeks,” and then sustain the 

group “indenitely in a low threat environment.”40

Concurrently, Canadian sailors were receiving 12 new helicopterequipped, Halifax-class frigates (FFHs)—CPFs—designed in the 1970s 

and built in the 1980s and 1990s. ese frigates, with their Sea Sparrow 

close-range, surface-to-air missiles and Harpoon antisurface missiles, 

complemented the Standard 2MR long-range air-defense capability in the 

four Iroquois 280-class DDGs, which acted as agships. e rebalancing 

of its assets between the east and west coasts prompted one naval analyst 

to claim that the “Canadian Navy came of age in the Asia-Pacic region in 

the post–cold war era.”41

At the same time the navy revised its operational training emphasis. 

During the Cold War the Canadian Forces Maritime Warfare Centre 

(CFMWC) had conducted the annual MARCOT (Maritime Coordinated 

Operational Training) exercise, which was the most advanced level of 

training for MARLANT (Maritime Forces Atlantic). It was based on the 

Soviet naval threat in the Atlantic. e navy’s experience in “peacekeeping”—

as well as in the Gulf War—had “re-initiated” the need to “operate more 

eectively in a joint and combined context.” In 1996 CFMWC, following 

the direction of Commander Maritime Command (MARCOM), changed 

the MARCOT exercise to reect “the growing importance of littoral 

operations, especially those taskings relative to peacekeeping missions.” 

CFMWC addressed the interoperable requirement by arranging for 

Commodore Donald P. Loren, USN, Commander Destroyer Squadron 
200 Robert H. Caldwell

(COMDESRON) 28, and his sta to provide the exercise opposition force. 

All participants beneted from the “challenging boarding scenarios for 

the Maritime Interdiction Operation,” which was conducted “24 hours a 

day in almost all weather conditions.”42

e main lesson learned on MARCOT 96 was that “there were 

problems . . . [and] dierences in ROE [rules of engagement] . . . 

philosophies . . . [which] were common to all . . . a great deal of eort 

was devoted to harmonizing the NATO Joint and Combined ROE 

(JROE) for all services.” e exercise proved the need to widen the “base 

of awareness and experience . . . to matters related to U.N. operations,” 

and it highlighted the requirement for “better comprehension of matters 

such as international humanitarian law, joint and combined [ROE] . . . 

prudent and equitable use of force when dealing with belligerents in an 

intrastate conagration, and understanding how to be an eective and 

active participant in attempts to limit, control, or end a conict.”43

us, through the 1990s, the absence of a bipolar world, the new 

defense policy, the patrol frigates, and combined training all contributed 

to a renaissance in the Canadian Navy. Balance and connectivity were the 

overriding principles, and by design, the navy was perfectly positioned for 

emphasis on interoperability. MARCOT exercises aer 1996 marked a new 

operational mindset and concern for rules of engagement; moreover, singleCPF deployments with the U.S. Navy to the Gulf region demonstrated an 

arc of increasing responsibility and a reputation for eectiveness. 

Single-CPF Deployments to the Gulf Region

1995—HMCS Fredericton and HMCS Calgary

Quality counts, but with the government focused on the situation 

in Haiti and the Adriatic, no Canadian warships were sent to the Gulf 

region between Restigouche’s departure and the spring of 1995. Even then, 

the rst Canadian ship to return to the Gulf, Fredericton, commanded by 

Commander K. D. W. Laing, was not assigned to a coalition task group 

and conducted no operations during her four-week stay in March and 

April. Instead, by supporting various diplomatic and trade initiatives, 

Fredericton demonstrated a Canadian presence.44
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 201

Five months later Canada recommenced interdiction operations 

against Iraq. e government commissioned Calgary, a Canadian patrol 

frigate, on 12 May 1995.45 Her commanding ocer, Commander G. A. 

Paulson, the former executive ocer on Huron during her deployment to 

the Gulf region in 1991, sailed his new ship to the Gulf following workups. 

e deployment of Calgary was denitive, and she served as a test bed for 

closer integration with the U.S. Navy. 

Calgary did not practice with American ships, but trained on her 

own, and began her first operational patrol into the Northern Arabian 

Gulf (NAG) on 14 August. Her operations were controlled in the area 

by Commodore C. I. Lundquist, USN, COMDESRON 21, who directed 

Calgary into the forward patrol area, which covered the Shatt al-Arab 

(SAA) waterway, “the major routing for traffic in and out of Iraqi 

ports.” Twelve miles from the coast of Iraq “the challenges . . . were 

. . . extensive; hugging the territorial limit while navigating amongst 

wrecks, shallows, and unreliable navigation aids.”46 Remaining outside 

“the territorial limit of Iraq,” she completed her last patrol on 27 

September. 

Calgary reported that by “day one” she had been seamlessly integrated 

into the Fih Fleet Area of Operations. . . . e second challenge . . . 

was the MIF operations themselves. e conned operating area, 

navigational hazards, proximity to potential hostile nations, routine 

diculties conducting hailings, smugglers, and sanction violators 

using the cover of darkness were . . . challenges . . . [and] the deep 

dra of the U.S. Navy combatants does not allow them to operate 

at the mouth of the KAA [Khawr Abd Allah] or SAA. Calgary’s 

position at the tip of the spear successfully ensured day and night 

coverage of Iraqi waterways.47

On 1 October 1995 Calgary departed the Gulf for the NATO Standing Naval Force Mediterranean (SNFM), where she went on station 

“twelve miles o the Montenegran coast” until mid-November.48 Her deployment set a further precedent, participating in operations in the Gulf 

region as well as in the NATO Adriatic blockade o the Balkans, discussed 

elsewhere in this book.
202 Robert H. Caldwell

1997—HMCS Regina

It fell to the largest navies to maintain a continuous presence in the 

region, and there was no Canadian deployment between 1 October 1995 

and 6 April 1997 when Regina entered the theater. But as we have seen 

during that period, the navy had actively studied the problems of littoral 

operations and the means of ensuring heightened connectivity with coalition 

partners. It was therefore entirely appropriate that Regina, commanded 

by Commander T. H. W. Pile, was the rst Canadian ship to work up and 

deploy with a U.S. Navy group specically constituted for Gulf operations. 

e process began in January 1997, three months before her arrival, when 

Regina trained with the Pacic Middle East Force (PACMEF) 97-1, which 

formed a surface action group specically tasked for interdiction operations 

under Commodore M. E. Duy, USN, COMDESRON 9. eir training 

emphasized “multi ship scenarios and interdiction operations including 

boarding and hailing exercises focusing on multinational interdiction . . . 

operations and related boarding and hailing exercises.”49

On 12 April Regina sailed north from Bahrain into the Northern 

Arabian Gulf patrol areas. Now under operational command of Fih 

Fleet, Regina worked “directly for the Maritime Interdiction Operations 

(MIO) commander COMDESRON 50, Commodore J. F. Herger, USN.”50

Regina considered herself an “aggressive MIO unit” hailing many vessels 

and actually boarding nine ships “on her rst patrol.”51 She conducted six 

patrols in the Northern Arabian Gulf. Toronto Star journalist Martin Regg 

Cohn, who was embarked on the second patrol, described interdiction 

operations as a

repetitive, at times tedious process. Hailing ships, boarding boats, 

measuring fuel tanks, checking documentation. It is, very likely, the 

future of the Canadian Navy. Shooting wars don’t happen very oen, 

and Canadians usually keep their distance. But embargoes of the 

sort imposed on Iraq since the Persian Gulf War—currently, only 

medicine and prescribed quantities of oil for food are allowed in—

are the wave of the future, says Pile. For pacists and policymakers 

who prefer embargoes to shooting wars, maritime interdiction 

operations are the method of choice for retaliating against belligerent 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 203

or wayward nations. Blockades are an act of war under international 

law, and they require naval power to enforce them. . . . Tensions are 

inevitable . . . because 20 American warships are parked in Iran’s 

neighborhood. . . . Regina is on a U.N. approved mission, but it 

remains on guard, caught between the Iraqis and the Iranians.52

e U.S. task group departed on 2 July, and Regina detached from 

her American consorts on 20 July as she approached Esquimalt. She 

had sailed 41,329 nautical miles and logged “57 boardings compared 

to her [Southern Arabian Gulf] counterparts cumulative total of 63.” 

Demonstrating high interoperability with the U.S. Navy, she had 

completed the rst deployment—from start to nish—with an American 

tactical group into the region.53

1998—HMCS Toronto

e next Canadian ship to serve in the Gulf region was Toronto, 

an east coast CPF, and the government deployed her to reinforce a UNsponsored escalation of military force in the region. 

rough the autumn of 1997, and into the early months of 1998, 

relations had deteriorated between Iraq and the United States and her allies. 

Both sides fought tit-for-tat over the expansion of the allied no-y zones, 

conducted as Operations Northern and Southern Watch. By late 1997 Iraq 

had restricted access to the United Nations Special Commission (UNSCOM) 

weapons inspectors, and the United Nations, and Canada, stood foursquare 

behind the Americans. In January 1998 the Canadian government reinforced 

an allied buildup of military strength with her navy and air force.54 

Toronto, under Commander B. J. Johnson, was already at sea in 

the eastern Atlantic, having worked up and tted out in January 1998 

to operate with NATO’s Standing Naval Force Atlantic.55 us, at 2000Z 

hours, 10 February, Toronto received a signal detaching her from SNFL 

and ordering her “to proceed at best speed to the Arabian Gulf to aid in 

the enforcement of U.N. Sanctions against Iraq.” is no-notice tasking 

arose because, Toronto noted, “rising tensions between Iraq and U.N. 

Arms Inspectors had escalated to a point that Canada had decided to join 

a Coalition Task Force being formed in a show of force against Iraq.”56
204 Robert H. Caldwell

Incoming briengs by Commander, U.S. Fih Fleet and his sta 

prepared Toronto for future interdiction tasks in the northern areas. 

Joining the USS George Washington carrier battle group on 7 March, she 

began her rst patrol, and the following morning conducted her rst 

boarding.57

Eventually there were close to “50 coalition ships and submarines, 

and some 200 naval aircra” deployed, and the Royal Navy sent Her 

Majesty’s Ships Invincible and Illustrious.

58 On 15 May Toronto departed 

the Northern Arabian Gulf, having demonstrated an important precedent 

in interoperability: a Canadian patrol frigate in a high readiness state—

with only a minimum of specialized training—could eectively conduct 

interdiction operations with an American battle group in the Gulf region.

1998—HMCS Ottawa

A year later Ottawa, a west coast CPF, underwent extensive training 

for interdiction operations. In November 1997 Regina briefed her on her 

recent experience, and Ottawa’s commanding ocer, Commander J. R. 

Bergeron, and his operations sta attended “a conference in San Diego in 

preparation for battle group deployment.”59 Ottawa was the second ship to 

work up with the U.S. Navy, but she would be the rst ship to train with 

a carrier battle group preparing for operations in the Gulf following the 

escalation of hostilities in early 1998. 

Ottawa trained extensively with the USS Abraham Lincoln carrier 

battle group.60 Conducting her rst maritime interdiction operation patrol 

from 5 to 17 August, she integrated easily into the complicated special 

operations in the Northern Arabian Gulf. When she sailed homeward, 

Ottawa had conducted more than 105 hailings and 35 boardings.61 e ship’s 

deployment reected a trajectory of increasing responsibility in proportion 

to the Canadian Navy’s eorts to ensure interoperability with the U.S. Navy. 

1999—HMCS Regina

Regina served a second tour in the Gulf region, this time under 

Commander J. W. Hayes. Similar to Ottawa’s experience, she worked 

up with an American group on the West Coast, training with the USS 

Constellation carrier battle group from February until they sailed 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 205

together in June 1999. Regina conducted patrols and operated in the 

northern holding areas; also, she participated in operations that involved 

multinational forces deploying close inshore in the extreme northern 

sector of the Gulf. Her historical report read: 

[e] . . . multinational force consisting of Regina, a U.S. Navy Seal 

team, two U.S. ships, a New Zealand ship and some Kuwaiti naval 

and coast guard vessels deployed under the cloak of darkness. . . . 

Only some 20 miles o the Iraqi coast, well within their missile range, 

these ships in turn launched their RHIBs [rigid hull inatable boat] 

to take down and seize simultaneously three surprised cargo and oil 

smugglers that attempted to sneak past U.N. checkpoints enroute 

to accommodating ports in the Gulf. Regina’s RHIB, directed to 

its target by a U.S. Navy helicopter using only its infrared camera, 

captured a smuggler and escorted it to a holding area to await further 

processing.62

In November Regina returned home with the battle group.63 For 

the second time in just over two years, she had reinforced the trust and 

interoperability required by American-led multinational forces in the Gulf. 

2000—HMCS Calgary

Calgary sailed for the region in June 2000 under Commander T. 

M. Howard. Carrying on the tradition of high Canadian-American 

interoperability, she joined and trained with PACMEF 00-3, a small 

U.S. Navy task group consisting of USS Milius, an Arleigh Burke–class 

destroyer, and USS Oldendorf, a Spruance-class destroyer.64

e ships worked up in accordance with the group training program, 

and the three commanding ocers conferred in a nightly “reside chat.” 

Each ship took a turn commanding various evolutions and maneuvers, 

and the commanding ocers emphasized the tactics required for 

interdiction operations. On these exercises Calgary and her two U.S. Navy 

consorts agreed upon technical and communications arrangements to 

ensure a high level of interoperability.65

Calgary achieved one of her key objectives—“integration with American units”—by resolving “dierences in procedures and interpretation of 

references” between the two navies.66 Ship ocers continued to review rules 
206 Robert H. Caldwell

of engagement in preparation for briengs from a Canadian Forces lawyer, 

who joined the ship in the Far East and remained with her until the rst 

MIO patrol. e lawyer’s role was to advise on legal matters “such as territorial waters, ROEs, self-defence and use of force.” 67

Upon Calgary’s arrival, American briengs by Commander, U.S. 

Naval Forces Central Command and his sta in Bahrain reviewed all 

aspects of operations in the region. Following these meetings, Calgary

conducted mothership and guardship duties, while she continued hailing 

contacts and pursuing suspicious vessels in the northern and southern 

Arabian Gulf. Mothership tasks were based upon “Health and Comfort 

Inspections” in which coalition ships inspected vessels waiting in holding 

areas and, where necessary, distributed food and water to them. More 

urgently, however, Calgary’s noncompliant boarding team, along with a 

second team from other ships, oen stood by “to board smugglers coming 

out of the Khawr Abd Allah.” It was assumed that these teams would 

take responsibility for a vessel already boarded. During such evolutions 

the temperature was in excess of “44 [degrees C] and a Humidex which 

reached 62 [degrees] each day,” a measure of their strenuous nature.68

For those sailors still on board since Calgary’s rst tour in 1995, the 

shallow waters o the KAA were familiar, although their tasks had become 

more intense to halt the Iraqi oil shipments banned by the United Nations. 

By the end of September, in the suocating heat and stiing humidity, 

Calgary kept to a routine of hailing, tracking, boarding, and serving as 

mothership and guardship by day, while at night she conducted sweeps 

through the northern patrol areas. ese night sweeps were timed to have 

the ship back in the northernmost holding area, operationally named 

COMISKEY, at rst light “to conduct queries and boardings as necessary 

. . . under United Nations Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) 986.”69

Based on the shared misery of these circumstances, Americans and 

Canadians had formed a tight bond.

By late 2000 the Canadian Navy had relearned many valuable 

lessons about close-in operations in the Khawr Abd Allah. Calgary had 

reinforced the Canadian precedent by operating in circumstances that 

linked connectivity, rules of engagement, and interoperability in complex 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 207

combined operations. She had gained high trust from the American and 

coalition navies. 

 2001—HMCS Charlottetown and HMCS Winnipeg

During summer 2000, Charlottetown, an east coast frigate commanded 

by Commander M. F. R. Lloyd, was ordered to prepare for Gulf region 

operations with the USS Harry S. Truman carrier battle group scheduled 

to deploy in early 2001, rst to the Mediterranean for several months and 

then to the Arabian Gulf to conduct interdiction operations against oil 

smugglers. Truman is a Nimitz-class supercarrier, and Charlottetown was 

the rst east coast ship to serve in such a carrier group.70 e other surface 

ships included USS Mitscher, an Arleigh Burke–class destroyer; USS Carr, an

Oliver Hazard Perry–class frigate; and USS Bighorn, an oiler.71

Arriving in the Mediterranean on 21 January 2001, the battle group 

remained in that theater for almost three months, conducting exercises 

with Standing Naval Force Mediterranean and U.S. Sixth Fleet forces.72

Lieutenant Commander Ian Anderson, one of the operations room ocers 

in Charlottetown, noted that they “spent several months training before 

moving through the Suez Canal and into the Arabian Gulf.”73

Concurrently, Canada made another important decision: the 

nation would increase her naval presence in the region. Winnipeg, under 

Commander K. E. Williams, departed Esquimalt on 15 March 2001 to 

join the USS Constellation carrier battle group in the Hawaiian operational 

area. In addition to the “Connie,” the battle group included USS Chosin, a 

Ticonderoga-class cruiser; USS Benfold, an Arleigh Burke–class destroyer; 

USS Kinkaid, a Spruance-class destroyer; USS ach, an Oliver Hazard 

Perry–class frigate; and USS Rainier, a fast combat support ship.74 ese 

ships were Winnipeg’s consorts for the next six months. 

Connie’s tasks were formidable because the U.S. Navy viewed 

operations in the Gulf as part of “the forward deployment strategy that has 

characterized American foreign and defence policy objectives for the past 

decade.” Forward deployment tasks included “patrolling the no-y zone 

over southern Iraq . . . [and] projecting power and providing air support 

when required.” At the same time coalition ships in the battle group 

operated in “a presence role to support the UNSCRs,”75 and Winnipeg’s 
208 Robert H. Caldwell

mission was to deploy with American forces for “operations in the Arabian 

Gulf in support of U.N. sanctions against Iraq.”76

En route Winnipeg’s crew prepared for operations in the Gulf by 

nalizing communications arrangements and conducting lectures on 

force protection and rules of engagement.77 As the battle group transited 

toward Australia, Winnipeg was appointed on-site commander for a 

successful surface ring exercise. e American habit of delegating 

responsibility to Winnipeg continued, and the commanding ocer was 

appointed the surface action group commander in charge of a sub-group 

sailing to Adelaide.78

Winnipeg undertook tasks typical for most Canadian or American 

surface ships in a carrier battle group prior to 9/11. She concentrated 

on building a recognized maritime picture using “satellite, air and other 

CVBG assets,” and identifying tankers and merchant vessels, which were 

tracked and hailed when they entered international waters. e vessel’s 

response to a set of hailing questions determined further action—perhaps 

a boarding operation.79 Once more the Gulf environment at the height of 

summer was arduous, with the temperatures over 40 degrees Celsius. At 

one point Winnipeg was anchored in water that was 34 degrees Celsius.80

In mid-April, while awaiting the nal installation of updated 

communications technology known as the Coalition Wide Area Network 

(COWAN), Commander Williams placed a liaison ocer on board 

Constellation.

81 A Canadian legal ocer, who had joined in Adelaide, 

accompanied Williams in rules of engagement discussions with the battle 

group sta.82 Concurrently, Winnipeg’s ocers lectured on “Gulf geopolitical issues as well as the customs and religions of the area.”83

Boarding operations were the bread and butter of interdiction work. 

Once in the Indian Ocean, Winnipeg began “visit, board, search and seizure” 

training with her battle group. While all coalition ships carried “basic 

security detachments” to conduct consensual boardings, some American 

ships embarked special teams that were prepared for opposed boardings. 

A typical Canadian frigate had only one boarding party, at times divided 

into smaller teams, but there was only one group to draw from, whether the 

boarding task was “non-cooperative or consensual.”84
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 209

At the end of April Charlottetown, sailing in the Truman battle group, 

conducted her rst MIO patrol in the Northern Arabian Gulf, “enforcing 

U.N. sanctions against Iraq.”85 Concurrently, Winnipeg noted that she was at 

her highest operational tempo, “ready to commence operations,”86 and on 30 

April Winnipeg and the Connie battle group changed operational command 

to Fih Fleet.87 As Winnipeg approached the Strait of Hormuz (SOH), the 

embarked legal ocer intensied briengs on rules of engagement. Because 

Charlottetown was in the area, Commander Williams in Winnipeg watched 

her rst patrol closely, and he “made a number of adjustments to my Security 

Teams/Boarding Party as a result,” reporting:

[O]perational planning is underway on board to ensure the ship is fully 

prepared for MIO ops as well as Mothership duties. Extra rations and 

water are being procured alongside Bahrain to replenish ships in holding areas that are about to run out shortly aer my arrival in [the Northern Arabian Gulf]. I have also started a “cost capture” process to track 

all costs. . . . New ROE authorization [was] received clarifying all of my 

concerns/issues. . . . Support by the embarked JAG advisor continues 

to be excellent. I have forwarded new ROE to C5F [Fih Fleet] and 

CCDG 1 [Commander Cruiser Destroyer Group 1, probably acting as 

CTF 50].88

Charlottetown’s second and nal MIO patrol was conducted from 

16 to 31 May, and during it she remained very busy carrying out “91 

hails and 28 boardings . . . for a total of 151 hails and 52 boardings.”89 She 

passed through the Suez Canal with her consorts Mitscher and Carr and 

entered Halifax on Canada Day, 1 July 2001. Charlottetown had completed 

a successful and eventful voyage and remained at a high state of readiness 

in the east coast task group.

In early May Winnipeg continued to patrol by day and night in the 

Southern Arabian Gulf (SAG), as well as near Iranian and Iraqi territorial 

waters in the northern end of the Gulf, which was “the choke point for 

vessels entering and exiting the main waterways of Iraq . . . [where] 

numerous shoals and isolated dangers . . . make navigation a challenge.”90 By 

26 May there were six coalition warships in the north, and the operational 

tempo slowed down. ereaer a special operation was planned for a 
210 Robert H. Caldwell

three-day period to reduce the ow of oil smuggling. Winnipeg described 

these operations, in which her boarding teams intercepted known oil 

smugglers, and once boarded, they turned the ship over to another ship’s 

security team so that Winnipeg could return and apprehend another vessel. 

e suspect vessel was escorted to where it was “searched during daylight 

hours.” is tactic was successful in the past, but at this time “no smugglers 

tried to leave Iraq’s internal waters.”91

e number of patrolling warships fell in early June, and based on 

Winnipeg’s stellar performance over the two-month period, CanadianAmerican interoperability had reached a new high. For example, the 

commanding ocers from Chosin and Kinkaid met with Commander 

Williams to address the demands posed by the need to secure large 

numbers of diverted vessels. eir ships were “running out of equipment 

to support the numerous security teams.” As well, because every waiting 

merchant ship required a small security detachment, the commanding 

ocers found it dicult to keep their boarding teams intact in order to 

clear nonsmuggler vessels quickly.92

As a result, by 4 June, Winnipeg was “now in charge of nine diverted 

vessels and their security teams.”93 Her duties also included coordinating 

the assets of two American warships to manage the inspections of newly 

intercepted vessels. is was the rst time that a Canadian ship in the 

region—without the formal appointment of the on-site commander—

had been responsible for an operational site where U.S. Navy ships were 

deployed. 

Concurrently, special operations planning continued, and again 

Winnipeg was a key participant. e operations were successful; by 20 June 

there were 17 diverted and detained vessels. All of them carried illegal

Iraqi oil, and as a result of the high number of vessels waiting, mothership 

duties increased dramatically.94

On 16 July Winnipeg departed Dubai for her h patrol and this time 

claimed another rst. e Canadian frigate reported that she was appointed 

“XM” or On Site Commander in the NAG. is will be a rst for a 

Canadian Warship. Duties will involve compiling, coordinating and 

disseminating information to other ships under our control in the 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 211

NAG to ensure that MIO is conducted eciently and eectively. 

Winnipeg will also assume mothership duties that will allow for an 

overall coordinated eort between detecting, boarding, inspecting 

and caring for smugglers [emphasis added].95

Winnipeg continued to coordinate routine and special operations 

in the north, as well as to conduct noncompliant boardings. As planning 

recommenced, she remained in command. Williams and his sta received 

specialist advice on “the capabilities and limitation of each special unit 

and how they are best used.” e commanding ocers of Chosin, Kinkaid, 

ach, and the frigate USS Nicholas were briefed by Williams and his 

augmented sta on board Winnipeg.

96

Handing over her appointment and special interdiction planning 

responsibility to Chosin on 24 July, Winnipeg’s operational record revealed 

61 boardings, including 4 noncompliant boardings, as well as 194 hails, 77 

security team deployments, and 162 health and comfort inspections.97 She 

entered Esquimalt at 0945 Friday, 14 September 2001, three days aer the 

shattering attacks on the northeastern United States by al-Qaeda. 

Winnipeg’s experience demonstrates Canadian interoperability in the 

region prior to 9/11. She and the ships in the Constellation battle group 

had established rm sea control in the complex and shallow waters in the 

Northern Arabian Gulf in the summer of 2001, and as we will see, aer 9/11 

the American, British, and Australian navies sustained this level of control.

While interoperability on these patrols had been highly eective, the 

recognition of international waters was the most “controversial dierence” 

between Canadian and American operational policies. is divergence 

lay in the method of determining how international waters are dened. 

Canada uses a “straight line,” or “baseline” method, because the Iraqi and 

Iranian coastlines are “deeply indented and cut into,” while the Americans 

measure from “the low-water line along the coast.” Both are valid UN 

methodologies, but Canadians were sensitive to claims of territorial waters 

because of their own arctic sovereignty policy. us their ships were not 

able to operate in certain areas near the coast in the upper shallow waters 

of the northern Gulf. Consequently, Canadian ships had to work harder, 

keeping just outside of territorial waters, and they were responsible for “50 
212 Robert H. Caldwell

per cent of interdiction in the area.”98 Canadian statistics, before and aer 

9/11, are impressive.

Aside from the exceptional ability of Commander Williams and his 

crew, COWAN was the single most important contribution to Canadian–

U.S. Navy interoperability. In his post-deployment report Williams noted: 

e success of COWAN/SIPRNET [Secret Internet Protocol Router 

Network] . . . rmly established this as the way ahead for the Canadian 

Navy–U.S. Navy interoperability . . . [we] must continue to push for 

expansion in the tting of the COWAN system in U.S. Navy ships, 

especially those deploying for operations with Canadian units and 

for dedicated U.S. Navy shore support. . . . [ese measures] will go a 

long way to progress interoperability between the U.S. and Canadian 

Navies and minimize the delay in SIPRNET/COWAN replication.99

In summary, in 2000 and 2001 Calgary, Charlottetown, and Winnipeg

experienced a heightened level of intensity during their Gulf work, and the 

lessons identied by the ships’ companies were outstripping sta ability to 

collate and disseminate information to new ships working up. Calgary’s 

experience had been acute, and Winnipeg’s more so a year later because 

frequently she had been appointed on-site commander. During the last 

deployment she had gured prominently in establishing sea control in the 

northern Gulf region.

Yet all the Canadian single-ship missions prior to September 2001 

could claim to be highly interoperable success stories based on the 

Canadian multipurpose boarding party, the ships’ diving teams, constant 

attention to rules of engagement, and their crews’ overall competence. 

High trust was achieved, and the Americans in the Gulf allowed the 

Canadians “access to certain information,” which might otherwise have 

been withheld. As well, these operations forced the Canadian Navy “to 

keep pace with security and defence advances,” and “by demonstrating 

its ability to work with the U.S. Navy, the Canadian Navy establishe[d] 

that it can work with anyone.”100 Although we cannot tell, the Americans 

probably appreciated being seen with close allies, and the Canadian Navy’s 

long association with the U.S Navy made her a natural ally.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 213

A year to the day aer her return on 15 September 2001, Winnipeg

sailed from Esquimalt to return to the region in support of American 

interdiction operations.101 During Commander Williams’ 30-month 

tour commanding the ship, he and his crew had been at sea for a total of 

18 months.102 In early 2004 Williams, by then a naval captain, received 

Canada’s Meritorious Service Medal for “his contributions . . . during his 

rst deployment to the Gulf.” He accepted the decoration and noted that 

his achievements were “due in large part to the valiant men and women 

with whom he has served. . . . Grey matter has no rank and some of the 

best ideas . . . were from some of the junior guys on the ship.”103

The Canadian Navy on the Eve of 9/11

Interoperability and Information Technology

During the 1990s military analysts and scholars developed an 

unproven theory of war known as network-centric, or network-enabled 

warfare, the result of emerging information technologies creating the 

widely heralded “Revolution in Military Aairs.”104 All navies faced a 

simple dilemma: keep current with the U.S. Navy or be le behind. In 

response, the Canadian Navy sought and sustained the highest state of 

interoperability with the Americans105 and throughout the decade tted 

their ships “to the world—that is U.S. Navy—standard.” By 2001 the 

Canadian Navy was the most interoperable medium-size navy in the 

world.106

Canada had kept abreast of rapid advances in American naval information technology through four related developments: a forces-wide 

“strategic imperative” of interoperability, continuous review of rules of engagement, integration of Canadian frigates directly into American groups,107

and knowledge of current NATO and American doctrine and technology. 

ere was, however, a h source: AUSCANNZUKUS (Australian, Canadian, New Zealand, United Kingdom, United States) agreements by which 

the countries shared information in communications and intelligence, 

particularly through the use of SIPRNET and the development of COWAN 

and recognized maritime picture-building systems. 
214 Robert H. Caldwell

rough the 1980s, the American, British, Canadian, and Australian 

(ABCA) and Royal New Zealand navies shared information through the 

ABCANZ-5 Information Exchange Project, which allowed them to keep 

up to date with fast-developing information technology. at project expired in May 1992. e U.S. Navy also had developed a “NOFORN” system known as the SIPRNET, which had “a revolutionary impact on the 

planning and conduct of operations within the U.S. military.”108 SIPRNET 

was understood to be a secret-level American-eyes-only network; nevertheless, the minutes of the United States Military Communication-Electric Board, dated 7 November 1995, declared that “connections to agencies of foreign governments are permissible through the use of approved 

security devices employed on each foreign connection to the SIPRNET. 

ese security devices must be in U.S. controlled spaces.”109

In 1997 the AUSCANNZUKUS navies agreed upon the Multilateral 

Master Military Information Memorandum of Understanding, which 

allowed them to establish an Information Exchange Annex in May 2001. 

is combined naval sta eort had a clear aim: to improve interoperability 

between the ABCA navies.110

Probably as a result of the AUSCANNZUKUS developments early in 

2001, by September of that year the Americans had evaluated and approved 

the Cooperative Engagement Capability (CEC) designed “to coordinate 

threat decisions in real time.” CEC sought to “distribute re control quality 

information to participating nodes” so that targeting information could be 

shared within national or multinational commands. At the same time, the U.S. 

Navy began to take advantage of the “opportunities oered by the Internet to 

enhance the transmission of information.”111 us, by 9/11, there were three 

secure Internet-based systems in place, two American and one Canadian, 

and each exploited “the Internet to improve the ow of information.” 

Aer SIPRNET, the second U.S. system was COWAN, a communications means that permitted the establishment of a common operational 

picture at a coalition “secret” level. Separated, though not entirely, from 

the SIPRNET by soware rewalls and gateways, COWAN was an American development, worked up with “Australia, Canada and the UK,” allowing “coalition e-communication and data transfer at net-centric warfare 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 215

standards. . . . [COWAN] enabled those countries to access and contribute information as well as respond to tactical directions and intelligence 

as it was developed.”112 COWAN was initially introduced in the multinational Rim of the Pacic (RIMPAC) exercise series, and then spread more 

broadly.113 e third system was the Canadian-only MCOIN III, just as 

SIPRNET was an American-only system.114

Concurrently, the Canadians had kept up with recognized maritime 

picture-building capabilities. By 2001 they were well equipped to develop, 

maintain, and react to the “overall operational picture in the AOR [area 

of responsibility],” relying on Link 14, Link 16, the Global Command and 

Control System, satellite modems, and wide bandwidth.115 Canadian Task 

Group commanders learned to manage information ow and bandwidth, 

allowing them to link into higher level American surveillance, warning, 

targeting, and control systems without becoming overwhelmed.116

In the Gulf region the Americans and Canadians had overcome 

diculties with the tting of the high-speed, satellite-carried, “secure 

E-Mail system—Cowan.” Releasability issues, which had always been 

a problem, were mostly solved with the use of this system. By 2002, 

Commodore Lehre remembered that “no other nation had t Cowan in 

its ships or trained to its demanding standards as fully as we had.”117

e View of Commander, Maritime Forces Pacic in 2000 

In February 2000 Rear Admiral Ron D. Buck, RCN, Commander, 

Maritime Forces Pacic addressed a conference on future maritime war 

hosted by the Royal Australian Navy in Sydney. e RAN published the 

work in early 2001, and Buck, who had been promoted to vice admiral in 

December 2000, was appointed Chief of Maritime Sta (CMS) in June 2001. 

us before 9/11, Buck demonstrated a sound grasp of future interoperable requirements, as well as the importance of information technology on 

naval command, control, and operations. He reminded his readers that

Canada has been involved in virtually all recent maritime coalition 

activities including the Gulf War, the Adriatic, ongoing operations in 

the Gulf which includes integration into United States carrier battle 

groups, and INTERFET in East Timor. Interoperability is bread and 
216 Robert H. Caldwell

butter to the Canadian Navy and it is seen as being essential. . . . 

Interoperability with the U.S. Navy should be the fundamental C4I 

goal of any nation that operates or is likely to operate with the U.S. 

Navy. . . . What the Canadian Navy must now do is to ensure that 

it evolves its at-sea systems to have secure e-mail, web-based data 

sharing, the recognized maritime picture using GCCS–M imagery 

[see below], and collaborative planning tools.118

e admiral was satised with communications systems ashore, based 

on the Global Command and Control System–Maritime (GCCS–M), 

and he knew that his at-sea “seamless connectivity” was under way. 

Realistically, the Canadian goals were to provide 

◆ high data rate connections between systems ashore and afloat,

◆ full support for internet protocol technology,

◆ support to all relevant types of information,

◆ compatibility with current and emerging open systems 

standards, and

◆ sufficient bandwidth to support increasing data rates.119

Vice Admiral Buck was optimistic that bandwidth and communications 

architecture diculties could be worked out because he and his sta had 

detected a change in American attitudes towards their security policy, 

releasability, and increased interoperability. He claimed that 

the importance of the eort now being made by senior U.S. Navy 

commanders to deliver on commitments to allies should not be 

understated. It is inherent within the policy [since 1995] . . . that 

there has been a major shi in the U.S security culture: from one that 

assumes, as a rst premise, that nothing is releasable, to one which 

assumes release may be acceptable unless there is national reason 

not to do so.120

e admiral warned, moreover, that while the “AUSCANNZUKUS 

Naval Command, Control and Communications Board is a useful 

interoperability forum . . . it lacks ‘teeth’ when compared with the North 

Atlantic Treaty Organization.” He considered that other opportunities 

were available, including “joint warrior interoperability demonstration, 

multinational task group exercises, RIMPAC exercises, and BattleLab 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 217

experiments. ese are but a few of the vehicles and opportunities . . . to 

make interoperability a reality.”121

Vice Admiral Buck’s remarks were prescient. Considering the challenges that lay ahead—before the 9/11 attacks—he declared, “Global interoperability must therefore be the goal, but it can only be achieved with a 

paradigm shi. Being interoperable with the U.S. is therefore the singular 

most important issue now facing all navies in regards to C4I if they wish 

to provide a core contribution to coalition warfare.”122 Dramatically, a few 

months later, the 9/11 tragedy provided the necessary paradigm shi. 

In summary, in September 2001 Canadian ag ocers and group 

commanders on each coast possessed a powerful combination of recognized 

maritime picture-building capabilities, supported by an advanced secure 

Internet communications system. Canadian ships stood in the front rank 

with the United States Navy, and were able to assume a major role in any 

American sea service area of operation.123 As the aermath of the 9/11 

attacks proved, this capability mattered a great deal, and the navy provided 

the government with strong options for support to the United States. 

The Interoperable Paradigm Expanded: Leadership Interdiction 

Operations and the Campaign against Terrorism 

“Canada contributed the rst coalition TG to arrive in CENTCOM 

AOR.”124

“e USN OPANAL cell in USS Stennis conducted a study that showed 

that the eciency of the hailing regime doubled when the Canadian CTG 

ran the ships in the Gulf of Oman.”125

When the 11 September attacks occurred, the Canadian government 

reacted decisively and instinctively: a four-ship naval task group and a 

maritime patrol aircra detachment were sent in support of United States 

combined operations in the Gulf region. A h ship, HMCS Vancouver, 

deployed with the John C. Stennis carrier battle group based on pre-9/11 

plans to have a single Canadian frigate train with the Americans for 

maritime interdiction operations, in accordance with long-standing UN 

Security Council resolutions. 
218 Robert H. Caldwell

Arriving just over two months aer the event, the Canadian Task 

Group was the first allied naval force to reinforce U.S. Navy and Royal

Navy forces in the region. During the rst rotation seven Canadian 

ships were deployed. e east coast eet provided ve of the seven, 

because, in accordance with Defence Planning Guidance, that part of the 

service was responsible for maintaining the navy’s high readiness task 

group. Operations in response to the 9/11 attacks, named Apollo by the 

Canadians and Enduring Freedom by the Americans, would continue with 

six-month rotations of ships, oen with staggered arrival and departure 

times, until the middle of October 2003. e rotations, known as “Rotos,” 

were numbered beginning with Roto Zero. 

On arrival, Canadian stas conrmed a eet protection role with 

the Americans, and a new form of interception—Leadership Interdiction 

Operation (LIO)—was added to the range of sea control tasks. More robust 

rules of engagement to clarify noncompliant boarding operations were 

authorized. Aairs moved rapidly, and by early February 2002 these types 

of interception operations blurred together, and the Americans reorganized

The Canadian patrol frigate, 12 of which were commissioned from 1992 to 1997, was the backbone of Canadian maritime interdiction operations in the Gulf region before and after 9/11. 

HMCS Vancouver is seen here with a hovering Sea King helicopter.

DND Photo HS-030767d02
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 219

command arrangements for both operations. e Canadians were given 

the coordinating responsibility for the Southern Arabian Gulf, the Strait of 

Hormuz, and the Gulf of Oman (GOO), and thereaer they coordinated all 

interception operations—maritime and leadership—and escort operations 

for the U.S. Navy in this critical sector of the operational area. 

* * *

 Following the 11 September attacks, for the rst time in its history, 

NATO implemented Article 5 of the collective agreement known 

colloquially as “an attack on one is an attack on all.” e Canadian 

government wanted a fast and visible reaction, but its navy had no ship 

in the Gulf region, Winnipeg having departed for Esquimalt in early 

August.126 e frigate Halifax, however, was at sea in the eastern Atlantic 

with NATO’s Standing Naval Force Atlantic, and redeploying Halifax 

oered the government an easy option: Canada could quickly contribute 

a modern and well-connected ship to augment American antiterrorist 

eorts. e government chose this option because speed and commitment 

counted, and Halifax, led by Commander P. Ellis, was immediately retasked to sail east on her own. As in the First Gulf War, the navy had 

demonstrated that it could react faster, and with higher interoperability, 

than the other two Canadian services.

Reinforcing the trust established with the Americans over the 

previous decade, National Defence Headquarters and the government 

planned further contributions to ght terrorism in southwest Asia. e 

United States Central Command (USCENTCOM) area of responsibility 

was huge. Encompassing 25 countries, it contained the three “most critical 

choke points” known to mariners: the Suez Canal, the southern entrance 

to the Red Sea (Bab al-Mandeb), and the Strait of Hormuz.127 Vice Admiral 

Greg Maddison, Deputy Chief of Defence Sta (DCDS), remembered 

that the planning process was based on two respective Canadian and 

American questions: What is it that you need? And what have you got? 

All coalition navies understood that while the Northern Arabian Gulf and 

the Strait of Hormuz required coalition ships in or near them, a wider sea 

control screen was required along the Iranian coast and south to the Horn 

of Africa. To satisfy the need, many options were open.128
220 Robert H. Caldwell

By early October the government had directed that the navy dispatch 

the east coast task group, consisting of Commodore D. W. Robertson and his 

sta embarked in Iroquois, as well as Charlottetown, the frigate that had just 

returned from the Mediterranean and Gulf region three months earlier, and 

Preserver, a eet replenishment ship. Iroquois, the DDG namesake of the 280 

(Tribal) class, was an ideal command and control platform for the commodore 

and his sta. As the Canadian commitment to the war was planned to 

increase, the DCDS established an operational commander—Commander, 

Canadian Joint Task Force–South-West Asia—alongside Central Command 

headquarters in Tampa, Florida. e Canadian headquarters would also act 

as the National Command Element (NCE). 

At his headquarters in Halifax, Rear Admiral M. B. MacLean, 

MARLANT, had directed that Commander J. B. McCarthy, commanding 

Preserver, initiate planning for a possible humanitarian deployment to New 

York, as well as working up for sea operations. McCarthy also examined 

options that could be “made available to the Canadian government for a 

naval response to the war on terrorism should the Canadian government 

decide” to pursue this alternative.129 On 7 October Preserver received 

a warning order to sail in ten days, Canadian anksgiving weekend 

leave was cancelled, and the crew completed “a huge amount of work . . . 

including ammunitioning and fuelling.”130

In Charlottetown feelings were mixed. She had returned from the 

Gulf on 1 July. On receipt of the warning order, her preparations included 

installing COWAN, which her crew knew was essential for operations with 

the U.S. Navy. Ten days later Charlottetown, still under Commander Lloyd, 

slipped to sail eastward, this time in the company of Iroquois and Preserver.

131

Once at sea, Commodore Robertson was concerned about the level 

of connectivity. In his group war diary he noted in operational shorthand: 

19 Oct 01. Improvements have been realized in C4I connectivity as 

result of eorts at sea and ashore.

20 Oct 01. First Phase of Round Robin trg [training] complete. Op 

Apollo sea trg det now in IRO [Iroquois] . . . C4I connectivity improved in all TG [Task Group] ships.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 221

As Deputy Chief of Defence Staff, Vice Admiral Greg Maddison coordinated the Canadian response to the global terrorist threat following 9/11. As Commander, Standing Naval Forces 

Atlantic in 1993–1994, he designed and directed the operations for the NATO and Western 

European Union maritime interdiction forces for Operation Sharp Guard in the Adriatic.

DND Photo HS2005-0152-01a
222 Robert H. Caldwell

23 Oct 01. TG training progressing well in all areas.

25 Oct 01. Final phase of trg progressing well.132

Cruising ahead of the task group, Halifax wasted no time in the 

Mediterranean. She had degaussed in Augusta, Sicily, on 13 October and 

proceeded to Souda Bay, Crete, to embark stores and equipment.133 On 18 

October Halifax sailed for Suez now “fully equipped” with the necessary 

supplies for sea operations in the Gulf.134 She transited the Suez Canal four 

days later and arrived in Bahrain for her in-chop brieng with the U.S. 

Fih Fleet on 31 October.135 Commander Ellis remembered feeling that 

his ship had “assumed the role of the vanguard of the Canadian Forces. . . . 

We were the rst allied warship to join the . . . [USN-RN-RAN] coalition. 

And although we were the rst, by the time we le to return home [in 

mid-March] . . . there were about 60 ships in that operational theatre, from 

10 dierent nations.”136

Halifax sailed from Bahrain on 3 November, integrating perfectly into 

the American operational area, and she immediately began interdiction 

patrols in the Gulf of Oman. On 7 November the COMDESRON 50 chief 

of sta continued to brief the commanding ocer on operations in the 

operational area.137 Several days later Halifax was conducting her rst 

mission: a Strait of Hormuz escort, followed by oil smuggling patrols o 

the coast of Fujairah, on the east side of the UAE, where “much time was 

spent identifying the hundreds of tankers bunkering and anchored.”138 e 

operations that Canadians had always prided themselves on—Arabian 

Gulf naval intelligence gathering—had begun again. is time there 

was a dierence: operations were not being conducted vide UN Security 

Council resolutions. 

In the early days of her deployment, Halifax received various escort 

and interdiction tasks throughout the region. A new issue arose, however, 

unrelated to the war on terrorism: Indian-Pakistani tensions increased, 

and Halifax found herself 

tasked to maintain the Recognized Maritime Picture. . . . Her 

main advantage as a Canadian warship was being a fellow 

Commonwealth member to both sides and thus able to mediate 

less obtrusively than an American or even British warship. In 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 223

the process, the signal processing and tracking capability of 

. . . [her] combat systems were proven to be superior in some 

respects . . . to . . . next-generation generation systems. Halifax was 

able to provide observations on Indo-Pakistani air and submarine 

movements that were especially important to the Coalition eort.139

e 21st of November was decisive in the history of Canadian naval 

operations. On that day, Commodore Robertson met with Vice Admiral 

Charles W. Moore, USN, in Bahrain. Moore was triple-hatted as commander 

of the U.S. Fih Fleet, the MIF, and Naval Forces Central Command 

(NAVCENT) in U.S. Central Command’s advanced headquarters in Bahrain. 

Well prepared for the meeting, Robertson was “pleased that operational 

background material . . . [had been] provided by Halifax . . . [and the] NCE. 

. . . While there was little that was new, the briengs were well done and the 

face-to-face contact allowed many issues to be resolved, or put them well on 

the way to resolution, including . . . [arrangements to ensure a high level of 

interoperability].”140 e Canadians arrived well prepared.

Robertson met with Moore for about 40 minutes, and the two 

commanders concentrated on the likely task of defending the amphibious 

ready group (ARG), as well as interdiction doctrine and tactics. Admiral 

Moore dened a leadership interdiction operation as “rst and foremost 

an information operation,” and both commanders agreed that while 

“we couldn’t impose ourselves on every ship . . . coming through” the 

operational area, we could “get the word out that there were ships present.” 

Robertson considered he was “pretty comfortable with how the leadership 

interdiction operations would be run,” and he now had a solid sense of 

what the Fih Fleet expected of his group. In particular, Robertson 

understood the distinction between MIO and LIO, and he recalled that 

“although the Commander Fih Fleet . . . had not authorized disabling 

re or non-disabling re in its entire three years in command for MIO 

against Iraqi sanction violators . . . he was willing to approve that in a 

heartbeat when dealing with a potential LIO candidate on which he had 

really good intelligence . . . or on which there was a very high area of 

suspicion.”141 e rules of engagement changed in the new environment. 

e meetings at Fih Fleet headquarters provided essential guidance 

for future Canadian operations, as Robertson remembered:
224 Robert H. Caldwell

[T]here was an opportunity to nd out . . . what the [ARGs] were 

going to be doing . . . [in] the upcoming op [RHINO] . . . that 

would take the marines ashore and eventually to Kandahar . . . [this 

provided an understanding of] how long the amphibs would be 

there o the coast . . . [and for example] why they would be pretty 

tightly tethered to that place reducing the operational and tactical 

exibility that one might otherwise want to have of just being able to 

get out of the way.142

is background would prove to be useful as relations between India and 

Pakistan deteriorated through the following month.143 By the third week 

of November 2001, Commodore Robertson, Amphibious Support Force 

Defense Commander, was deploying the Canadian Task Group into the 

North Arabian Sea—east of the Gulf of Oman—to protect the large U.S. 

Marine ARG that was to conduct operations into Afghanistan from south 

of the Pakistani Coast.144

To review command appointments and relationships, Vice 

Admiral Maddison directed the overall Canadian contribution through 

Commodore J. J. P. iault, the double-hatted ocer in Tampa 

commanding the Canadian Joint Task Force–South-West Asia and 

heading the National Command Element. iault executed operational 

and national command of Commodore Robertson’s task group designated 

CTG 307.1. e Americans had designated the Gulf region as part of the 

USCENTCOM area of responsibility, and all naval forces were controlled 

by the U.S. Fih Fleet in Bahrain. In the AOR the U.S. Navy had designated 

the Canadian group as CTG 50.4, and the group was detached under the 

tactical control of their Task Force 50. Robertson was appointed a sea 

combat commander and tasked with protecting the ARG based on the 

U.S. amphibious assault ships Peleliu, Bataan, and Whidbey Island.

As part of the screen, Robertson remained in the operational area with 

the amphibious forces,145 and he was well aware that his mission involved 

intense intelligence gathering—collating all sources of information in order 

to produce an eective recognized maritime picture to ensure sea control. 

Moreover, Robertson knew the risks that the U.S. Navy “was willing to 

take with sailors both in the MIO operations in the NAG and indeed [for 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 225

LIO] down to the Gulf of Oman.”146 For the next few months his group 

“tracked coastal naval forces” and monitored several Indian surface groups, 

including—four months later—“the 10 ships of the INS [Indian Naval Ship] 

Virat’s carrier battle group that passed through the Gulf of Oman in March 

[2002] en route to port visits in the Arabian Gulf.”147

* * *

At the same time, HMAS Sydney, a frigate in the Oliver Hazard Perry

class—Adelaide class in Royal Australian Navy terminology—arrived in 

the Northern Arabian Gulf ahead of a RAN task group, and on 9 November 

she relieved HMAS Anzac, the namesake of her FFH class, commanded 

by Captain Nigel Coates. Sydney formed Task Group 627.4 and was tasked 

to relieve Anzac for Maritime Interception Force operations “as part of the 

enforcement of United Nations sanctions against Iraq.”148

Sydney, under Commander D. W. Bates, RAN, remained in the 

Northern Arabian Gulf until the Australian task group arrived in early 

December. e timely arrival of warships experienced with MIO, and 

who had been included in AUSCANNZUKUS information-sharing 

agreements, greatly enhanced operations in the region.149 e RAN task 

group, TG 627.1, was “chopped [to] Operational Control of the Combined 

Joint Force Maritime Component Commander U.S. Central Command 

(CJFMCC–CENT) on 5 December for MIF operational tasking.” e task 

group comprised the amphibious transport ship HMAS Kanimbla and the 

frigate HMAS Adelaide, with Captain Allan Du Toit, RAN, embarked with 

a sta on Kanimbla, as a tactical warfare commander.150 Commander David 

McCourt, RAN, commanded Kanimbla. 

Du Toit remembered: 

e Commander U.S. Naval Forces Central Command and U.S. 

Fih Fleet Commander C5F, Vice Admiral Moore, was particularly 

keen for the RAN to assume a signicant warfare command role, 

and for Adelaide and Kanimbla to be gainfully employed in the 

NAG along with Sydney, as part of the MIF. He also recognized 

that Kanimbla was ideally suited to fulll the role of Maritime 

Interception Operations (MIO) command ship. His views were 

strongly inuenced by the recent success of Anzac’s deployment 

and a brief visit to the MEAO [Middle East Area of Operations] by 
226 Robert H. Caldwell

the Maritime Commander Australia and MCC AST, Rear Admiral 

Geo Smith, in late September, during which the potential tasking 

for RAN units was discussed.151

It was decided that command in the Northern Arabian Gulf would 

be shared by American and Australian commanders. Du Toit assumed 

“the role of Maritime Interception Commander (MIC), enforcing the 

long-standing U.N. sanctions against Iraq. This was to be effected 

on a monthly rotational basis with . . . COMDESRON 50, Captain 

David Jackson, utilizing Kanimbla as the MIO command ship.” 152 The 

American officer would therefore manage the effort from the deck of 

a RAN ship. 

Although U.S. Navy–RAN command relations in the Northern 

Arabian Gulf seemed perfect, low connectivity forced a revision. Captain 

Du Toit retained the appointment of MIC, but he was to command “from 

a U.S. unit.” Du Toit recalled that he “assumed duties as the MIC and CTU 

50.0.9 (XJ) from CDS 50 on 5 January 2002, initially embarked in the 

Spruance-class destroyer USS John Young (Commander Tim Smith) and 

later in her sister ship Elliot (Commander Jerry Provencher).” 153

Du Toit described the training process that his ships underwent in 

early December 2001:

Following “Inchop” briengs in Bahrain and boarding party 

and container climbing training for all boarding parties, the TG 

sailed for the NAG on 12 December 2001 to join Sydney for MIF 

operations. e boarding party training conducted by the U.S. Coast 

Guard detachment at the so-called “MIO University” in Bahrain 

was further consolidated by two days of assisted compliant boarding 

familiarization training with the COMISKEY (MIO holding area) 

guardship in the NAG, prior to conducting solo operations.

154

e Australians made rapid progress at interdiction tactics. Du Toit 

recorded that each of the three Australian ships

conducted MIO with two twelve-person boarding parties, which 

were capable of up to Level Two non-compliant boardings (NCBs). 

ese teams . . . could be inserted into a target vessel by [boat] . . . 

by day or night or by Helicopter Fast Rope Insertion by day only. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 227

In addition, Kanimbla created a third boarding party from the 

embarked EOD detachment that also had a very useful night-time 

helicopter insertion and seize capability, with no contributing nation 

possessing a similar capability. 155

e Australians had moved fast, completing the U.S. Navy and U.S. 

Coast Guard training quickly, and they le no doubt that they intended to 

operate eectively in the hazardous Northern Arabian Gulf. 

* * *

About a thousand nautical miles east, the U.S. Marine Corps ARG 

operated just outside the 12-mile limit of Pakistan’s territorial waters. A 

range of threats was presented to these large, undefended, high-value 

forces, and for the next two months Commodore Robertson and the 

Canadian Task Group coordinated their surface and air defense. Rules of 

engagement and territorial waters limits were examined, and the Canadian 

operations concentrated on seaward defense, “which essentially meant 

that we would identify all contacts that closed the ARG to ensure that they 

did not present a threat.”156 Charlottetown’s crew took pride knowing that 

she was “the rst to assume the duties of ARG escort” and that “Canada 

was the rst country to arrive in theatre.”157

By 7 December Halifax had joined the Canadian group, and the 

commanding ocer noted that his fellow Canadian commanding ocers 

agreed on the complexity of the problem: 

Essentially all boardings aiming to capture Taliban/Al Aqaeda 

combatants . . . will be based on actionable intelligence. It is possible 

that Halifax could be ordered to conduct a compliant boarding 

on a cooperative vessel, but that would only occur in the absence 

of actionable intelligence . . . such a boarding would be part of the 

information campaign to advertise that the coalition is here and that 

there is no escape by sea.158

Concurrently, Preserver was placed under tactical control of the 

Fih Fleet Logistics Force—CTF 53. On completion of her deployment, 

Preserver had conducted 

more than 120 replenishments at sea with ships from Canada, the U.S., 

France, Australia, the U.K., the Netherlands and Italy, transferring 
228 Robert H. Caldwell

almost 27,000,000 litres of fuel and 1380 cargo pallets equaling 203,192 

kilos of stores. At the same time she also participated in the general 

surveillance and LIO eort, including two boardings—this in contrast 

to the auxiliaries of practically every other navy that avoid engagement 

in such “combat” operations.159

HMCS Vancouver, the west coast CPF sailing with the John C. Stennis

battle group as part of the pre-9/11 single-frigate deployments, was the next 

Canadian ship to arrive in-theater. She was commanded by Commander J. 

T. Heath. e Chief of Maritime Sta ordered her planned deployment to 

continue, notwithstanding Stennis was re-tasked to participate in the air 

war against the Taliban in Afghanistan. e battle group in-chopped on 

15 December, and Vancouver, no longer required as an escort, conducted 

a variety of interdiction operations as an interoperable problem-solving 

reserve for CTF 50.160

On 19 December Vice Admiral Buck, now Chief of Maritime Sta, 

was interviewed by Steve Madely of station CFRA–AM in Ottawa. e 

admiral’s remarks were signicant because he used the term “maritime 

interdiction operations” for the rst time, and he provided the public with 

a clear sense of what his men and women were facing at sea. 

We are actually doing a number of things. We are clearly providing 

protection to not only the aircra carriers in the region but also 

. . . the Amphibious [Ready] Group, which landed Marines . . . 

we are conducting throughout the region what is called maritime 

interdiction operations . . . we have a complete picture of all vessels 

moving, and surveilling [sic] them for any suspicious activity . . . if 

there is suspicious activity . . . [we coordinate] with our other allies 

the appropriate action to ensure that we know what they’re up to. 

e reporter asked if that meant “actually boarding them,” and the 

admiral replied, “as we have been doing over the years, we do maritime 

interdiction and, yes, that could include boarding.” eir discussion then 

focused on boarding policy and tactics.161

e CMS succeeded in keeping his remarks general, particularly 

when he was asked about operational areas: “there’s also an ongoing 

action throughout the region . . . in support of U.N. sanctions. So there’s
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 229

Vice Admiral Ron Buck, Chief of Maritime Staff, left, presents Petty Officer 1st Class Michael 

Cooper, physician’s assistant, with the South-West Asia Medal on HMCS Fredericton on 10 

June 2003. The ship was deployed in the Canadian-commanded Task Force 151 in the Gulf 

region. In charge of the Canadian Navy on 9/11, Vice Admiral Buck oversaw the navy’s high 

tempo operations in the region until November 2003.

a variety [of operations] . . . going on but those are the two main areas 

. . . there’s a number of . . . operational zones and areas . . . that we have 

been working in for a number of years . . . we have a very good picture of 

what’s going on.”162 Vice Admiral Buck accurately stressed the high level 

of interoperability. He reminded the reporter of the “common operating 

procedures, doctrine and training,” which allowed the Canadians “to 

move seamlessly into this coalition activity.” 163

Buck also made clear that he would sustain the high tempo. In early 

December a fourth frigate, HMCS Toronto, sailed from Halifax to join 

the Standing Naval Force Atlantic deployed in the eastern Mediterranean 

and relieve American ships, which in turn were redeploying to the Gulf DND Photo HS-032613d74 
230 Robert H. Caldwell

region. Later Toronto would be tasked away from SNFL to serve as the 

sixth Canadian ship in the region since 9/11.164

RAN operations had proceeded apace, and Captain Du Toit 

continued as Maritime Interception Commander sharing command of 

MIF operations in the Northern Arabian Gulf with COMDESRON 50. 

On 5 January 2002 he took his turn, embarked in John Young, a Spruanceclass destroyer. Du Toit controlled “units from Australia (HMA Ships 

Adelaide, Kanimbla and Sydney) . . . the United Kingdom (HM Ships 

Kent and Fearless) . . . [and the U.S. Navy ships] . . . Jarrett and Leyte 

Gulf.” He retained the MIF responsibility until 6 February when he 

returned it to the American destroyer squadron commander. Du Toit 

considered his command 

an important event, as it was the rst time in the 12-year history of the 

MIF that a non-U.S. ocer had assumed command of multinational 

MIF operations in the NAG. . . . is event was positively and 

extensively reported in the media back in Australia, which, because 

of the secrecy surrounding our deployment, provided the rst real 

news for our families and friends, of what we were actually doing.165

O Pakistan, the Canadian Task Group continued its ARG defense 

operations into January 2002, and then the operational situation changed. 

Withdrawing al-Qaeda and Taliban forces had been denied access to the 

Pakistani coast, so they moved westward into Iran, using Iranian territorial 

waters to ee across the Gulf of Oman and the narrow Strait of Hormuz. 

As a result leadership interdiction operations intensied.

* * *

On 20 January “CBC Newsworld” led with an exclusive story direct 

from Iroquois in southwest Asian waters. Captain C. L. Moord commanded 

the ship. Anchor Alison Smith introduced the story with a pointed criticism 

of the navy: “Since it le in October, we haven’t heard a lot about the naval 

task force [and] . . . the ships of Operation Apollo. Well, that’s about to 

change. Tonight the rst television report from on board.”166

Rob Gordon of CBC Halifax was never shy about reporting naval 

matters. At sea in Iroquois, he spoke to the Canadian public dramatically 

and positively about the realities of naval life during the war on terrorism: 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 231

Sunrise on a foreign sea, a familiar sight now for 1200 Canadian 

sailors who le Canada three months ago. e ve warships of this 

eet are isolated and self-sustaining. Some of the sailors haven’t set 

foot on dry land since they started patrols in the Arabian Sea. . . . 

e Canadian Navy has some of the hard slogging in the war on 

terrorism . . . backing the attack, escorting other coalition ships and 

re-supplying them, and defending U.S. carriers. . . . In front of us, 

two American warships as escorts. . . . is is the Strait of Hormuz, 

a narrow passage through which all ships coming in and out of 

the Persian Gulf must pass. . . . at makes the Canadians nervous 

. . . Canadian ships are vulnerable to terrorist attack . . . with few 

welcoming ports, the Canadians have been forced to spend a record 

amount of time at sea.167

Rob Gordon led a second story the following day, and the 

“Newsworld” anchor in Canada again criticized the navy for what the 

network saw as a lack of information provided to the public. e anchor 

declared that “back in October when the ships sailed o [there was] . . . 

a lot of ag waving and all sailed o into obscurity. ey are out in the 

middle of the sea. We’ve lost touch with them. What are they doing out 

there?” Gordon now was more than ready to answer this question, telling 

the Canadian public why, in the opinion of the CBC, the navy had released 

so little information. 

Well, that’s a funny thing. We all know since September 11th, it’s a 

brand new world . . . for the Canadian Navy. Normally on missions 

. . . the press can go and see what they’re doing. It hasn’t happened this 

time. It’s really because of the new world. As you know, the Canadian 

Navy is very small and it was designed really to hunt Soviet ships and 

ght in the Atlantic Ocean if the Cold War ever got hot. e mission 

they’re on right now is not like that. ey’re not worried about being 

attacked by submarines. But they are worried about a guy in a boat—

15 foot boat with explosives as what happened with the USS Cole last 

year. What they’ve done is try to keep their movement secret. Not 

discuss what port they’re in or out of and in fact, won’t discuss what 

port they’re using. eir missions are escort missions, working with 

the U.S. Navy and the U.S. aircra carriers, escorting fuel ships and 
232 Robert H. Caldwell

food and ammunition to and from the Persian Gulf and the Arabian 

Sea area.168

ere was no mention of Canadian interoperability or operational 

responsibility. 

On 6 February Commodore Robertson recorded that command 

arrangements required alteration due to the increasing pace of maritime 

and leadership interdiction tasks. He remembered: 

roughout January, my American counterparts had been examining 

options for improving the ongoing Leadership Interdiction 

Operations across the theatre. ey were not obtaining the coverage 

they thought possible and the span of control was too great for the 

Sea Combat Commander to easily improve the results. Additionally, 

communications with a widely dispersed coalition force were 

dicult, and yet the Sea Combat Commander, being borne in an 

aircra carrier that had to remain in the optimum position for air 

operations, was unable to move to any other operating areas. e 

best solution was one that would see a part of the region taken over 

by a local commander. In discussions we agreed that the [Canadian 

Task Group] . . . would be well suited to taking on the leadership of 

operations from the Southern Arabian Gulf, through the Straits of 

Hormuz and into the Gulf of Oman.169

us, in early February, the U.S. Navy again demonstrated their 

respect for the capabilities of the commodore and his sta by granting them 

the tactical authority that had been discussed the previous month. e 

Canadians would coordinate sea control operations for the Gulf of Oman 

sector “west of 60E” and the Southern Arabian Gulf, and escort tasks through 

the Strait of Hormuz. eir command callsign was Charlie Zulu, “CZ,” and 

they would remain in control of this critical operational sector—bracketing 

the Strait of Hormuz—until mid-2003. As Robertson put it, “for the months 

of February and March, the [Canadian Task Group] led a multinational 

task group of coalition ships in that area. . . . In total some 16 ships and 

aircra from 8 countries (Bahrain, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, the 

Netherlands, United Kingdom, and the United States) participated in what 

amounted to a multinational task group based in the Gulf of Oman.”170
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 233

To review leadership relations, by February 2002 CZ was still 

a formation under the national command of the Canadian Joint 

Task Force–South-West Asia and the National Command Element, 

headquartered in Tampa. In the U.S. Central Command operational 

area the Canadians were under local, or tactical control of Commander 

Task Force 50, who had further detached the group to the control of 

CTG 50.6, an American commodore, who was the overall sea combat 

commander. ereaer, until later in the year, the Canadian Task 

Group coordinated maritime and leadership interdiction operations for 

CTG 50.6. In summary, the Americans had delegated to the Canadians 

the unceasing grind of coordinating scant resources for maritime and 

leadership operations south of the Northern Arabian Gulf area, which 

allowed the U.S. Navy to address wider issues, such as eventualities east 

of 60 degrees,171 as well as sea control of the NAG for reasons other than 

interdiction operations. 

On assuming command on 7 February, Robertson quickly sensed the 

diculties in allocating resources between MIO and LIO requirements, as 

well as providing intelligence to build the recognized maritime picture. 

He reported in operational shorthand that the “First 24 hrs as GOO cdr 

is indicative of pull between LIO (Priority Tasking) and MIO, as ships 

have been retasked to be able to position VAN [Vancouver] to conduct 

surveillance of . . . [a suspected MIO vessel]. Pursuing an aggressive y 

programme over coming days will cover LIO tasking and establish trac 

patterns in GOO and through . . . SOH.” ese were early days for his new 

responsibility, and Robertson noted that as CTG 50.6 claried leadership 

operations, the Canadian area of responsibility for the Gulf of Oman 

would be “more clearly” dened.172

Coincident with these developments, Captain Tom Yaeger, USN, 

from the Naval Historical Center (redesignated the Naval History and 

Heritage Command in 2008) in Washington, D.C., was conducting an oral 

history project with the Operational Documentation Detachment, Fih 

Fleet.173 On 12 March he visited the Canadian eet replenishment ship 

Preserver, and he interviewed the commanding ocer, Commander J. B. 

McCarthy. Yaeger covered much background material with his questions, 
234 Robert H. Caldwell

and his interests were the main components of sea control: intelligence 

sharing within the coalition, interoperability, and connectivity. McCarthy 

was particularly outspoken on the latter. 

We’re all aware in the Canadian Task Group that there is a 

communications linkage . . . that we are unable to [use, because ] . . . 

SIPRNET . . . is a U.S. national [system]. . . . For allied ships . . . [and] 

coalition ships . . . there is what we call COWAN, which is a Coalition 

Wide Area Network . . . conceived on the west coast . . . [MARPAC] 

. . . ships are more familiar with it. We were given the capability for 

[COWAN] . . . before we sailed from Halifax but it has been, in my 

view, a slow process getting other coalition partners to hop on that . . . 

we’ve probably come a long way since we arrived in theatre in having 

more U.S. Navy assets that we can talk to directly, electronically as 

opposed to just by voice circuits or message trac.174

McCarthy described the diculties of relying on new communications systems at the expense of the old.

[M]essage trac is much less reliable, particularly with coalition 

partners and, in my view, particularly with U.S. Navy ships. . . . Very 

frequently we’ll [conduct replenishment at sea (RAS) planning] . . . 

two days before by a priority or immediate message . . . [however 

some] ships won’t have that. I think it’s because there is such a 

reliance now on the immediate communications . . . I don’t have that 

level of condence that I used to have . . . if I send a priority message. 

McCarthy was clear in the interview what he needed to improve 

logistics planning at sea. 

I would love to have either a Chat or a direct e-mail connectivity with 

CTF 53. . . . We have no chat capability except with our liaison ocer 

. . . but we do have an internet E-mail connectivity . . . sporadic[ally]. 

. . . ere are some U.S. ships we manage to achieve E-mail connectivity 

with and some we do not. . . . I think it will be an enormously useful tool 

if all coalition ships can speak to each other on a common electronic 

net, like some kind of a chat or at least E-mail. . . . [What we need is] . . . 

a system where you can reliably call up another unit . . . and get word to 

them. . . . I would prefer it to be more real time and expeditious.175
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 235

Captain Yeager questioned McCarthy on intelligence relating to 

target ships, and McCarthy, a former destroyer captain, knew exactly 

what he needed, for Preserver was “only authorized to do unopposed 

boardings, which translates into consensual boardings” in U.S. Navy 

terms. His operations team followed the “list of suspicious indicators, and 

used that as our measurement criteria when we hail vessels and board 

them . . . if the master is happy to have us aboard then there’s really no . . . 

concern . . . we’re . . . extremely careful. . . . I have not been particularly 

uncomfortable in sending seamen away in anything we’ve been asked to 

do.”176 Intelligence information allowed McCarthy to manage the risk to 

his boarding teams.

Summarizing his experience, McCarthy noted:

[T]here were some growing pains with the whole command and 

control issue when we rst arrived that we worked out with 53 and 

with the Canadian Task Group commander. My sense . . . is that 

Preserver is more integrated into the CTF 53 organization than are 

the naval support assets of the other coalition partners. . . . I think 

our task group commander made a conscious decision that we 

wouldn’t go that way although the temptations sometimes to draw 

us back into the national umbrella have been quite strong . . . we 

have been almost an integral part of the CTF 53 organization and 

that’s worked out well . . . that . . . expanded our horizon because it’s 

obviously been a much bigger organization that we’ve been working 

in than we would ordinarily have in the national context which has 

been good for us, invigorating for us and just generally a positive and 

worthwhile experience for us.177

Together, Commodore Robertson and McCarthy understood the right 

balance in operational relations with the Americans. 

On lessons learned, McCarthy emphasized the benets of deploying 

single patrol frigates as part of U.S. Navy battle groups, which had provided 

visible evidence of Canada’s interest in sustaining interoperability. He then 

advised that 

we have been fairly proactive in sharing with them observations 

and lessons learned from working in a very diverse . . . support 
236 Robert H. Caldwell

environment as opposed to the more focused Canadian task group 

environment. . . . We’re hoping that those types of things will be 

absorbed in the overall statement of requirements for the ships . . . 

[which stresses] our interoperability with the U.S. Navy that maybe 

other navies aren’t able to achieve. . . . We’re always pretty comfortable 

to work with the United States Navy and I think can easily slide into 

something like this. It’s just adapting to a much broader picture . . . 

that we need to do better but I think we’re capable of it and prepared 

for it. . . . Nevertheless, I think we have achieved quite a high level 

of interoperability. ere are no other navies that I know of that 

actually can have a warship assigned as part of a battle group . . . 

we’ve been doing that for some time . . . [for example] Vancouver. . . . 

So we know . . . interoperability is important. I think all our future 

planning is based on using that as . . . criteria. . . . On the policy side, 

of course, that gets into the political realm where obviously there will 

be convergences and divergences of views and strategic objectives.178

A day earlier, on 11 March, Commodore Robertson had also briefed 

Captain Yaeger on connectivity, the provision of intelligence, and rules of 

engagement. Aer three and a half months, he had no trouble coordinating 

these dierent demands. Like McCarthy, Robertson stressed the need for 

a common SIPRNET–COWAN “communications system” for all coalition 

ships. He suggested that the system be adapted beyond the ABCA group, 

so that other nations, like the Netherlands, could communicate easily in 

ad hoc coalitions. He put his point plainly: “If things are going to become 

dangerous you need to know that . . . [a] captain has got all the same 

information as the other participants.”179

Robertson emphatically stressed the legal implications of MIO and 

LIO work in the Gulf region. In his mind, although the coalition was 

conducting a war against terrorism, the laws of armed conict still applied 

to Canadian ships. For example, he and his captains had to consider 

“obligations under international law,” and they had to 

come to one’s own decision about whether a vessel really has 

. . . [an] enemy character [and] . . . whether one has reasonable 

grounds to take action against the vessel. . . . We haven’t encountered 

this problem but there is clearly the potential that American 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 237

intelligence methods could say that . . . [a vessel] has hostile intent. 

Or indeed has enemy character, in this case we will say al Qaeda on 

board. . . . at vessel has to be dealt with. e Canadian question 

would be “OK ne how do you know that?” Because unless I’m 

convinced under international law, I can’t take action . . . intelligence 

isn’t perfect. . . . Imagine . . . being in a coalition navy and taking 

military action . . . [for example, using] disabling re. . . . [We are] 

answerable to the Canadian and the international community about 

why . . . [we] took that action. And because “the Americans said so” 

won’t necessarily . . . [clear us]. . . . e real issue is can we get . . . 

connectivity with more of the countries.180

Connectivity, in other words, was not just a tool that made operations 

more ecient because it simplied problems of command and control; it 

was also critical for the exercise of rules of engagement by Canadian sailors 

who were responsible to their government for their actions. Connectivity 

meant sharing resources and information, in an atmosphere of trust, to 

allow nations to exercise sovereignty even while deeply embedded in a 

coalition led by the world’s sole superpower. 

Despite justiable concerns over releasability, Commodore Robertson 

was fundamentally satised with the arrangements. Moreover, LIO was 

working despite the initial misgivings of many participants, and aerward 

Robertson commented positively on this new genre of operation. 

When the concept of establishing an LIO regime based on 

consensual boardings was proposed, a number of us had the same 

reservation. It did not seem likely that a regime based principally 

on the cooperation of merchant masters rather than U.N. Security 

Council resolutions would work. We thought it would be quickly 

proven impotent, but we were wrong. More than 100 vessels of all 

sizes were boarded by the coalition forces thanks to cooperation of 

their masters. . . . e result of an interesting idea by the U.S. Navy 

was that a regime of a type not previously employed was successfully 

established.181

* * *

 e next year, the Maritime Interception Force in the Northern 

Arabian Gulf continued to conduct interdiction operations in support of 
238 Robert H. Caldwell

the various UNSCRs mandating oil-related economic sanctions on Iraq. 

In early March 2002 Captain James Goldrick, RAN, took command of the 

MIF, replacing Captain Allan Du Toit. 

Goldrick had taken over Du Toit’s eective command arrangements 

within Fih Fleet, and a separate Australian “National Commander” had 

been appointed, which allowed him more time to focus on operations. 

Goldrick retained the mission of reducing “the incidence of oil-smuggling 

from Iraq.” He considered that he had “sucient—but only just sucient—

forces to maintain a continuous cordon around the Khawr Abd Allah.”182

As the MIF commander in the northern area, Captain Goldrick 

reported no legal challenges, but in the spring of 2002, he expressed 

concern about future American intervention operations:

[T]he U.S. Navy had additional items on their agenda and . . . it took 

me time, new as I was to the Gulf, to understand . . . what the real 

implications of that were. For example, the U.S. Navy priority was 

to have an appropriate presence in the Northern Gulf to support 

Operation Southern Watch, the air defence and air movement 

problem. ey also had to have a sucient presence to be ready to 

strike Iraq if the situation required. Although we had no visibility of 

this, it was quite clear they were spending a lot of time thinking about 

the issues of any campaign that might be ordered against Iraq.183

Goldrick revised his MIF operational concept to meet these circumstances, 

and he grasped the military advantages, for future operations, that would 

result from UNSCR sanction enforcement. 

His problem in the northern area was that a substantial outow of oil 

le the Khawr Abd Allah every day. e amount was “the equivalent of a 

medium-sized oil tanker,” and he knew that 

some had to be going out in the motor dhows, but only a proportion. 

Although we were watching for breakouts, the number we detected or 

had direct evidence of simply didn’t match the outow. I formed the 

view that we were not catching all the smugglers because we simply were 

not aware of all the smuggler movements. In my judgement we were 

all relying too much upon electronic detection methods, both passive 

and active, and failing to appreciate the smuggling organisation was 

capable of exploiting a gap of only a couple of hours in our coverage . . . 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 239

Crewmembers from HMCS Toronto assist a dhow with mechanical troubles in the Gulf region, 

14 March 1998. Prior to 9/11 interdiction operations under various UN Security Council Resolution mandates were less warlike and closer to police operations.

we had the number of ships, the combinations of rules of engagements 

and the physical capabilities to actually maintain a 24-hour a day, 

seven days a week, twelve months a year close-up surveillance of 

the KAA. at was the only thing that was actually going to stop the 

tanker trac outright, and we implemented that change. . . . I had a 

lot of work to do, not so much within the force, but outside it. Such 

issues as disposition planning, rotations of ships, replenishments and 

weapons rings all required consideration. Timings had to be carefully 

worked to make sure that somebody was always close up to the KAA 

. . . we ended sitting up there close because Anzac and [Du Toit’s] group 

had brutalised the opposition, were in a blockade mode. We had less 

boardings than before and less boardings than aer, when the dhows 

became the target [emphasis added].184

Goldrick commented on the propensity to ingest statistics at the 

expense of analyzing eects: 

When you get people going on about how we did X numbers of 

this, and X numbers of that, and X numbers of the other [that is] 

DND Photo HSD-989040-143
240 Robert H. Caldwell

. . . viewed as a measure of success, as opposed to the eect you are 

trying to achieve . . . it was only when intelligence came through that 

the amount of loading actually happening inside Iraq had dropped 

from about 50% to about 10%, that people were able to see that the 

blockade—where nothing seemed to be happening—was achieving 

the desired eect. We were able to see the major and direct eect on 

. . . [Iraqi] morale.185

By sustaining sea control of the Khawr Abd Allah in support of UNSCR 

sanctions, the Australian task group in the Northern Arabian Gulf was 

also preparing the approaches for coalition military operations.

Balanced Forces and Steady States: A Perfect ABCA Paradigm

“Use the LIO model as practiced in the GOO for world-wide 

application—overall ‘CZ’ has it right.”186

By late January 2002 Commodore Robertson and his ships had 

established sea control between the Southern Arabian Gulf and Gulf of 

Oman, and they enjoyed the respect of the U.S. Navy and coalition navies 

operating throughout the Gulf region. e Canadians achieved this level 

of success through eective intelligence-gathering, enforcing the maritime 

right of transit, and coordinating escorts, while demonstrating care over 

Iranian-claimed waters in these hazardous and contentious areas.187

On 1 April Commodore Robertson handed over command of the 

Canadian Task Group to Commodore Eric Lehre. On 2 May HMCS 

Algonquin, the commodore’s command ship, had arrived, and by June 

Ottawa and St. John’s had relieved the earlier frigates. Protecteur, the 

Canadian west coast replenishment ship, had replaced Preserver in the 

AOR. Soon aer the takeover, Lehre reported his group had “rmly taken 

charge of the SAG/SOH/GOO sector in a manner not matched by any 

other national sector commander. Coalition units that used to breeze 

through the area in transit to and from the Gulf now check in, join our 

COMPLAN [communications plan] and Link, and are tasked. Everyone 

checks in with Charlie Zulu.”188

Lehre was well aware that his operational waters—east and west of 

the Strait of Hormuz—were critical to the security of the massive area of 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 241

responsibility, and vital specically to Operation Enduring Freedom and 

the war on terrorism. is sector required the Canadians to control “most 

of the escape routes, while also being close enough to carry out escort duties 

through the Strait,” and they were also in a “good position to ‘back stop’ 

against Iraqi oil smugglers” leaving the Gulf region.189 To oversimplify, sea 

control of the operational area depended on the Canadians in the center. 

To Lehre’s northeast, the combined U.S. Navy–RAN–RN task group 

designated “XJ” functioned in the Northern Arabian Gulf, conducting 

interdiction operations vide United Nations resolutions. We have seen 

how Captains Du Toit and Goldrick worked against Iraqi oil smugglers 

who used Iranian territorial waters to slip past the interdicting coalition 

ships,190 and from time to time a Canadian frigate served in their task 

group. To Lehre’s south, a third task group operated o the Horn of 

Africa, “as it was believed Al Qaeda was preparing to re-establish bases 

there,” having lost maneuver room in Afghanistan. is sector was usually 

commanded by a German or Spanish naval ocer.191

e Canadian Task Group was able to sustain sea control in their 

area by using all available coalition surface ships, maritime patrol aircra, 

and briey a French submarine. ese assets were “easily integrated” 

into the task group because of the high Canadian connectivity, the 

standardization of NATO procedures, and recent training in Submarine 

Element Coordination. Lehre noted that the submarine proved “one of 

our best sources for information . . . as she could manoevre to the limits 

of international waters right o their ports, giving us signicant advance 

notice” of go-fast smugglers. ese high-speed small cra were open boats, 

varying in length around 15 to 20 feet, and powered by large outboard 

motors. ey carried human cargoes of transient workers across the Gulf of 

Oman. Like surfaced U-boats in the Second World War, their wakes were 

seen before their hull silhouettes.192

Sea control allowed Commodore Lehre to coordinate his main 

missions, whether leadership and maritime interdiction tasks or Strait of 

Hormuz escorts. roughout 2002 LIO remained the prime mission for the 

task group “to either deter or apprehend Al Qaeda members attempting to 

ee Afghanistan using maritime routes for escape.” ousands of contacts 
242 Robert H. Caldwell

were identied daily, from large merchant ships, through dhow-class 

vessels, to go-fasts. High-grade intelligence was required to selectively 

hail and board contacts suspected of carrying al-Qaeda. Here, the speed 

of maritime patrol aircra and shipborne helicopters “greatly aided this 

eort by being able to intercept, check, and in some cases challenge” 

suspect vessels. Photographs of suspicious persons were taken with digital 

cameras and passed to nearby warships. COWAN allowed these images 

“to be matched against a large terrorist database, and any requirement 

for clearance or further action would be radioed back to the task group 

commander.”193

Periodically CZ loaned a CPF to XJ to conduct MIO in the Northern 

Arabian Gulf, and in early April, Ottawa distinguished herself in a 

dramatic night noncompliant boarding of the oil smuggler Rooa: “In one 

sudden blinding ash of search lights . . . [Ottawa] . . . executed a take 

down of the vessel so swily the smuggling crew could not close down the 

vessel or mount a defence.”194

Strait of Hormuz escorting required cool command and thorough 

training due to the high numbers of go-fast cra in the strait. As Lehre 

described it, “the local smugglers and their Go Fasts had the same 

appearance and were oen operated with the same ‘devil may care’ 

attitude as a potential suicide boat, frequently closing our ships at speed 

to within hundreds of yards . . . the ships themselves were forced to re 

warning shots to keep the most foolhardy Go Fasts outside of two hundred 

yards.” In order to counter this persistent threat with balanced responses, 

rigorous training in applying rules of engagement was conducted from the 

task group commander down to “ship level, and within the ship between 

command and weapon crews.”195

e coalition rules of engagement were complicated, and they 

were based on two national authorities: the mandate to conduct “nonconsensual, or forced, boardings,” and permission to detain “suspected 

terrorists found by our group eorts.” In the latter case, “only the U.S. 

and Canadian ships were so authorized.”196 Lehre claimed that aer his 

high connectivity, Canadian ROE were the most signicant contributors 

to success: “Robust ROE . . . allow one’s ships to fully contribute and not be 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 243

forced to call in an ally when things get exciting. . . . For the TG commander, 

the dierences that robust ROEs make are profound. . . . He cannot order 

a coalition ship working for him to do a task that the commander’s own 

national ROE do not allow. anks to our strong Canadian ROE our TG 

Commanders were not put into that situation.”197

ese “robust” rules of engagement, it bears repeating, were not the 

internal product of the Canadian forces, but reected the Government 

of Canada’s continuing strong commitment to assist its allies in the war 

against terrorism. 

To conduct his operations, Commodore Lehre usually had “four to 

seven units” assigned to him, plus he used “coalition units transiting the 

area . . . to join in LIO/RMP Building.” Lehre, a signals specialist, reported 

in early April that because of the high connectivity within the Canadian 

ships, they were the “glue that binds the coalition forces.” COWAN, in 

his opinion, was “simply outstanding. It is the most reliable of the longhaul comm paths. e U.S. Navy is quickly realizing its value and it is the 

centre piece of the GOO architecture.” Lehre added that “with virtually 

instantaneous comms,” he was able to relay direction “to any of the 

coalition ships.”198

e CZ capabilities were now well known to the coalition, and 

Commodore Lehre reported that “CTF 50 values our ships and our current 

eorts in the . . . SAG/SOH/GOO. Our interoperability, our robust ROE, 

our RMP, and our Boarding expertise are simply not available in any other 

coalition partner.”199 By the end of May, Lehre advised that the Americans 

earlier had “predicted the Europeans would start drawing down,” and 

they hoped “to fall back to a solid AUSCANUS core to keep the MIO/

LIO operations running. is drawdown has happened and we remain 

at strength. is is noticed, as is our aggressiveness, our unequalled 

interoperability and robust ROE.”200

* * *

In June 2002, at the height of the Canadian Navy’s ascending trajectory of eectiveness in the Gulf region, Vice Admiral Buck hinted at an 

earlier whi of Canadian interservice rivalry: “Eight months ago I was 

sarcastically asked what the naval role in land-locked Afghanistan would 
244 Robert H. Caldwell

be. e answer, as we have seen, is clear.” e admiral’s response was not 

puery and he was not gloating. He knew that geography had made the 

“Canadian military forces expeditionary,” and that the navy, the smallest 

of the three services, had provided “the ability for Canada to execute its 

foreign policy options according to its own timetable rather than at the 

convenience of others.”201

Buck reinforced this point, declaring that “many Canadians—and 

in particular the Canadian media—tend to measure military operations 

in terms of soldiers and green vehicles. Yet, Canada’s expeditionary 

capability of rst resort has been and is today its navy. A small but capable, 

multipurpose navy allows Canada to engage and, if need be, intervene. is 

has been our history, it is our present, and it will likely be our future.” e 

admiral was right, the navy was Canada’s best expeditionary capability, and 

no other service could claim this distinction. Buck’s statement followed 

his armation that the navy was doing the “heavy liing” in the campaign 

against terrorism, because “we have the equipment, the doctrine, the 

connectivity and procedures that make us key, integral players . . . we are 

there because we are good.”202

Canadian operations remained upbeat. In June, and again July, 

Commodore Lehre’s command ship, the DDG Algonquin, intercepted 

several suspected al-Qaeda terrorists. 

Lehre’s July report reected a golden age for the Canadian Navy 

in the Gulf region. e statistics were impressive. Using the American 

Secretary of Defense’s brief of 1 July, he reported some of the results in 

Table 1. 203 Lehre pointed out that the Royal Navy had less connectivity, and HMS Cumberland, a Type 22 frigate, had only recently installed 

COWAN. CTF 50 placed high value on the Canadian group because “Canada’s interoperability with the U.S. Navy remains unmatched by any coalition navy.” Lehre had established COWAN contact “with the next SCC” 

in the Abraham Lincoln carrier battle group, en route to relieve the John 

F. Kennedy, and this would allow the relieving group commander, Commodore Dan Murphy, to monitor “XZ-CZ chat.”204
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 245

Table 1. Post-9/11 Coalition Interdiction Statistics–July 2002

Ships Queried Consensual Visits

1 July 2002 15 July 2002 1 July 2002

Coalition Total 14,651a 15,667 166b

Coalition Navies:

Australia 68 c

Canada 6,027 7,715d 101

France 1,422 1

Greece 560 6

Italy 1,860 29

Netherlands 1,563 12

Spain 65 c

UK 322 c

USA 2,754 17

a

Approximately 65 queries a day. Many ships were queried more than once.

b

Approximately one or two a day.

c Statistics not available.

d

49.2 percent of the coalition total.

e small-boat trade in “people smuggling” had also decreased, and 

Lehre noted that their sortie rate was “77 in April, 44 for May, 17 in June, 34 

in July and 12 so far in August.”205 Lehre complimented Canadian maritime 

patrol aircra, noting that they “continue to excel in supporting LIO,”206 and 

he suggested that the increase in July may have been due to improved “MPA 

coverage and more ships operating in the GOO.” Overall, the commodore 

knew that they were intercepting most small boats “headed south (loaded) 

compared with those who later headed north (empty).”207

 As for Strait of Hormuz escort tasks, since April, the group ships had 

escorted “64 unarmed or lightly armed” vessels of high value, with Canadians participating in 21 of these operations. Lehre noted that “warning 

shots and/or ares were red on several of the early transits to successfully 

deter high speed cra—usually smugglers . . . but none have been red 

during this period.”208
246 Robert H. Caldwell

Lehre was most pleased with the integration of high-speed 

communications that greatly enhanced his intelligence-gathering 

capability, which had “gained high praise with our U.S. Navy 

[commanders].” He reported that CTF 50 had urged Vice Admiral Timothy 

J. Keating, CENTCOM’s Naval Component Commander in Bahrain, to 

utilize the “excellent analysis from ‘CZ’ sta and include MV/Dhow and 

Go Fast trac analysis. . . . Use the LIO model as practiced in the GOO 

for world-wide application—overall CZ has it right [emphasis added].”209

Also in July, Commodore Lehre provided a detailed update on the 

communications capabilities of his command, and once more COWAN 

was his battle-winning favorite. 

It is now clear there is an inner and outer core of naval participants in 

OEF [Operation Enduring Freedom]. e inner has Cowan and Siprnet. 

e rest don’t and are out. is is not good for Canada nor anyone else. 

. . . e most obvious costs are that the others are not as eective. . . . 

Cowan is a better choice . . . most in the . . . [Abraham Lincoln carrier 

battle group] . . . will be so tted. Some of the RAN are tted and the UK 

ship is howling for activation of his Cowan . . . [account]. So expect short 

term gains within the AUSCANUKUS or Cowan A Group . . . what this 

theatre really calls for is Cowan (C for Coalition) . . . part-time dial-up 

participants are not worth our trouble. Come with a leased channel and 

24/7 Cowan connectivity or don’t come at all.210

Lehre concluded with a summary of the remarks he used when he 

spoke to the messes of his ships. 

I now make it clear they are serving in the best medium power 

navy in the world. Few navies receive anything like the support 

from home . . . we have no in-theatre bases . . . our . . . [maritime 

patrol aircra] . . . skill is unmatched be it in crew skill or 

outright determination. . . . ird, our helos are old but they y 

longer days than any other and achieve hail rates that oen are 

higher than some other nation’s ships. . . . Fourth, our ships . . . C4I 

[command, control, communications, computers and intelligence] 

ts are unmatched by anything short of a U.S. Navy cruiser or 

DDG 51 [USN Arleigh Burke–class destroyer]. e most competent 

of our coalition ships has declined to take on the acting SAG . . . 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 247

[Commander] . . . role that our own CPFs execute awlessly. No one 

can compete with the LIO . . . products we develop onboard and this 

was acknowledged by CTF 50. Fih, only the U.S. Navy exceeds our 

Op Tempo . . . the brief to the U.S. Sec Def I quoted in my last sitrep 

still remains true today. With ve nations regularly tasked to LIO 

duties, Canadian ships still provide 50 pct of the hails and 63 pct of the 

boardings. Our . . . [naval boarding parties] . . . are unmatched and our 

AOR is now providing hailing and CV rates equal to some nations[’] 

frigates while also serving as the only Arabian Gulf oiler. . . . All in all, 

the navy has no peer competitors.211

In August Commodore Lehre reviewed the impressive operational 

statistics for the group in his nal report, simplied at Table 2.212

Table 2. Canadian Interdiction and Escort Statistics—31 August 2002

 Ships Queried Consensual visits SOH escorts

Coalition Total 18,577 235 66*

Canadian Navy 8,998

(48.4%)

146 21

*Unarmed or lightly armed coalition ships.

Plans for War Alter the Paradigm

In fall 2002 the operational paradigm east of Suez began to shi. Talk 

of war and invasion increased, and the UN Security Council debated 

new resolutions against Iraq. e Americans moved additional forces 

north to bring pressure against the regime. Because the “vast bulk of the 

material” had to funnel through the Strait of Hormuz, that move increased 

the need to secure its approaches.213

On 4 September Commodore Lehre handed over command to Commodore Dan Murphy. Lehre reported that the task group had closed the 

al-Qaeda and Taliban maritime escape routes, and they “appear to have been 

successfully deterred.”214 Concurrently, the volume of merchant vessel trac 

in the Canadian sector increased, and on 9 October the threat was maximized when al-Qaeda widened the war by attacking the French oil tanker 

Limberg in the conned Strait of Bab al-Mandeb, o Aden. More pressure
248 Robert H. Caldwell

was placed upon the Fih Fleet’s coalition navy to escort high-value ships 

through the Strait of Hormuz, and the Canadian Task Group commander 

assumed added responsibility to ensure sea control of his critical sector.215

* * *

At the end of October 2002, Captain Peter Jones, RAN, took 

command of his task group and the maritime interception forces in the 

Northern Arabian Gulf. Jones relieved Captain Peter Sinclair, RAN, who 

had replaced Captain James Goldrick. Jones knew that COMDESRON 50, 

sharing command with him for maritime interception operations, was 

war-planning in Bahrain at U.S. Fih Fleet headquarters. He suspected 

that this would mean maximum sea-time, and it proved so—“from the 

end of October until early April we were at sea for all but about 14 days.”216

* * *

Before September 2002, Commodore Murphy had spent ve months 

at the U.S. Central Command headquarters in Tampa as the “principal sta 

ocer for Canadian joint operations.” He and the commander of the Canadian Joint Task Force–South-West Asia, Commodore Pierre iault, along 

with British representatives, had been the only non-Americans allowed to 

attend the daily video teleconference held by General Tommy Franks, the 

CENTCOM commander. ose in attendance included representatives 

from the “CIA, Special Forces . . . and the Pentagon.”217 Murphy described 

the “strategic context” he faced from September to February 2003 during 

his ve months as task group commander: “1. the USS Cole bombing, 2. the 

MV Limberg bombing, 3. the Bali bombing, and 4. the Mombassa bombing. ree of these four signicant terrorist events perpetuated by Al Qaeda 

occurred in the CENTCOM area of operations where Canadian ships and 

aircra contributed; and three out of four of them occurred during Roto 2.”218

With the third task group, Murphy commanded within the framework 

established in late 2001; that is, his operational control authorities were U.S. 

Vice Admiral Timothy Keating in Bahrain, as well as the “carrier-based 

Task Force Commander at sea,” call sign “XZ.” During his ve-month 

tour, XZ commanders were embarked on, respectively, the carriers George 

Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Constellation. Murphy continued the 

Canadian policy of complementing his COWAN capability with liaison 

ocers in the XZ carrier and at NAVCENT headquarters in Bahrain. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 249

ese ocers provided him and his reduced sta—he commanded in 

CPFs, rst St. John’s and then HMCS Montreal—with “immediate access 

to the Sea Combat Commander and the intelligence to support my piece 

of the tactical puzzle.”219

Concurrent with American, British, and Australian war planning, 

Commodore Murphy, with American authority, began to coordinate the

eorts of our other Coalition partners who, like Canada, would 

not provide military support for potential operations against 

Iraq—not even UNSCR work. ey were in theatre strictly for Op 

Enduring Freedom. at’s why Canadian connectivity through

. . . [COWAN] . . . was so important in providing a U.S. bridge to the 

anti-terrorism coalition, and contributed to the view that Canada was 

well placed and most capable of doing more.220

roughout late 2002 and early 2003, Murphy worked with coalition 

commanding ocers on four critical aspects of Gulf region operations: 

“diering national ROE, small boat attack guidance, night-time small 

boat transits, and oil smuggling consolidation ops.”221 He was assisted by 

CP-140 Aurora maritime patrol aircra, and he noted: “e maritime 

picture building they were able to do, and the illegal oil smuggling 

consolidation they were able to uncover, was incomparable,” leading to 

the boarding of vessels of greatest interest.222

e commodore summed up his tour, stressing the recurrent and 

impressive Canadian interdiction statistics, as well as the importance of 

COWAN: 

From September to December 2002, the Coalition’s 238 boardings 

were twice the number of boardings done . . . during the previous 

8 months. Canadian ships accounted for half of those. . . . at 

translated into eective deterrence. We locked-up that body of 

water so tight that terrorists had diculty nding boats to get 

out of Pakistan. . . . We tripled the number of [SOH] escorts from 

[the previous task group]. Ninety escorts were conducted from 

September to January [2003] that provided COs with their most 

challenging moments: assessing hostile intent from crossing . . . GoFasts. . . . [e Americans] approved my handling of that assignment 

without reference to the Sea Combat Commander. We contributed 
250 Robert H. Caldwell

well to maritime intelligence with . . . surveillance . . . by remaining 

completely interoperable with our U.S. Navy operational controllers 

in the [CVBGs] and in NAVCENT HQ . . . through Cowan.223

* * *

By January 2003 Iraqi naval ships were maneuvering into a wartime 

posture in the Northern Arabian Gulf. Captain Jones recalled that these 

ships, as well as Saddam Hussein’s yacht and various big ships, which 

had been “holed up in Umm Qasr, came down the river [the Khawr 

Abd Allah], and then went up the Shatt al Arab to Al Basrah.” e result 

was that he, as Maritime Interception Force commander, became a local 

surface warfare commander. Following his guidance, the Australians tried 

to “tidy up the local air warfare command.” eir vulnerability was serious 

because the task group was so far north that the Aegis cruisers could not 

provide coverage to counter an air or missile attack. In Jones’ opinion, it 

was doubtful that air defense forces “would pick up a missile being red 

from the Al Faw Peninsula with a one-minute time of ight to a ship in 

the northern area.”224

At the same time, the Australians considered options for their ships 

in the event of war with Iraq, and they began working on the aim: “What 

do we want to achieve as a navy?” e RAN changed its operational and 

national command structure and concentrated on how to sustain sea 

control in the Northern Arabian Gulf. At stake was their hard-fought 

control of the shallow-water KAA area. ey knew that

success to date had been based on . . . [interdiction] . . . so close 

inshore, in the shallow water, that if you drew away the critical mass 

of shallow-water draught ships, the eort was going to move back. 

erefore you were eectively going to lose sea control, which had 

been so hard won. is would have opened up an opportunity for 

the Iraqis to mine the northern areas, and adopt a sea denial strategy, 

which could have impeded coalition operations.225

Task Force 151, Liberation of Iraq, and Drawdown 

When Commodore Roger Girouard replaced Commodore Murphy 

on 13 January 2003, he was well aware that the Canadians “were highly 

regarded and widely respected in Coalition Combined and Joint 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 251

Operations.”226 He also knew that an invasion of Iraq was imminent. No 

one knew exactly when war would occur, but everyone was certain that it 

would start before the crippling heat of spring and summer. 

During the rst two months of his command, the Canadian 

government pursued a policy of seeking United Nations approval for 

coalition military action against Iraq. Concurrently, the navy developed an 

array of options upon which the government could base future Canadian 

policy in the region. ese choices ranged from participation in the 

potential Operation Iraqi Freedom, the liberation of Iraq, to remaining 

in Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan while not openly 

participating in operations against Iraq. Canada’s eective role in the First 

Gulf War coordinating coalition Battle Force resupply—12 years earlier—

stood as a clear precedent for a future Canadian mission at the formation 

level. A command ship, the DDG Iroquois, was readied to deploy to the 

Gulf region in early 2003. 

Together, the U.S. Navy, RN, and RAN faced northward and prepared 

for the invasion. eir task force emptied the KAA and Umm Qaasr area 

of Iraqi naval vessels, dhows, and steel-hulled shipping. Captain Jones, 

commanding the Australians, was clear on why they succeeded:

[W]e had exerted sea control and had exerted it for so long that the 

Iraqis were prevented from taking the initiative. Our control of the 

sea denied the Iraqis the ability to lay defensive mineelds even in 

their own waters. ey tried to lay some elds covertly but these 

eorts were thwarted through our control of the sea. I think this is a 

great example of sea control and the importance of the blockade.227

e rapid ow of events in Girouard’s rst two months was marked 

by two decisive moments in Canadian naval relations with the U.S. Navy, 

as well as with the Canadian government. On 7 February the combined 

eorts of stas at all levels accomplished a conclusive step in the Canadian 

experience in the region: Commodore Girouard’s command would be 

raised to task force status, designated TF 151, and the Canadian operational 

area would expand north to almost the Saudi Arabia–Kuwait border—to 

28o30ʹ north.228 us, although not ocially part of the allied coalition 

formed to invade Iraq and topple Saddam Hussein, the Canadians now 

controlled the southern edge of the coalition’s operational area. 
252 Robert H. Caldwell

e second event on the eve of war was important because it represented 

the rst—fortunately brief—setback in Canadian–U.S. naval relations. In 

dening the navy’s role in the region, the Canadian government changed its 

rules of engagement concerning “any Iraqis taken prisoner in the act of escaping 

by sea.” e revised direction was clear: prisoners were not to be passed on to 

the Americans. Girouard saw for the rst time Canadian-American relations 

severely tested. At once he noticed an “immediate and perceptible cut-o of 

access to certain elements of intelligence,” and he remembered that 

because we were not signed on to Op Iraqi Freedom . . . there was 

a separate communications plan the Aussies and Brits and the 

Americans were on that we were not, and that meant that there 

were pretty important nuggets of information that we were not by 

default privy to. . . . At the end of the day we were certainly given the 

information to do our job, but there were times we were not 100 per 

cent sure that we had all of the information we needed. It was not the 

most comfortable way to be doing business at that time.229

Operation Iraqi Freedom began on 18 March, and the Canadians 

continued to coordinate the three previous coalition Operation Enduring 

Freedom operations: MIO in their expanded area south of the muchreduced Northern Arabian Gulf sector, LIO in the Gulf of Oman, and escorts 

through the Strait of Hormuz. At the end of March, for a brief period, there 

were ve Canadian warships operating in the region. Montreal and Winnipeg

had deployed in September as part of Roto 2—Girouard commanded from 

the former—and they were briey held over, while Regina had arrived on 15 

March as a Roto 3 ship. Iroquois, the DDG command ship, and Fredericton

were on station two weeks later.230 e United States ambassador to Ottawa, 

A. Paul Cellucci, attempting to bring balance to the situation, did not 

hesitate to compliment the Canadian contribution: 

[W]e are disappointed that some of our closest allies, including 

Canada, have not agreed with us on the urgent need for this military 

action against Iraq. But Canada remains a crucial partner in this 

global war on terrorism, and we are grateful for that. Canadian 

naval vessels, aircra and military personnel continue anti-terrorist 

operations in the Persian Gulf. . . . Ironically, the Canadian naval
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 253

A boarding party from HMCS Regina alongside a merchant vessel in the Gulf region, 6 April 2003. 

In a typical post-9/11 Canadian leadership or maritime interdiction operation, this team was fortunate to have both a rope ladder, known as a jumping ladder, and a rigid accommodation ladder. 

vessels, aircra and personnel in the Persian Gulf I mentioned earlier 

who are ghting terrorism will provide more support indirectly to this 

war in Iraq than most of the 46 countries that are fully supporting our 

eorts there [emphasis added].231

By 3 April Commodore Girouard had transferred his sta to Iroquois, 

commanding the task force from the larger ship. As operations continued, 

Girouard noticed that relations with the U.S. Navy warmed again, and by 

the middle of April, both navies were operating as closely as in the past. 

Hard-won trust could be suspended over diering politics, but because it 

had been so deeply implanted, it easily survived such interludes. 

DND Photo HSO-34004r52
254 Robert H. Caldwell

* * *

A few days later Captain (N) Paul A. Maddison, commanding ocer 

of Iroquois, wrote the family network for his crew:

All in Iroquois are very well. Last week we embarked the Task Group 

Commander and his sta, who transferred over from Montreal . . . this 

was the reason that Iroquois deployed—to provide the Commodore 

with the command and control capability that is unique to Iroquois 

class of ships. It was equally gratifying to be the agent of Montreal’s 

relief. . . . ey have done a superb job since deploying nearly seven 

months ago, and we in Iroquois are inspired by the high standards of 

operational excellence that they have set. 

On 23 April Maddison reported that the “tempo has quieted somewhat 

recently due mostly to reduced trac in the GOO,” and later he mused 

from his ship that “coalition forces that are forward deployed and 

leading from the front are perhaps the forces that are best poised to meet 

combined national security objectives while acting globally. is sounds 

quintessentially Canadian—multilateral engagement that positively 

inuences global stability.” He was right, for Canada’s contribution 

signied a prevailing and popular interest in coalition operations in the 

Gulf region.232

* * *

roughout May 2003 the region was strangely quiet. ere 

was no longer an illicit Iraqi maritime trac in oil, and the routes for 

shipping trac that required a Strait of Hormuz escort changed from 

south to north, while terrorist movement from north to south declined. 

Leadership interdiction in the Gulf of Oman was reduced to maintaining 

a presence, and the operational terms changed: LIO became a form of 

MIO for Operation Enduring Freedom, to distinguish these operations 

from Operation Iraqi Freedom. 

Twelve years of grinding UN interdiction operations aimed at 

Iraq had come to an end, and by June the Americans, Canadians, and 

coalition allies planned a drawdown of their maritime forces in the 

region. Regina was short-toured, arriving back in Esquimalt on Canada 

Day, 1 July 2003. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 255

On 15 June Canadian Joint Task Force–South-West Asia ordered 

Commodore Girouard to disband TF 151, which ended more than four 

months of coalition task force command. Commander H. T. Harsch, 

Fredericton’s commanding ocer, was authorized to serve as Southern 

Arabian Gulf Commander, similar to the pre-9/11 leading role when 

Winnipeg’s commanding ocer had been appointed on-site commander 

in the Northern Arabian Gulf.233 Harsch was pleased with the way that 

his combat team and his ship “embraced the extra work involved” as 

SAG Commander. He had found the responsibility “interesting and 

challenging” and recorded that

the Americans were extremely pleased with our performance in this 

role, indeed they were eusive in their praise for the ship. ey were 

also easy to work for in that they provided clear strategic direction, 

and then pretty much le it up to me to execute. At any one time we 

had up to ve Coalition warships under my command, but usually it 

was . . . two or three. . . . It was clear to me that the forces in the Gulf 

Region were attempting to maintain the same level of oversight, but 

with a fraction of the assets . . . we did what we could.234

Calgary arrived in the region on 1 August, and on the 8th she 

assumed duties from Fredericton as SAG Commander.235 Eight days later 

she was granted a second Canadian appointment, CTF 307, Commander 

Task Force Operation Apollo. Her commanding ocer, Commander D. 

M. Mackeigan, humorously noted, “I need a new ballcap” to represent his 

new role.236 Calgary served in these capacities until 18 October, departing 

on 1 November. Although the Gulf region remained quiet, Calgary

had conducted 24 boardings and 92 SOH escorts of her own, and had 

coordinated dozens of operations in the region.237

 Upon Calgary’s arrival in Esquimalt, Vice Admiral Buck summed up 

her experience, considering it a microcosm of over two years of Canadian 

naval operations in the Gulf region. 

You are the sixteenth Canadian warship to return from Operation Apollo, this essential campaign against terrorism, and you are also the last one. 

It is a period that saw 16 ships and 4100 sailors deployed in support of 

this operation—a . . . [decisive] undertaking that had not been seen since 
256 Robert H. Caldwell

the Korean War. You have made a huge commitment to the success of 

this operation, made a huge dierence. You have done the heavy liing.238

He was right. Operations aer 2001 had led to the collapse of Iraq 

in 2003, and in May of that year UNSCR 1483 was approved “under 

enormous pressure from the U.S.” is UNSCR removed all the United 

Nations monitors from Iraq, eliminated the “661 Committee,” which 

had managed the Oil-for-Food Program; suspended the role of the 

United Nations Monitoring, Verication and Inspection Commission, 

its disarmament agency; and eliminated any international oversight of 

oil sales or disposition of oil proceeds. In theory MIO had ceased. e 

resolution also endorsed the “Occupying Authority” status of the U.S. 

and Britain in Iraq. A year later the United Nations approved another 

“multinational force,” and according to one expert, this “le the U.N. role 

in Iraq’s troubled political transition undened.”239

* * *

In 2004 the “Oil-for-Food” scandal was released as a headline story 

implicating the United Nations as scapegoat for a failed and corrupt 

program. e resulting blowback has revealed that while oil exports were 

being interdicted and inspected at sea, the Americans and British at the 

UN allowed oil to be exported to Jordan and Turkey overland, without any 

monitoring.240

In summary, aer Ramadan in late 2002, with Iraqi oil continuing to 

move overland, but with no further smuggling activity, a point was reached 

where Maritime Interception Force operations were no longer necessary 

to enforce sanctions at sea. Nevertheless, the naval forces in the Northern 

Arabian Gulf remained, for they provided sea control in the shallow and 

complex maritime approaches to Iraq. e eects of that control shaped 

two contingencies. First, Iran was denied the opportunity to demonstrate 

a maritime presence in the Gulf region. Second, sea control permitted a 

clear coalition attack into the Khawr Abd Allah, the Shatt al-Arab, al-Faw, 

and upstream to Basra in order to force regime change in a benighted 

nation that had already suered so much under Saddam Hussein’s rule, as 

well as from sanctions approved by the Security Council.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 257

Observations and Comments on the Future

Observations

During the 1990s, following their experience in Korea, the Cold 

War, and the First Gulf War, the Canadian Navy did not think small. e 

service evolved into an “adaptive and hybrid” maritime arm: a blue-water 

force with four guided missile destroyers and 12 shallow-dra Canadian 

patrol frigates plus support ships. All proved highly capable of conducting 

littoral operations. Interoperability with American forces was set as a goal, 

and Canada’s west coast eet was augmented to balance with naval forces 

on the Atlantic coast. NATO and ABCA Quadripartite agreements were 

in place, and the navy gained rsthand experience in the Adriatic and 

the Caribbean, and from many single-frigate deployments in the Gulf 

region. ese operations required three capabilities: recognized maritime 

picture-building, high connectivity with evolving American information 

technology, and government-supported rules of engagement. 

Connectivity was necessary to ensure an easy transition into command relations with the Americans, themselves governed by strict rules 

of engagement and releasability regulations. e Canadians acquired and 

used Link 11, Link 16, SIPRNET, and COWAN—the basic communications pillars of naval network-centric warfare—before and aer 9/11. ey 

also stressed the human side of connectivity, embedding commanders, 

stas and liaison ocers, where possible, alongside American commanders. e crucial inuence that the liaison ocers provided and the evolving role of legal ocers, who were embarked on frontline Canadian ships 

before and aer 9/11, require further examination.

Gulf region operations synthesized the navy’s decade of force 

restructure and developing interoperability with the U.S. Navy, especially 

their emphasis on connectivity and rules of engagement, and the Canadians 

achieved a high reputation in the process. eir paradigm of “high 

interoperability equals increased options” oered the government a wide 

set of choices aer 9/11. For example, once the Canadian Task Group had 

arrived in late 2001, it operated in four dierent command relationships. 

e group rst provided defense to the amphibious ready group, operating 
258 Robert H. Caldwell

under the tactical control of the carrier groups with the designation 

Amphibious Support Force Defense Commander. In January 2002, when 

they were authorized their own operational area and designated CZ, they 

controlled all interdiction operations in a vast area comprising the Southern 

Arabian Gulf, the Strait of Hormuz, and the Gulf of Oman. ey worked 

in Task Force 50 under the tactical control of a sector control commander 

(SCC). e approach of war caused a further change, and by December 

2002 the Canadian group was no longer linked to an SCC but dealt directly 

with TF 50. In February 2003 the Canadian group commander was elevated 

to task force commander status, heading newly formed Task Force 151. 

Clearly, the harmony between the Canadian government’s desire to 

be seen as useful and the navy’s willingness to assume risk had produced 

robust rules of engagement, and the Canadian coordination of the 

Southern Arabian Gulf, Strait of Hormuz, and Gulf of Oman was, by 

any standards, a good t. It was an ideal operation for an aggressive pair 

of well-connected frigates with the appropriate ROE, commanded by a 

senior ocer and sta in a guided missile destroyer, which was the perfect 

command platform for interdiction operations. e wider Canadian 

command and control arrangement—fully embraced by the Americans—

was linked to Ottawa through their task force headquarters at CENTCOM 

in Tampa and augmented by an extensive liaison ocer system throughout 

the Gulf region, ensuring that the Canadians had the ability to make their 

own decisions.

Nevertheless, periodic problems occurred, and this author does 

not wish to leave an impression that all was well the entire time. e 

Americans, however, always found a way to make coalition eorts 

function. Problems were worked around or worked out. Setbacks—almost 

all of them concerning connectivity—were seen and solved as they arose. 

As operations began in November 2001, Commodore Drew 

Robertson remembered how important his connectivity proved to be:

[T]he latest Coalition Wide Area Network . . . gave me connectivity 

with the U.S. Navy at-sea commanders that no other nation had. 

is connectivity was vital to our being able to take on a coalition 

leadership role in the Gulf of Oman and make the contribution we did. 

It also gave me much better insight into the U.S. Navy commanders’ 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 259

intentions—and so an ability to examine those intentions from a 

Canadian viewpoint.241

In other words, high connectivity provided options for Canada. More 

broadly, the increased information ow did not—and probably still does 

not—completely ease the problem of command at sea. Commodore James 

Goldrick rearmed that “there are times when the situational awareness 

of the higher command is greater than those on scene. e dilemma, as it 

has ever been for the remote commander, is in being sure that this is really 

the case and not an illusion.”242

While Canadians understood that keeping current with American 

information systems was a critical requirement for them, so was the 

understanding and pursuit of the nontechnical notion of trust. Trust with 

the U.S. Navy was tested with each new deployment, and Canadians had 

learned that “information-sharing protocols must be re-brokered for 

each deployment. Sometimes gaining access is a question of proving one’s 

bona des to the battle group; sometimes the battle group sta is simply 

unaware what information has been passed, or is otherwise available, to 

the Canadian ship.”243

Aer 9/11 the Law of War and International Maritime Law were 

brought into question as they applied to the Gulf region and the socalled war on terrorism. It was a chaotic time, with the established tenets 

of military thought turned upside down, perhaps best summed up by 

Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, the ctional chairman of the Joint Chiefs of 

Sta in a 2002 episode of “e West Wing”: “I can’t tell when it’s peacetime 

and wartime anymore.”244

Almost at once the Canadian Navy grasped these developments 

in modern warfare. Commodore Robertson and his three successors 

stressed the legal implications of sea control work. In Robertson’s mind, 

although the coalition was conducting a war against terrorism, extending 

beyond the bounds of the Westphalian state system, the international 

Laws of Armed Conict nevertheless still applied to Canadian ships. For 

example, we saw that he and his captains had to consider “whether one 

has reasonable grounds to take action against the vessel” because they 

were “answerable to the Canadian and the international community . . . 

and because ‘the Americans said so’ won’t necessarily . . . [clear us].”245
260 Robert H. Caldwell

All the Canadian group commanders understood the clear 

relationship between balance, trust, connectivity, and knowledge. In 

post-9/11 operations trust was needed as much as technology. Canadians 

learned that to be interoperable meant giving whatever you have to give. 

Trust was derived from the generous sharing of knowledge. Americans like 

and respect such knowledge, and Canadians gave it freely, knowing that 

acts of generosity will be reciprocated by American acts in return, again 

increasing trust. If Americans trust a navy, they will give it responsibility. 

is relationship provided the Canadian government with options, and 

not surprisingly they chose to assist the Americans with a signicant naval 

force until mid-2003. Lesson learned: you can’t surge trust. 

In the 2001–2003 period Canada was acting like a good world citizen 

but at the same time keeping her options open. Naval interoperability was 

essential to pursue this policy of exible choices. We had to participate, 

but at the same time we had to act in a manner Canadians wanted. is 

imperative was not articulated until several years later by a young scholar, 

Jennifer Welsh, who suggested that Canada should think 

more strategically about its role internationally. And a strategy 

requires choice: not being all things to all people. Not trying to 

steal a newspaper headline on every national issue. But choosing 

those areas where we want to make a contribution and where we 

are willing to apply our resources (human as well as nancial) to 

make a dierence. Designing such a strategy requires three steps: 

re-examining our values, articulating our interests, and focusing and 

prioritizing our activities.246

In essence, Welsh advocated a sovereign nation’s right to do that 

what it prefers, and turn away from that which it does not want to do. But 

any action requires tools, and for some, using military tools represents a 

loss of sovereignty because they are invariably employed alongside others’ 

forces. Sovereignty is therefore lost in the exercise of sovereignty, at least 

to the most rigid critics of coalition military operations. e reality of the 

events shown in this chapter is quite dierent. Between 1991 and 2003 the 

Canadian Navy achieved a high standard of interoperability with the U.S. 

Navy at no risk to its sovereignty. Government policies remained clear and 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 261

rm, they were known by those who had to implement them, and they 

were implemented at no risk to the Canadian Navy’s ultimate operational 

eectiveness in support of Canada’s allies. 

e Canadian Navy had proved its value to Canada and to the U.S. 

Navy. Although Canadian ag ocers and stas confronted a dierent 

world aer 2001, in the previous decade they had gotten things right. ey 

did not face a steep learning curve in confronting the challenges of that 

new world because, rst, they had command experience and sea service 

in the Gulf region; second, they knew what was expected of them; and 

nally, they tted in by knowing exactly what options were open. 

Naval ought and Canadian Policy

What is the signicance of Gulf region operations? Perhaps naval 

thought can help us understand the experience as it applies in a 21stcentury world recently described by James Boutilier:

e Europeans have moved into a post-modern age, where, weary of 

centuries of internal conict, they have begun to forfeit Westphalian 

notions of national sovereignty voluntarily and to seek some larger 

sense of community. e European Union, with its rather eete 

and self-denying responses to international threats, stands in stark 

contrast to the robustly self-condent nationalism appearing in East 

Asia . . . [which is] a complex arena—historically, geographically, 

and jurisdictionally. China and India have become unabashedly 

Mahanian in their pursuit of naval power to deal with these 

challenges, by adopting the “great battle eet” concepts described 

by the 19th century American sea power advocate, Admiral Alfred 

ayer Mahan. In psychological terms, they are exhibiting the will 

to rule, something the Europeans have lost and the Americans are 

tiring of.247

For Western navies there is no agreement on a higher theory of 

war. In September 2005 Sir Michael Howard declared that theorists are 

“divided between those who maintain that war will be transformed by a 

‘Revolution in Military Aairs’ created by information technology, and 

those who believe that ‘irregular warfare’ will make such technology 

obsolete. We shall see.”248
262 Robert H. Caldwell

 With the future uncertain, naval theorists have stressed the 

prominence of maritime forces. ey are correct to do so. 

In early 2005 historian Georey Till emphasized navies for the 

future because the “global sea-based system based on the merchant 

ship and the container . . . is essentially transnational . . . [this system] 

is under permanent threat.” Till argued that economic interdependence 

and reduced geographic distance means that what happens “over there 

matters . . . to us here.”249 Supporting this assertion, Professor Colin Gray 

stated in the same year that a “cardinal benet of sea-based power is that 

its exercise as threat or in action does not depend upon the prior assent 

of local polities. Naval vessels are sovereign territory.” He added that the 

United States “understands that it must maintain a globally dominant 

navy. It cannot function as guardian of world order, or even just protect 

its vital interests, unless it enjoys the ability to assert and defend the sea 

control it will need in order to secure access to distant landmasses.” Gray 

argued that “American defence analysts do not anticipate that future 

warfare will see a return of blue-water combat, with states contesting for 

control, even command, of the sea. However the U.S. ability to exploit its 

control of the sea for inuence upon the land will be opposed vigorously 

in some contexts.” It remains to be seen how our eets will look as they 

adapt into forces that are purpose-built to conduct “intense combat in the 

littoral region, as the superpower would strive to enforce strategic access 

to problem areas ashore, including very deep ashore.”250

Georey Till oered a possible glimpse of the future by reminding 

us that navies “are being required to act together in common cause to 

project military power ashore, particularly in expeditionary operations at 

a distance from the home base.” Navies will have to “shi priorities from 

the sea to the land, from power at sea to power from the sea.” Till also 

warned of challenges to “traditional naval ways of doing things and some 

ancient naval expectations about operational independence and freedom 

of maneuver.”251

Till’s remarks reect the lack of settled war theory, the reality of 

modern sea use, the importance of information technology, and the 

inuence of American notions of intervention. ese circumstances 

probably will continue to shape medium-size navies like Canada’s. For 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 263

example, most navies will transform, becoming more expeditionary 

as they equip for missions to support the projection of power ashore. 

Command arrangements may change as well. By 2006 there were at least 

three Canadian studies examining the results of task group operations in 

the Gulf region aer 9/11, and these studies will, no doubt, add to future 

decisions on command, control, and communications architecture.252

And what of interdiction operations? A hundred years ago Alfred 

ayer Mahan wrote in his denitive article, “Blockade in Relation to 

Naval Strategy,” that “whatever the number of ships needed to watch those 

in an enemy’s port, they are fewer by far than those that will be required 

to protect the scattered interests imperiled by an enemy’s escape.”253

Citing Mahan, Professor Roger Barnett of the U.S. Naval War College 

has observed that future blockade operations should seek to control 

shipping or the shipment of contraband at the source rather than at the 

destination. Eective Canadian shallow-water interdiction operations 

in the Northern Arabian Gulf prior to 9/11 and RAN operations in the 

spring of 2002 prove Barnett and Mahan to be right. We should, however, 

be clear on why this was so: the navies had sought high connectivity, and 

their governments had provided robust rules of engagement, and only 

because of this combination was interoperability high enough to make 

these operations possible.

By the summer of 2005 two key appointees—the Director Maritime 

Policy (DMP) and the Chief of Maritime Sta—had published their views 

on the imperatives facing the Canadian Navy. Both opinions represented 

current uncertainties as well as lessons learned from the Gulf region. 

Captain (N) P. C. Avis, DMP, set forth the new national security challenge:

e terrorist has changed the battlespace . . . [for] Maritime Security. 

Since the struggle against international terrorists doesn’t focus on 

sovereign states in particular, the battlespace becomes equally local and 

federal, domestic and international, sensational and commonplace . . . 

informational and ephemeral . . . terrorists own the timeline. . . . e 

emphasis . . . must [be] . . . on nding the terrorist and understanding 

his plan before he executes.254

At the same time Vice Admiral M. B. MacLean, Chief of Maritime 

Sta, stressed interoperability and transformation. He asserted that 
264 Robert H. Caldwell

“interoperability to me is . . . an understanding of how your partners do . . . 

business.”255 e admiral warned of future change from “a Cold War ‘blue 

water’ escort force to an expeditionary ‘green water’ coastal or ‘brown 

water’ amphibious force.”256

On 12 May 2008 Prime Minister Stephen Harper unveiled a defense 

policy for Canada, the Canada First Defence Strategy. It called for new 

naval equipment to include “joint support ships” and “arctic/oshore patrol 

ships.” As well as strengthening security “at home,” Harper emphasized that 

the policy would ensure that Canada would remain “a robust and reliable 

contributor to international security and humanitarian missions.” 257

Part of these future operations are coalition blockade actions—

under whatever name they will go by: interdiction, interception, sanction 

enforcement, antipiracy, or arctic patrols. ey will remain a prime role 

for a future Canadian Navy conducting preemptive operations. Our 

surface ships, particularly the DDG Tribals with a 50-foot height of eye, 

will continue to prove invaluable in waters like the Gulf region where 

threats are asymmetric, shipping trac is heavy, vessel identication is 

dicult, and early warning is required. New developments such as loworbit satellites, line of sight technologies, and unmanned aerial vehicles 

will improve information gathering in busy foreign littorals,258 and in 

home waters high-frequency surface wave radar systems will provide 

“surveillance up to 200 nautical miles o the east and west coasts.”259

Nevertheless, complicating these technical developments is a new threat—

cyber war—and naval reaction to this prospect.260

 Sea control and interoperability—the two Canadian specialties in 

the Gulf region—are concomitants of green, brown, and arctic water 

operations, and navies conducting them will have to maintain “sea control 

in the narrow seas and littoral against everything from shore-based 

aviation, missiles, and artillery, through mines, coastal submarines, and 

fast attack cra, to swarming attacks from terrorists on jet skis.”261

Final Comments

For more than 20 years the Canadian Navy has progressively built 

a base of professional expertise now embedded at all levels of training, 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 265

leadership, and technical equipment acquisition throughout the service. 

is knowledge of U.S. Navy–led coalition operations can serve the 

government as a building block for the future, whatever it may hold. 

Between 1991 and 2003 the navy had learned to sustain naval interoperability and prepare for sea control operations with balance, trust, 

high connectivity, and continued service in the Gulf region as well as in 

NATO deployments. Based on the past, we should continue taking nothing for granted and deliberately work at sustaining connectivity at every 

opportunity. is may mean revising agreements and arrangements, for 

each single Canadian patrol frigate that sails with an American group begins from a tabula rasa. Interoperability has to be constantly re-brokered, 

and also marketed. is is not stated in a negative sense; it is merely the 

start point to understanding how the Americans do business.

e Canadian Navy, in this author’s opinion, must unaggingly 

argue the clear linkage between high interoperability and greater options 

for its government in future operations in a troubled world. Moreover, the 

argument must be made for Canadian naval contributions to be at task 

group level in order that their political signicance is not diminished.

 In keeping with these notions, the Canadian government must 

understand seven fundamental characteristics of modern naval war. 

First, Canada will never ght alone overseas, she will always operate in a 

coalition. Second, we have been, and will continue to be, in a struggle for 

public opinion from local to global levels. ird, the events since 2001 

probably will not shape future warfare in a logical, linear continuation. 

Instead, war in the 21st century will be more or less the same for naval 

commanders, who, for example, will continue to question whether the 

situational awareness of higher commanders is greater than those on 

site. Fourth, wherever ABCA navies sail, sea control will be maintained. 

Drawing from that control, gathering and sharing intelligence, staying 

abreast of events, and reacting quickly to new information will 

determine the eectiveness of future naval operations. Fih, Canada’s 

sailors, based on the Gulf experience, will have to remain connected, 

and must also keep “the lure of technology in perspective . . . realizing 

that the human component is the key to adaptability.”262 Sixth, naval 
266 Robert H. Caldwell

vessels are sovereign territory, and task group commanders and ship 

commanding ocers need robust rules of engagement—the property 

of the government—for them to sail where they can help the most, 

regardless of nationality or concern for who commands. Finally, you 

cannot surge trust, and medium-size navies when deployed in coalitions 

achieve more than when they stay at home and study, or “game,” new 

developments. Omitting any one of these fundamental characteristics to 

realize a scal or political saving will only reduce the eectiveness of any 

future naval operation.

Appendix

Legal Matters: Use of Force, Territorial Waters, and Rules of Engagement

e Gulf region is a surreal place. Westerners sense a dreamlike feeling 

when faced with the dramatic dierence between rich and poor, opulent 

excess, wide cultural dierences, and seemingly erratic and impulsive 

behavior of the local people. At times ideas, actions, and activities like 

naval and military operations take on a bizarre quality that is dicult to 

explain in American, British, Canadian, and Australian terms. e result 

can reshape our thinking: the circumstances are surreal and bizarre, so 

why should the law matter? In fact, the Gulf region experience has taught 

us that the law does matter, and governments, not navies, approve rules 

of engagement.

Rules of engagement were always in two parts: territorial waters issues 

and rules governing use of force for boarding and inspections, particularly 

for noncompliant boardings. Legal matters are not solved quickly in any 

navy, certainly not as quickly as doctrine, tactics, and equipment can be 

adapted to new situations. Between 1991 and 2003 Canadians enhanced 

their interoperability by continuously reviewing their rules of engagement 

to ensure international law was respected when using force in interdiction 

operations. Legal ocers began to serve at sea with the single-CPF 

deployments in 2000. ere were no major diculties before or aer 

9/11, and Canadians learned that revising ROE was a challenging aspect 

of interoperability. e lesson for future operations was clear: legal matters 

take time and there probably will be a period of duplication and confusion.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 267

Prior to 9/11, Canadians claried their noncompliant boarding 

(NCB) policy during the aggressive American initiative taken in the 

spring and summer of 2001 to defeat Iraqi oil smugglers in the Northern 

Arabian Gulf. Indeed, the commanding ocer of Winnipeg commanded 

NCB operations in these shallow and contested waters between Kuwait, 

Iraq, and Iran several months before 9/11.

In late 2001 the Taliban were defeated in Afghanistan, yet there was 

no land force cuto plan, and an ad hoc naval screen was formed quickly 

across the maritime approaches to the region. By January 2002 leadership 

interdiction operations had developed as an operational concept separate 

from the customary UNSCR maritime interdiction operations. LIO 

provided the coalition navies with a legitimate reason for emphasizing 

their rules of engagement, and therefore interoperability, with the U.S. 

Navy, beyond UN sanction work. 

e Australians, heavily committed to leadership interdiction 

operations in the Northern Arabian Gulf aer 9/11, never had a problem 

justifying operations beyond traditional maritime interception operations. 

For them, aggressive interdiction operations with the Americans 

established textbook sea control in the northern area, and this proved to 

be decisive a year later. e Canadians, in late 2001 and early 2002, briey 

had two sets of rules of engagement, one each for maritime and leadership 

interdiction operations; however, with government approval these were 

soon blended together. 

By March 2002 Commodore Robertson, the rst Canadian group 

commander, and Canadian stas in Tampa and Ottawa had conrmed 

common rules of engagement for post-9/11 operations anywhere in the 

region. Robertson remembered later: 

Canada’s ROE gave us more latitude than any other navy except 

the U.S. Navy. Had the coalition been le with the lowest common 

denominator as our collective ROE, the coalition would have been 

restricted to military operations in Afghanistan and nothing beyond 

surveillance would have been possible at sea. Happily . . . we all 

knew each others’ limitations and the commanders were able to 

allocate and employ forces with those limitations. . . . What was vital 
268 Robert H. Caldwell

to the operation was that countries shared their ROE, and that as 

a minimum all ships had the ROE to defend other coalition naval 

forces, and this we had.263

What concrete lessons can we derive from this experience? To 

summarize, operators will gure out what they need to do, while 

lawyers will generally only review options and decide what is legal and 

not base judgments on operational needs. Naval and military lawyers 

are not proactive—they do not normally anticipate operations, revising 

engagement rules ahead of time as a contingency plan. Military lawyers 

tend to be reactive, and they propose revisions to these rules for 

government approval only when faced with new circumstances. Navies 

have to nd ways and means to shorten response time, and naval planning 

and deployment must be done in lockstep with legal planning. e main 

lesson here is obvious: interoperability with the U.S. Navy—and the legal 

implications for the government—must be emphasized at all times, during 

periods of routine training as well as deployments, in order to give the 

government time to approve rules of engagement.

Notes

1. In 2011 the name Royal Canadian Navy was reintroduced. For the historical approach 

used in this work—an operational theme—we are indebted to Jeremy Black’s introduction in 

his World War Two: A Military History (New York: Routledge, 2003), xi–xii.

2. Allied Joint Maritime Operations (NATO, April 2004): 1-8, 1-9 (hereafter AJP 3.1).

3. AJP 3.1, 1-10, 1-11.

4. Ibid., 1-11.

5. Commodore Eric Lehre and CPO2 Doug McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Groups in Op 

Apollo,” The Maritime Warfare Bulletin/Le Bulletin de Guerre Maritime (Halifax: 2003): 105 

(hereafter Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB).

6. U.S. Department of Defense, Dictionary of Military Terms: Joint Chiefs of Staff (1990), 101, 

112, 385.

7. Major Jean H. Morin and Lieutenant Commander Richard H. Gimblett, Operation Friction 

1990–1991: The Canadian Forces in the Persian Gulf (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1997), 179.

8. For the Royal Navy background on some operations between 1958 and 1961, see Naval 

Staff History, Middle East Operations—Jordan/Lebanon—1958, Kuwait—1961 (London: 

MOD, 1968). We are indebted to the Naval Historical Branch in the United Kingdom for 

drawing this work to my attention.

9. Kenneth M. Pollack, “Securing the Gulf,” Foreign Affairs 82, no. 4 (July/August 2003): 2.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 269

10. Michael A. Palmer, On Course to Desert Storm: The United States Navy in the Persian Gulf

(Washington, DC: Naval Historical Center [NHC], 1992).

11. Canadian naval forces were not deployed to the Gulf region, probably because, for one 

reason, in late 1987 and early 1988 the Canadian Navy was preoccupied, alongside the 

U.S. Navy, with Operation Bandit, the deployment and possible intervention into Haiti. 

See Sean M. Maloney, “Maple Leaf over the Caribbean: Gunboat Diplomacy Canadian 

Style?” in Canadian Gunboat Diplomacy: The Canadian Navy and Foreign Policy, ed. Ann L. 

Griffiths et al. (Halifax: Dalhousie University, 1998), 166–71. Commodore L. C. A. Westropp 

commanded a Canadian joint task force, based on TG 300.1, that consisted of Preserver, 

Athabaskan, and Skeena and deployed in Haitian waters in mid-January 1988.

12. Palmer, On Course to Desert Storm, 124.

13. Ibid., 133–34.

14. Commodore Duncan E. “Dusty” Miller and Sharon Hobson, The Persian Excursion: The 

Canadian Navy in the Gulf War (Clementsport, NS: Canadian Peacekeeping Press, 1995), 23–

33. The TRUMP project was an expanded midlife refit of the four Iroquois destroyers—the 

Tribal class—“incorporating area air defence and command and control (C2) improvements, 

in order to give the fleet the ability to conduct truly independent task group operations in 

any threatened environment.” Morin and Gimblett, Operation Friction, 32. For a comment 

on the Tribal (sometimes “280” or “Iroquois”) Class name, see Ken Macpherson and John 

Burgess, The Ships of Canada’s Naval Forces, 1910–1993 (St. Catherines, ONT: Vanwell 

Publishing, 1994), 169.

15. Morin and Gimblett, Operation Friction, 182.

16. Ibid., 191.

17. Rear Admiral (ret.) Ken Summers, “The Canadian Navy in the 1990–1991 Gulf War” 

(Address to the 7th MARCOM Historical Seminar, Ottawa, 23 September 2005), 3. This 

work was published later; see Ken Summers, “The Canadian Navy in 1990–91 Gulf War: 

Some Personal Observations,” in People, Policy and Programmes: Proceedings of the 7th 

Maritime Command (MARCOM) Historical Conference (2005), eds. Richard H. Gimblett and 

Richard O. Mayne (Winnipeg: 17 Wing Publishing Office, 2008), 116.

18. Morin and Gimblett, Operation Friction, 262.

19. HMCS Huron Annual Historical Report (DHH 1991), 2/9–4/9 (hereafter Huron AHR 

1991). Huron’s TRUMP upgrades were not completed, but a “decision was made to retrofit

Huron with a similar upgrade of weapons, sensors and communications gear as had been 

installed in Athabaskan.” Huron AHR 1991, 2/9.

20. Huron AHR 1991, 5.

21. The minutes of the meeting were attached to the Huron AHR at Annex C, “Minutes of 

Second MACOM Conference,” 7 June 1991 (hereafter Second MACOM).

22. Second MACOM, 1–2.

23. Ibid., 2.

24. Ibid., 2–3.

25. Ibid.

26. Ibid., 5.

27. HMCS Restigouche Annual Historical Report (DHH 1992), 3–4.

28. Ibid., 4–5.
270 Robert H. Caldwell

29. Maloney, “Maple Leaf Over the Caribbean,” 171–77.

30. Laura J. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s: Selected Case Studies (Halifax: 

Dalhousie University, 2002), 130.

31. Lois E. Fielding, Maritime Interception and U.N. Sanctions: Resolving Issues in the 

Persian Gulf War, The Conflict in the Former Yugoslavia, and the Haiti Crisis (San Francisco, 

CA: Austin and Winfield, 1996), 300–309; “United Nations Mission in Haiti (UNMIH), 

Background,” at http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/co_mission/unmihbackgr2.html, 

accessed 23 March 2004, 1–4.

32. Maloney, “Maple Leaf Over the Caribbean,” 174.

33. Ibid., 175.

34. Ibid.

35. Ibid.

36. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 129. Vice Admiral (ret.) Greg A. 

Maddison commanded the Standing Naval Force Atlantic from April 1993 to April 1994. 

For ten months during his command tour, he coordinated interdiction operations in the 

Adriatic conducted by three coalition task groups: his own SNFL, the Standing Naval Force 

Mediterranean, and the Western European Union Contingency Force. Maddison formed 

strong friendships during this tour with many senior NATO officers, including Admiral Jay 

L. Johnson, USN, who a few years later was the Chief of Naval Operations at the same time 

that Maddison was the Chief of Maritime Staff (CMS). Maddison remembered that during 

his CMS tour “it was a comfort . . . to know that I could just pick up the phone and talk to 

him . . . and the same for him.” For Maddison’s definitive account of the Adriatic experience, 

see Canadian War Museum Oral History Program Interview, 31D 6 Maddison, with Dr. 

Richard Gimblett, 28 September 2005. Maddison was CMS from 1997 to 2001, when he was 

appointed Deputy Chief of Defence Staff. The quote is from page 20 of the interview.

37. Maloney, “Maple Leaf Over the Caribbean,” 177.

38. Ibid.

39. 1994 Defence White Paper (Ottawa: Department of National Defence, 1994), 38.

40. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 116.

41. James A. Boutilier, “The Canadian Navy and the New Naval Environment in Asia,”

International Journal (Winter 2002–3): 194.

42. Lieutenant (N) Colin McKeown, “Joint and Combined Operational Training: MARCOT 

’96,” Canadian Defence Quarterly 26, no. 1 (Autumn 1996): 14, 17.

43. McKeown, “Joint and Combined Operational Training ’96,” 17.

44. HMCS Fredericton Annual Historical Report (DHH 1995), Annex B, 23.

45. HMCS Calgary Annual Historical Report (DHH 1995), Annex B, B-1–2/5 (hereafter

Calgary AHR 1995).

46. Ibid., B-2–3/5.

47. Sean M. Maloney, War with Iraq: Canada’s Strategy in the Persian Gulf, 1990–2002

(Kingston: Queen’s University, 2002), 35. Maloney had obtained message CTU 305.1.1 to 

MARCOM HQ Halifax, “Op TRANQUILITY, 27 September 1995.”

48. Calgary AHR 1995, B-3–4/5.

49. HMCS Regina Annual Historical Report (DHH 1997), 3/16 (hereafter Regina AHR 1997).
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 271

50. Ibid., 6–7/16.

51. Ibid., 7/16.

52. Ibid., A-1–4; Martin Cohn, “Canadians on Patrol in Persian Gulf,” Toronto Star, 4 May 

1997.

53. Regina AHR 1997, 11–13/16.

54. Maloney, War with Iraq, 29–30.

55. HMCS Toronto Annual Historical Report (DHH 1998), “Chronological Narrative,” A-1–

2/12.

56. Ibid., A-2/12.

57. Ibid., A-3/12.

58. Maloney, War with Iraq, 30.

59. HMCS Ottawa Annual Historical Report (DHH 1998), n.p. The Regina briefing was 

found in the calendar sections of the AHR for November 1997.

60. Ibid., n.p.

61. Ibid.

62. HMCS Regina Annual Historical Report (DHH 1999), n.p.

63. Ibid.

64. HMCS Calgary Annual Historical Report (DHH 2000), B-12/19.

65. Declassified excerpt HMCS Calgary War Diary, 24 June 2000.

66. Ibid., 4 July 2000.

67. Ibid., 14 July 2000, 31 July–1 August 2000.

68. Ibid., 11–13, 21 August 2000.

69. Ibid., 28 August 2000.

70. HMCS Charlottetown Annual Historical Report (DHH 2000), Annex A, A-4/5.

71. Ibid., A-1/11.

72. Ibid., A-1–4/11.

73. Lieutenant Commander Ian Anderson, “Where the Willingness is Great . . . Leadership 

Lessons Aboard the HMCS Charlottetown—Operation Apollo,” in In Harm’s Way: On the 

Front Lines of Leadership: Sub-Unit Command on Operations, ed. Colonel Bernd Horn 

(Kingston: Canadian Defence Academy Press, 2006), 156.

74. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 21 March 2001.

75. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 69. In 2002 Laura Higgins, at Dalhousie 

University in Halifax, published an unclassified case study of Winnipeg’s tour in the Gulf 

region in 2001, which was an exceptional example of the single-CPF experiences in the 

region, and which included Calgary in 2000 and Charlottetown in 2001. Higgins conducted 

52 interviews of U.S. and Canadian naval officials.

76. Declassified excerpt HMCS Calgary Post-Deployment Report, September 2001.

77. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 21 March 2001; Commander’s Monthly 

Sitrep to MARPAC, 1 April 2001.

78. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 13–16 April 2001.

79. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 69.

80. Ibid., 67–68.
272 Robert H. Caldwell

81. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, Commander’s Entry, 16–27 April 2001.

82. Ibid.

83. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 18 April 2001.

84. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 69–70.

85. HMCS Charlottetown Annual Historical Report (DHH 2001), A-4–5/11 (hereafter

Charlottetown AHR 2001).

86. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 28 April 2001.

87. Ibid., 30 April 2001.

88. Ibid., 28 April–4 May 2001.

89. Anderson, “Where the Willingness is Great . . . ,” 156; Charlottetown AHR 2001, A-5/11.

90. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg War Diary, 16 May 2001.

91. Ibid., 26 May 2001.

92. Ibid., 3 June 2001.

93. Ibid., 4 June 2001.

94. Ibid., 20 June 2001.

95. Ibid., 16 July 2001.

96. Ibid., 21 July 2001.

97. Ibid., 24 July 2001.

98. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 75.

99. Declassified excerpt HMCS Winnipeg Post-Deployment Report, September 2001, A-3/15.

100. Higgins, Canadian Naval Operations in the 1990s, 77.

101. Richard Gimblett, Operation Apollo: The Golden Age of the Canadian Navy in the War 

Against Terrorism (Ottawa: Magic Light Publishing, 2004), 78.

102. The Maple Leaf/La Feuille d’érable, Ottawa, 7 April 2004, 12.

103. Ibid. Williams as a lieutenant commander had received the United States Meritorious 

Service Award in 1997.

104. Paul T. Mitchell, “Small Navies and Network-Centric Warfare: Is There a Role?” Naval War 

College Review 56, no. 2 (Spring 2003): 83–99. See also “The Canadian Navy’s Communications 

Blueprint to 2010,” n.d., and “The Canadian Navy’s Information Management Blueprint to 

2010,” n.d. Mitchell cited the date as 2001 and this was probably correct.

105. Sharon Hobson, “Canada Aims for Defence Interoperability with U.S.,” International 

Defence Review 1 (January 2001). No page number identified on the online version of this 

article.

106. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 113.

107. Ibid.

108. Mitchell, “Small Navies and Network-Centric Warfare,” 86.

109. Rear Admiral Ron Buck, “Canadian Perspectives on C4I Issues” in Maritime War in the 

21st Century: The Medium and Small Navy Perspective, ed. David Wilson (Canberra: RAN 

Sea Power Centre, 2001), 130. The papers in the publication had been presented at the RAN’s 

Maritime War in the 21st Century conference in Sydney in February 2000 (hereafter Buck, 

“Canadian Perspectives on C4I Issues”).

110. Naval Command, Control, Communications and Computers (C4)–Organization and 

Terms of Reference (Handbook 1), Revision 4 (Amend 4), May 2002, 10. This work stated that 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 273

the “vision” of the “AUSCANNZUKUS Naval C4 Organization” is “to be an organization at 

the forefront of battle winning maritime C4 interoperability,” 8.

111. Dr. Paul T. Mitchell, “What Role for Small Navies in Network Centric Warfare?” The 

Maritime Warfare Bulletin/Le Bulletin de Guerre Maritime (2002): 81–82.

112. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 113.

113. Mitchell, “Small Navies and Network-Centric Warfare,” 90.

114. Ibid., 94–95; and Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,”

MWB, 113.

115. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 114. Lehre 

briefly described the Link systems in a footnote on the same page.

116. Ibid. For further background on Link 11 and Link 16, see Understanding Link 16: A 

Guidebook for New Users (Washington, DC: AEGIS Program Manager, 1998).

117. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 113.

118. Buck, “Canadian Perspectives on C4I Issues,” 128–29.

119. Ibid., 128.

120. Ibid., 130.

121. Ibid., 132.

122. Ibid., 130. 

123. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 114.

124. http://www.whitehouse.gov/mar11/coalition/coalitionupdate.html.

125. Commodore D. W. Robertson, “The Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” The 

Maritime Warfare Bulletin/Le Bulletin de Guerre Maritime (2002): 60.

126. HMCS Vancouver Annual Historical Report (DHH 2001), A-11–13/16.

127. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 109.

128. Vice Admiral (ret.) Greg R. Maddison, interview with Robert H. Caldwell, 25 January 

2006.

129. Commander J. B. McCarthy, interview with Operational Documentation Detachment, 

Fifth Fleet, U.S. Navy, NHC, 12 March 2002, 2 (hereafter McCarthy interview, NHC, 2002).

130. HMCS Preserver Annual Historical Report (DHH 2001), 2–3/4.

131. Charlottetown AHR 2001, A-6/11; Anderson, “Where the Willingness is Great,” 158–60.

132. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 19–25 October 2001.

133. Degaussing is an operation—of Second World War vintage—which electrically 

neutralizes a ship’s magnetic field, thereby allowing the ship a measure of immunity from 

detonating a magnetic antiship mine. Peter Kemp, ed. The Oxford Companion to Ships and 

the Sea (Oxford: 1992), 238.

134. HMCS Halifax Annual Historical Report (DHH 2001), 4–6/8 (hereafter Halifax AHR 

2001).

135. Ibid., 6/8

136. “HMCS Halifax returns Home,” “CBC Newsworld,” 11 February 2002.

137. Declassified excerpts HMCS Halifax War Diary, 3 and 7 November 2001.

138. Halifax AHR 2001, 6–7/8.

139. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 50. The nuclear war threat presented by India-Pakistan 

in the post-9/11 period is fully covered in Steve Coll, “The Stand-Off—How jihadi groups 
274 Robert H. Caldwell

helped provoke the twenty-first century’s first nuclear crisis,” The New Yorker, 13 and 20 

February 2006, 126–39.

140. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 21 November 2001.

141. Commodore D. W. Robertson, interview with Operational Documentation Detachment, 

Fifth Fleet, U.S. Navy, NHC, 11 March 2002, 6.

142. Ibid.

143. Steve Coll, “The Stand-Off,” 126–29.

144. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 47–48.

145. Robertson interview, 11 March 2002, 6.

146. Ibid.

147. Commodore Drew W. Robertson, “The Canadian Naval Task Group in Operation 

Apollo,” in Intervention and Engagement: A Maritime Perspective, eds. Robert H. Edwards 

and Ann L. Griffiths (Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, Dalhousie University, 2003), 

364.

148. Captain Allan Du Toit, “The RAN in the Gulf 1990–2003,” Maritime Interception Force 

Operations 2, and Operation SLIPPER Rotation One November 2001–April 2002 (Canberra: 

RAN Naval History Section, 2004), 1–3, 7 (hereafter Du Toit, “RAN in the Gulf ”).

149. See, for example, the earlier reference to AUSCANNZUKUS Naval Command, Control, 

Communications and Computers (C4), Revision 4 (Washington: 2002).

150. Du Toit, “RAN in the Gulf ,” 2.

151. Ibid., 2–3.

152. Ibid., 3.

153. Ibid., 4.

154. Ibid., 5.

155. Ibid.

156. Declassified excerpt HMCS Charlottetown War Diary, 17 October–5 March 2002, 6.

157. Ibid., 14.

158. Declassified excerpt HMCS Halifax War Diary, 7 December 2001.

159. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 51.

160. Ibid., 52.

161. Vice Admiral Ron Buck, interview with Steve Madely, 19 December 2001, Radio Station 

CFRA-AM.

162. Ibid.

163. Ibid.

164. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 53.

165. Du Toit, “RAN in the Gulf,” 4.

166. “Rob Gordon aboard HMCS Iroquois in the Arabian Sea,” “CBC Newsworld,” 22 January 

2002.

167. Ibid.

168. Ibid.

169. Robertson, “Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” MWB, 58.
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 275

170. Ibid., The countries abbreviated were, in order: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, the 

Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States.

171. See Steve Coll, “The Stand-Off,” for the potentially deadly conflict between India and 

Pakistan.

172. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 7 February 2002.

173. In 2002 the U.S. Navy, the Royal Australian Navy, and Canada’s Directorate of History 

and Heritage from NDHQ Ottawa all sent historians to serve with their ships at sea. This 

volume is a result of that early work.

174. McCarthy interview, 12 March 2002, 10.

175. Ibid., 10–11.

176. Ibid., 11.

177. Ibid.

178. Ibid., 12–13.

179. Robertson interview, 11 March 2002, 9.

180. Ibid., 9–10.

181. Robertson, “The Canadian Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” 365.

182. Commodore James Goldrick, RAN, Memoir (Canberra: RAN Sea Power Centre, n.d.) 

2–3.

183. Ibid., 3.

184. Ibid., 3–4.

185. Ibid., 4–5. See also Effects Based Warfare, ed. Christopher Finn (London: n.d.).

186. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 6–7 July 2002.

187. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 70.

188. Ibid., 66.

189. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 109.

190. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 70

191. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 103–4.

192. Ibid., 107. The author can confirm this characteristic of wakes from personal experience 

on board HMCS Algonquin during June 2002.

193. Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 109–110.

194. Ibid., 108.

195. Ibid.

196. Ibid., 114.

197. Ibid.

198. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 4 and 7 April 2001. At 

this time Lehre was commanding from HMCS Ottawa.

199. Ibid., 2–3 May 2001.

200. Ibid., 25 May 2001.

201. Vice Admiral Ron Buck, “Key Note Address—Intervention and Engagement: A View 

from the Bridge,” in Intervention and Engagement: A Maritime Perspective—Proceedings of 

a Conference hosted by the Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, Dalhousie University, and the 
276 Robert H. Caldwell

Canadian Forces Maritime Warfare Centre, Halifax, 7–9 June 2002 (Halifax: Dalhousie 

University, 2003), 50–56.

202. Ibid.

203. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 3 June 2002.

204. Ibid., 2 July 2002.

205. Ibid., 3 July 2002.

206. Ibid., 4 July 2002. For the MPA experience the previous fall and winter, see Major Neil 

Tabbenor, “CP 140 Joins the Fight: The Deployment of the Long Range Patrol Detachment: 

Operation Apollo, Rotation 0,” in In Harm’s Way: On the Front Lines of Leadership: Sub-Unit 

Command on Operations (Kingston: Canadian Defence Academy Press, 2006), 107–128.

207. Ibid., 3 July 2002.

208. Ibid.

209. Ibid., 6–7 July 2002.

210. Ibid., 8 July 2002. COWAN C was later known as CENTRIXS. See Jill L. Boardman and 

Donald L. Shuey, Combined Enterprise Regional Information Exchange System (CENTRIXS); 

Supporting Coalition Warfare World-Wide (USCENTCOM MacDill AFB: 2004).

211. Declassified excerpt Canadian Task Group (CATG) War Diary, 20 July 2002.

212. Ibid., n.d., August 2002.

213. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 76.

214. Ibid., 74.

215. Commodore R. D. Murphy, interview with Robert H. Caldwell, 26 October 2005; 

Commodore R. D. Murphy, “Canadian Task Group ROTO 2 2003,” The Maritime Warfare 

Bulletin/Le Bulletin de Guerre Maritime (2003): 56–59; and Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 74–

77.

216. Captain Peter Jones, RAN Memoir (Canberra: RAN Sea Power Centre, n.d), 1 (hereafter 

Jones, RAN Memoir).

217. Murphy, “Canadian Task Group ROTO 2 2003,” MWB, 56.

218. Ibid.

219. Ibid., 57; Lehre and McLeod, “Canadian Naval Task Group in Op Apollo,” MWB, 104.

220. Murphy, “Canadian Task Group ROTO 2 2003,” MWB, 57–58.

221. Ibid., 58.

222. Ibid.

223. Ibid.

224. Jones, RAN Memoir, 2.

225. Ibid.

226. Murphy, “Canadian Task Group ROTO 2 2003,” MWB, 59.

227. Jones, RAN Memoir, 6.

228. Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 111.

229. Ibid., 116.

230. For the Helicopter Air Detachment experience, see Major Larry McCurdy, “Operational 

Readiness: Operation Apollo A, Helicopter Air Detachment Commander’s Perspective,” in

In Harm’s Way: On the Front Lines of Leadership: Sub-Unit Command on Operations, ed. 
Canadian Navy, Interoperability 277

Colonel Bernd Horn (Kingston, ONT: Canadian Defence Academy Press, 2006), 167–82.

231. Ibid., 118. “Speech by U.S. Ambassador to Canada A. Paul Cellucci to the Economic 

Club of Toronto,” 25 March 2003, at http://www.usembassycanada.gov/content/content.asp?

section=embconsul&document=cellucci_030325.

232. Declassified excerpt HMCS Iroquois War Diary, Commander’s Entry, 7 and 23 April, 

24 May 2003.

233. Declassified excerpt HMCS Fredericton War Diary, Commander’s Entry, 1–31 July 2003 

(hereafter Fredericton excerpt 2003); and Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 122.

234. Fredericton excerpt 2003.

235. Declassified excerpt HMCS Calgary War Diary, Commander’s Entry, 8 August 2003.

236. Ibid., 16 August 2003.

237. Ibid., 18 October 2003; Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 123.

238. Vice Admiral Ron Buck, “Speaking Notes for Return of HMCS Calgary,” 14 December 

2003, cited in Gimblett, Operation Apollo, 124.

239. Joy Gordon, “Scandals of Oil for Food,” Middle East Report Online, 20 July 2004.

240. Joy Gordon, “The U.N. is US—Exposing Saddam Hussein’s Silent partner,” Harper’s 

Magazine, December 2004. This point was also made by retired Canadian diplomat Paul 

Hennebaker, Waterloo University, a guest on the Television Ontario (TVO) program, 

“Diplomatic Immunity,” 3 December 2004.

241. Robertson, “Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” MWB, 60.

242. James Goldrick, review of Michael A. Palmer, Command at Sea: Naval Command and 

Control since the Sixteenth Century in The Northern Mariner/Le marin du nord 25, no. 2 

(April 2005): 74.

243. Mitchell, “Small Navies and Network-Centric Warfare: Is There a Role?” 93.

244. I am indebted to Dr. Randy Papadopoulos for finding this quote at http://www.imdb. 

com/title/tt0200276/quotes.

245. Robertson interview, 11 March 2002, 9–10.

246. Jennifer Welsh, At Home in the World—Canada’s Global Vision for the 21st Century

(Toronto: Harper Collins, 2004), 192.

247. James Boutilier, “The Problematic World of the Navy’s Second Century,” in The Naval 

Service of Canada 1910–2010: The Centennial Story, ed. Richard H. Gimblett (Toronto: 

Dundurn Press, 2009), 215.

248. Michael Howard, “After the Peace,” Times Literary Supplement, 23 September 2005, 10.

249. Geoffrey Till, “Navies and the New World Order,” U.S. Naval Institute (USNI) Proceedings

131/3/1, 225 (March 2005): 60–62.

250. Colin S. Gray, Another Bloody Century: Future Warfare (London: Weidenfeld and 

Nicholson, 2005), 206.

251. Till, “Navies and the New World Order,” 60–62.

252. See for example Dr. Allan English, Dr. Richard Gimblett, and Mr. Howard Coombs, 

“Beware of Putting the Cart Before the Horse: Network Enabled Operations as a Canadian 

Approach to Transformation,” DRDC Toronto, 19 July 2005. As well there is Dr. Paul 

Mitchell’s work, for example, see “Networked Power: Insurgents versus ‘Big Army’,” Hekmat 

Karzai and Paul T. Mitchell, a draft circulated on the internet by Howard G. Coombes, March 
278 Robert H. Caldwell

2006.

253. Roger W. Barnett, “Technology and Naval Blockade—Past Impact and Future Prospects,”

Naval War College Review 58, no. 3 (Summer 2005): 89. A. T. Mahan’s article was in USNI 

Proceedings 12, no. 4 (1895): 856.

254. Captain (N) Peter Avis, “The Importance of Information Sharing to the Interdepartmental 

Security Approach,” Frontline, no. 4 (July–August 2005): 32.

255. Vice Admiral Bruce MacLean, “Diversifying the Naval Portfolio,” Frontline, no. 4 (July–

August 2005): 11.

256. Vice Admiral Bruce MacLean, “Report on Canada’s Navy,” Canadian Defence Review 11, 

no. 4 (2005): 12. See also his “Diversifying the Naval Portfolio,” 8.

257. http://www.pm.gc.ca/eng/media.asp?id=2095, 1–2.

258. Barnett, “Technology and Naval Blockade,” 93–94. A 50-foot height of eye allows a 

horizon distance of about eight miles.

259. MacLean, “Diversifying the Naval Portfolio,” 10.

260. The cyber war threat has been widely written about; indeed, the University of Calgary’s 

Centre for Military and Strategic Studies conducted a conference in May 2012, “Nobody 

Knows Anything: Canada’s Cyber Insecurities.” The topics included Attackers and Targets, 

State of the Art in Defence, Deterrence, and “a blue sky assessment of the cyber environment 

in Canada five to ten years from now.”

261. Till, “Navies and the New World Order,” 62.

262. Brigadier Nigel Aylwin-Foster, “Changing the Army for Counterinsurgency Operations,”

Military Review (November–December 2005): 15.

263. Robertson, “Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” MWB, 59; and Robertson “The 

Canadian Naval Task Group in Operation Apollo,” 365.
SUMMARY

Edward J. Marolda

The key to the success of several post–Cold War multinational naval 

operations involving Australian, Canadian, British, and American 

navies was the trust, understanding, and mutual respect of leaders and 

commanders for one another in oen challenging situations. Years of 

experience with combined (that is, multinational) operations, at-sea 

exercises, shore-based education and training, and professional and 

social interaction had created a corps of allied naval ocers condent in 

the abilities of their foreign counterparts. e human element was and 

is the key factor that binds the operations of the Royal Navy, U.S. Navy, 

Canadian Navy, and Royal Australian Navy. 

Despite the end of the 45-year-long Cold War in 1991, conict 

continued to roil the international scene. Enforcing United Nations 

economic sanctions against Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, managing the 

disintegration of Yugoslavia, separating combatants in East Timor, and 

responding to the terrorist menace aer 11 September 2001 fully engaged 

the four navies of this study. e demise of the Soviet navy and the absence 

of a blue-water threat to control of the sea did not diminish the need for 

naval forces. Indeed, they became critical to resolving crises ashore whether 

that soil was an island adjoining Indonesia or the nation of Afghanistan 

located deep in the heart of Asia, hundreds of miles from the sea. Naval 

forces facilitated the operations ashore of air and ground components and 

prevented hostile actors from exploiting the sea for their own purposes. 

Littoral operations to deal with crises ashore were hardly uncommon for 

the navies of the world, and were indeed the norm throughout much of 

modern history, as persuasively argued by naval theorist Sir Julian Corbett. 

For instance, recognizing at the end of the Cold War that its mission had 

changed, the U.S. Navy promulgated a strategy appropriately titled . . . 

From the Sea, later rened as . . . Forward From the Sea.

Unlike the battles of Tsushima, Jutland, and Midway, which largely 

involved only the navies of the major antagonists, post–Cold War 

operations routinely demanded the cooperation of ground, air, and naval 

279
forces from many countries. e actions of the late 20th century and 

early 21st century more closely resembled the multinational and joint 

operations of the Korean and Vietnam wars. 

e emphasis of post–Cold War operations, however, was peace 

support, not warghting. e goal of these naval forces was to carry out 

UN Security Council Resolutions that required military forces to act either 

as deterrents or as enforcers. Because of the nature of the missions, naval 

commanders had to be sensitive to dierent even conicting international 

and national imperatives and accommodate restrictive rules of engagement. 

Aer many years of working together in NATO and other alliances 

during the Cold War, these four navies were familiar and comfortable 

with common doctrinal instructions and procedures. ey employed 

common standardization agreements, multinational operational and 

tactical publications, and combined operations handbooks. Such 

written guidelines, however, did not guarantee the smooth functioning 

of combined operations. Every nation and every navy involved in a 

multinational operation brought to the situation dierent customs, 

traditions, procedures, tactics, and understandings. Each of the navies 

employed national rules of engagement as guides to the use of military 

force. Even with the most polished and precise set of instructions, there 

were misunderstandings and disagreements over the problems at hand 

and how to solve them. To work through these obstacles, naval leaders and 

commanders had to have condence in their opposite numbers. 

e four navies had at least a half-century history of practicing 

methods to work out multinational operational kinks. During the Cold 

War, the U.S. Navy, Royal Navy, and Royal Canadian Navy took part in 

literally hundreds of multi-ship, multi-aircra exercises in the North 

Atlantic that honed their skills in command, control, and communications. 

All four nations were involved in similar activities in the Pacic, 

formalizing their interaction in a Combined Exercise Agreement. ese 

activities were useful for ironing out dissimilar tactics and procedures but 

more importantly for putting ocers of the dierent nations together to 

deepen personal relationships. 

e allied navies also improved their technical ability to share 

information and enhance command, control, and communications 

280 Summary
through the ve-nation AUSCANNZUKUS organization and the 

Tactical Information Data Exchange, or TIDE, Committee. By 1991 the 

Link-11 system embodied technical interoperability. Barriers to sharing 

information, however, whether due to technical incompatibilities, the 

high cost of requisite equipment, or national concerns over information 

security, frequently troubled inter-allied naval cooperation. Once again, 

the key to the conduct of successful operations was the trust shared by the 

multinational ocers and commanders on the spot. Sailors have always 

had to work in the especially challenging maritime environment that 

has naturally fostered a “brotherhood of the sea.” But aer the Cold War, 

the leaders and commanders of the four navies under study functioned 

well together because they also shared many cultural, professional, and 

intellectual values and a belief in the value of collective security actions 

sanctioned by the international community. 

Maritime Interception Operations

e rst concerted post–Cold War eort in which the navies of the 

United States, United Kingdom, Australia, and Canada worked together was 

the Maritime Interception Operation (MIO) of 1990–1991 in the Arabian 

Gulf. e primary goal of the UN-authorized action was to compel through 

economic pressure the withdrawal of Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi armed forces 

from the conquered nation of Kuwait. If war could not be avoided to accomplish that objective, the secondary goal was to prevent further imports into 

Iraq of tanks, guns, missiles, ammunition, and other war material. Washington hoped that the MIO, if conducted with minimum force and diplomatic 

sensitivity, would demonstrate allied solidarity in opposing Saddam’s aggression. A successful MIO would also make it easier to put together an international military eort to oust the Iraqis from Kuwait. 

As authorized by the UN Security Council, Australia, Canada, France, 

the Netherlands, United Kingdom, and United States (later joined by 

Argentina, Belgium, Denmark, Greece, Italy, Norway, and Spain) deployed 

naval forces to the region to enforce the embargo. Since he controlled the 

largest contingent of warships in the area, Vice Admiral Henry H. Mauz 

Jr., Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Central Command convened the 

rst of a number of monthly meetings in Bahrain of the principal naval 

Summary 281
commanders. He and other leaders recognized early that close and frequent 

interaction among the international team members was imperative. A politically inuenced disagreement between the U.S. and French representatives over potential patrol sectors might have fractured the naval coalition 

from the start, but the local ocers readily worked out practical solutions. 

e principal leaders from each navy decided that their forces would 

not be under the direction of any one commander but would work in 

“loose association.” e conferees decided on patrol sectors, interception 

and boarding procedures, and other critical issues that took into account 

individual national capabilities and restrictions. Since the U.S., U.K., 

Canadian, and Australian navies had a long history of close cooperation, 

however, ocers from these nations routinely served as task force 

commander exercising tactical control of the others. 

One problem that surfaced in 1990 was the reluctance of the 

navies involved to freely share intelligence and planning information, 

and especially the details of each nation’s politically determined rules of 

engagement. Several nations were initially reluctant to place their naval 

forces under U.S. operational control. ese problems complicated but 

did not seriously impede the multinational operations. 

In contrast, the on-scene commanders readily agreed to the 

employment of the ships, aircra, and command systems best suited to 

particular missions. For instance, with relatively compatible command, 

control, and communications systems, the Royal Navy and the U.S. Navy 

took on the responsibilities for operations in the more dangerous Northern 

Arabian Gulf. Canadian warships, which lacked suciently robust antiair defensive weapons, volunteered to manage the naval logistic eort in 

the Southern Arabian Gulf. is operational necessity, however, proved 

fortuitous, for it allowed the three-ship Canadian naval contingent to 

stand out as a discrete contribution to the allied cause. 

Aer the war and into the late 1990s, the cost of maintaining naval 

forces on the Gulf maritime interdiction operations compelled many 

coalition nations to reduce or end their involvement. Moving some of the 

inspection regime ashore helped make up for the shortage of warships. 

e U.S. Navy also eased the operational needs of the multinational force 

by providing area-wide air defense, intelligence, and patrol plane support. 

282 Summary
Allied ships and aircra performed tens of thousands of intercepts, 

boardings, and diversions of suspect merchant ships that hamstrung 

the Iraqis. roughout, and despite some problems, coalition navies 

successfully maintained the embargo on Saddam’s overseas commerce 

mandated by United Nations resolutions. 

Operation Sharp Guard in the Adriatic

e Royal Navy’s Balkan-support operations in the Adriatic from 

1991 to 1996 encountered similar diculties but in general multinational 

naval cooperation overcame these challenges. In Operation Sharp Guard, 

NATO and Western European Union (WEU) naval forces imposed an 

economic embargo on the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) overseas 

commerce and prevented arms from reaching the Serb, Croat, and Muslim 

combatants ashore. In their early cooperation, the navies of the two 

international groupings established individual but connected operational 

patrol areas in the Adriatic. Based on their positive experience with 

Standing Naval Force Atlantic (SNFL) during the Cold War, the maritime 

commanders involved were well prepared to carry out the contemporary 

mission. eir ability to employ the Link-11 data-sharing system also 

enhanced patrol operations. is sharing was facilitated by the U.S. 

Navy’s employment of a guided missile cruiser or destroyer—called Red 

Crown—equipped with the Aegis battle management system to monitor 

the air space over the Balkans and the Adriatic. Red Crown shared this 

critical information for defending the naval armada against air attack and 

also helped coordinate the embargo patrol eort. 

While each nation’s rules of engagement diered in some respect 

from the others, all agreed that an attack by FRY forces on any nation’s 

warship would be considered an attack on all, as provided for in NATO’s 

Article 5. e ocers involved also got a lot done through informal 

communication, for instance, using early mobile phones. roughout 

Sharp Guard the navies involved practiced interception, boarding, air 

defense, and other measures that enhanced actual operations. Condence 

in the other navies, especially the Dutch and French, was reinforced when 

the Royal Navy crews observed their international counterparts boarding 

and searching merchantmen in even the roughest weather. 

Summary 283
e operation was a success. During the mid-1990s Sharp Guard 

forces challenged 74,000 ships, boarded and inspected almost 6,000, and 

diverted 1,500 to Italian ports for further inspection. As in the Gulf aer 

1991, naval commanders met monthly to coordinate operations and iron 

out diculties. e allied navies came to appreciate the professionalism 

and dedication of their opposite numbers through direct observation and 

formal and informal interaction. 

Naval operations are inherently exible. Hence, the Royal Navy could 

take part in multinational naval operations while being ready to execute the 

vital national mission of providing air support to British forces in Bosnia 

if subjected to re by the belligerents. In 1995 this exibility enabled the 

Royal Navy and U.S. Navy to carry out air and missile operations from 

the sea when Italy restricted launching such missions from its land bases. 

e allied armada oshore was also prepared, if needed, to withdraw 

ground forces from the Balkans cockpit. Such exibility was vital in the 

confrontation over Bosnia, the rst time the NATO alliance engaged in 

combat, because not all member nations were politically comfortable 

participating in the hostilities. 

While never tested by combat, the Bosnia embargo conrmed for 

the Royal Navy the wisdom of its previous eorts to improve interaction 

with other navies in combined training, compatible procedures and 

equipment, and actual operations. And familiar, informal interaction 

among the British and other naval leaders was the lubricant that kept the 

machine working smoothly. 

Naval operations in the Adriatic beneted signicantly from the 

existence of NATO’s Standing Naval Force Atlantic, a mainstay of the 

Cold War experience. e NATO navies were long used to working 

together and commanding in this “re brigade” formation and also the 

newer Standing Naval Force Mediterranean. For instance, on a rotating 

basis, a Belgian, Danish, or U.S. ocer could direct the operations of 

the other nations. At the outset of embargo operations in the Adriatic, 

Canadian Commodore Greg Maddison served as the SNFL commander, 

and he quickly readied his multinational contingent for action in the 

Adriatic. is positive connection was forged through frequent exercises 

at sea—the U.S. Navy took part in 57 such multilateral exercises in 1992 

284 Summary
for instance—and strengthened by allied tactical publications and similar 

guides. e entire Sharp Guard force operated under an Italian admiral, 

Commander, Naval Forces South, based in Naples, who was empowered 

to improve coordination among the navies.

While the U.S. Navy was not part of the Western European Union 

naval contingent, there were few dierences in operating procedures 

between the NATO participants and the WEU formation. A problem of 

great potential, however, was the varying guidance among participating 

nations over the use of force on the embargo patrol. Force was never 

needed, but its use could have led to tactical confusion and misperception 

that always increases the risk of accidents. Another complication arose 

when the U.S. Congress prohibited the U.S. Navy from stopping the 

importation of arms to the Bosnian Muslims, under siege by their Serb 

antagonists. e navies on the patrol, however, quickly adjusted their 

operations to accommodate the American exclusion. 

e U.S. Navy provided the Sharp Guard naval forces with critical 

support. P-3 Orion patrol planes armed with air-to-surface missiles ew 

overhead around-the-clock in case the Yugoslavian navy decided to contest 

the UN-sanctioned embargo with force. U.S. submarines under NATO 

control also kept watch on the Yugoslav navy. EP-3 electronic collection 

aircra and U.S. intelligence facilities based in Spain and elsewhere also 

helped clarify the operational picture for the navies in the Adriatic. Yugoslav 

authorities tried on a number of occasions to breach the allied embargo—

such as the oil tanker Lido II’s bold attempt to run the blockade—but almost 

all failed, adding signicantly to the strain on the Serbian war economy. 

Operation Stabilise in East Timor

For the rst time in modern history, in Operation Stabilise during 

1999 and 2000, the Royal Australian Navy (RAN) led the maritime 

component of a UN-sanctioned peacekeeping force. e occasion for 

this operation was the descent into chaos and bloodshed of East Timor, 

invaded and occupied by the Indonesian Army in 1976. Regime change 

in Jakarta raised the possibility of East Timor’s independence, but 

signicant elements of the Indonesia military and local Timorese militias 

violently opposed any such action. e Indonesian government agreed 

Summary 285
to UN supervision of the country’s transition to independence. With a 

strong interest in the stability of its two closest neighbors to the north, 

the Australian government agreed to direct the complex and dangerous 

mission of the International Force East Timor (INTERFET). 

Successfully transporting UN ground, air, and naval forces to 

East Timor; protecting them from air, surface, and subsurface threats; 

providing them with requisite logistical support; and maintaining the 

forward deployment for many months were vital responsibilities of 

INTERFET’s naval component. Recognizing that its own resources 

were limited, the relatively small Royal Australian Navy quickly acted 

to assemble an international naval force. e Royal New Zealand Navy 

(RNZN) immediately joined the team. e RNZN and the RAN were 

already so used to operating together that one New Zealand naval ocer 

observed that in essence his ship “became an Australian frigate.” 

Similarly, the Royal Australian Navy, in its direction of Operation 

Stabilise o East Timor in 1999, received the full cooperation and 

assistance of the U.S. Navy. e Australian and American navies were no 

strangers to one another, having fought side by side in Korea and Vietnam, 

and during the 1990–1991 Gulf War. Commodore J. R. Stapleton, RAN, 

the naval component commander, had spent his career working with 

the U.S., U.K., New Zealand, and other navies, so interoperability held 

no particular concerns for him. A 1999 U.S.-Australian command post 

exercise claried the symbiotic relationship, easing the way for navies of 

ten nations to join Operation Stabilise.

As with other post–Cold War naval operations, diering national 

rules of engagement caused delay and some confusion. e assignment by 

contributing navies of liaison ocers to the stas and ships of INTERFET 

helped alleviate many such problems of communication. HMAS Adelaide

controlled the tactical operations of the international warships present as 

the “composite warfare commander,” a concept long used by the navies 

involved. e Australian commander was condent he could protect his 

contingent from air attack o volatile East Timor because USS Mobile Bay

supported him with its advanced Aegis battle management system. e 

combat power, capability, and multinational character of the naval force 

286 Summary
deployed within sight of the East Timorese capital of Dili emphasized to 

those both ashore and aoat that the international community was serious 

about the UN commitment. 

As with all major military operations in the late 20th century, more 

than 90 percent of the ammunition, fuel, food, heavy equipment and other 

materials needed by the INTERFET units ashore came by sea. HMAS 

Tobruk did yeoman service in that regard. Canadian replenishment ship 

Protecteur directed aoat logistic eorts o Dili, having gained invaluable 

experience during similar operations in the Caribbean and o Somalia. 

Dierences in equipment, doctrine, tactics, and even customs and 

traditions among the naval coalition did not result in seamless operations. 

But, once again the ease with which Australian naval commanders could 

accommodate the political and operational needs of counterparts in the 

naval contingent proved vital to overall success. Within two months of 

its commitment to Operation Stabilise, INTERFET, including its naval 

component, had helped end violence in most of East Timor, allowing the 

start of the country’s march to full independence. 

The U.S. Navy in Operation Stabilise

Navies have throughout history used their power aoat in support of 

political objectives ashore, a function well documented by Julian Corbett 

and other naval theorists and strategists. at role was never more in 

evidence than during 1999 and the U.S. Navy’s participation in Operation 

Stabilise. e unpleasant Somalia experience was fresh in everyone’s mind. 

In contrast, the deployment of naval forces demonstrated American support 

for UN objectives while minimizing entanglement in the chaotic political 

and internecine conict ashore that the deployment of ground troops risked. 

Washington agreed to and encouraged Australia’s lead in the UNsanctioned Operation Stabilise. Its policies were guided by already heavy 

American commitments to conicts in the Balkans and Middle East and 

conclusion that local nations with an interest in stability in their particular region should be in charge. e U.S. Navy and its commanders found 

themselves in the unfamiliar situation of taking theater operational direction from another country’s military leader, an Australian army general. 

Summary 287
is arrangement caused some initial complications and confusion, but 

the American and Australian militaries were no strangers to each other. 

e two navies had conducted hundreds of at-sea and command post 

exercises during and aer the Cold War, the most recent being Exercise 

Crocodile 99 earlier that month. 

e U.S. naval commitment was relatively small, but the Americans 

brought signicant advantages with them to the operational table. USS 

Mobile Bay coordinated local air defense. Military Seali Command ammunition ship USNS Kilauea was later joined by amphibious ships USS Belleau 

Wood and USS Peleliu. With minimal risk, the helicopter units from these 

ships helped deliver scarce food and water to the traumatized and hungry 

civilian population. e helicopters proved vital when the Australian INTERFET commander deployed his infantry units to remote positions on the 

border with Indonesia’s West Timor and needed robust logistical support. 

e Americans were pleased with the results of Operation Stabilise, 

which demonstrated their strong support for close ally Australia. e 

U.S. naval contingent was small but packed a punch, with the advanced 

command, control, communications, and air-defense capability of an 

Aegis guided missile cruiser; helicopter support for supplying the local 

population and INTERFET ground forces; and a Marine infantry battalion 

ready oshore for any contingency. Even though the military commitment 

to resolving the crisis in East Timor was limited, the naval presence oshore 

signaled to friend and foe alike that the United States stood behind the UN 

commitment to a free and independent East Timor.

Afghanistan and Iraq

e terrorist attacks on America of 11 September 2001 dramatically 

changed the nature and tempo of multinational naval operations. e 

terms peacekeeping and peacemaking no longer applied when stateless 

antagonists respected no political boundaries or norms of civilized 

behavior. Osama bin Laden and his al-Qaeda followers targeted not only 

the United States—“the Great Satan”—but the freedoms enjoyed or at least 

aspired to by much of the modern world. Killing or capturing terrorists, 

destroying their training camps, and denying them sanctuary in any 

288 Summary
recognized nation became operational objectives of the nations opposed 

to this assault on humanity. Understanding that the threat was universal, 

both the NATO and ANZUS (Australia, New Zealand, United States) 

powers quickly signed on to deal with it. 

In Operation Enduring Freedom, the United States decided to 

overthrow the Taliban government of Afghanistan that had harbored Bin 

Laden and other al-Qaeda terrorists responsible for the 9/11 atrocities. 

In reference to Article 5 of the Washington Treaty and Article 4 of the 

treaty establishing ANZUS, these alliances had already announced that 

they stood with the United States in this confrontation. On 7 October 

Tomahawk cruise missiles red from U.S. warships and British submarines, 

and attack aircra from carrier USS Enterprise struck terrorist targets far 

inland in Afghanistan. Canada, Australia, Germany, France, and a host of 

other countries also pledged to support the eort. 

Within days of the rst attacks, NATO naval forces monitored merchant trac using the Suez Canal, Royal Navy ships began intercepting 

suspicious merchant ships in the Arabian Gulf, Canada pledged a third 

of its naval vessels and its antiterrorist ground task force to the eort, and 

Australian naval forces prepared to expand their involvement in anti-Iraq 

maritime interdiction operations. During the last three months of 2001, 

naval forces from the United States, Canada, Australia, and the United 

Kingdom deployed to the Arabian Gulf to strengthen the MIO or to the 

North Arabian Sea from which coalition ships launched air strikes and 

conducted amphibious operations in connection with the war in Afghanistan. French and Italian carrier battle groups were heavily involved in these 

operations as were naval units from Germany, Greece, Japan, Bahrain, the 

Netherlands, Spain, and Poland. Managing more than 130 coalition naval 

vessels operating in the U.S. Central Command’s area of responsibility could 

have been an enormous command problem; it did not prove to be. 

Within a matter of weeks in the winter of 2001, U.S. and coalition military forces, in conjunction with the indigenous Northern Alliance, killed 

or captured the Taliban and al-Qaeda terrorists that stood and fought in 

Afghanistan and forced others to ee for safe havens in Pakistan or overseas. Coalition commanders concluded that escaping terrorists would try 

Summary 289
to reach like-minded Islamic radicals in Somalia, Sudan, Yemen, even 

Southeast Asia by air and sea. Beginning on 23 November, naval forces of 

the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, France, and Italy inaugurated 

leadership interdiction operations (LIO) in the Gulf of Oman and later the 

North Arabian Sea. Suspicious merchant vessels could be stopped, by disabling re if authorized by higher command, and searched for terrorists. 

Forcible searches also required political permission. 

To simplify command arrangements, in February 2002 the Canadian 

commander in the region took on responsibility for coordinating naval 

operations in the Gulf of Oman, Southern Arabian Gulf, and Strait 

of Hormuz. His charges included U.S., British, and French warships. 

Similarly, an Australian naval commander (rotating monthly with a U.S. 

naval ocer) assumed responsibility for coalition MIO in the northern 

and central Arabian Gulf. During early 2002 coalition naval forces queried 

over 300 ships by signal or radio each month, boarded and searched over 

a third of them, and diverted a handful for a more thorough search. In the 

same vein, coalition warships by March 2002 had queried 7,244 ships in 

LIO and boarded 47 suspicious vessels. 

As with other combined naval operations in the post–Cold War 

era, diering national rules of engagement made life complicated for 

naval ocers. Moreover, U.S. security classication of intelligence and 

operational materials hindered the sharing of vital planning information 

with members of the coalition. But in general, the years of common 

operational experience and comfort with interoperable command and 

control procedures and communications systems enabled the allied naval 

ocers to iron out dierences and get on with the job. 

Canadian-U.S. Naval Cooperation 

e Canadian experience working in U.S.-led naval operations 

provides tactical insight on the challenges of relatively small navies 

serving in coalitions in which one member’s resources in ships, aircra, 

and sailors predominate. 

In the 1990–1991 Gulf War, the Canadian contribution stood out. 

Ottawa deployed only three warships to the Arabian Gulf, in contrast to 

290 Summary
the 100 or more U.S. naval vessels in the region. e commander, however, succeeded in gaining American concurrence to his coordination 

of coalition ships operating at the underway replenishment area in the 

southern gulf. At one point in the Gulf War, he handled 10 warships and 

20 logistic vessels at his station. Ottawa concluded that its forces could 

retain national autonomy and still make a solid contribution to the allied 

cause. e successful conclusion of the war and the positive experience of 

the Canadian Navy operating alongside the U.S. Navy engendered support for future operational cooperation. 

In 1992 Canada deployed a single ship to the Gulf of Aqaba to 

conduct interdiction operations with the Americans. Concurrently, 

throughout the 1990s the Canadian government and people supported 

construction of 12 multipurpose Halifax-class patrol frigates that were 

ideal for these operations. During embargo patrol operations o Haiti in 

the Caribbean during 1993–1994, the Canadian Navy once again operated in a multinational force and on several occasions coordinated the 

actions of local U.S. and other surface and air forces. 

In the mid-1990s the Canadian government continued to operate 

naval task groups on its east and west coasts but also readied a warship 

from each area for deployment on three-weeks’ notice for global operations. In line with international realities, the Canadian Navy also put much 

greater emphasis in its training on serving in joint and combined ventures 

and the littoral operations related to peacekeeping operations. Stas also 

grappled with how to make more user friendly NATO joint and combined 

rules of engagement and how to improve comprehension of international 

humanitarian law, use of force, and conict resolution. 

Canadian ships did not remain continuously on maritime interdiction operations in the Arabian Gulf during the 1990s but did support the 

oil embargo on Iraq with periodic deployments. During HMCS Calgary’s 

tour in 1995, the ship had no problem interacting with the U.S. Fih Fleet 

forces. Indeed, the Americans were pleased that Calgary, because of her 

shallow dra, could patrol closer inshore in the northern gulf than their 

own ships. Two years later, HMCS Regina was the rst to make predeployment preparations with the U.S. units of a Pacic surface action group 

Summary 291
specically charged with maritime interception operations in the Arabian 

Gulf and then served with the Americans for the entire mission. On a 

subsequent deployment, Regina helped a U.S.-led group carry out a 

highly dangerous, nighttime mission only 20 miles o the Iraqi coast to 

seize three vessels planning to smuggle embargoed oil out of the country. Helped to one target by a U.S. Navy helicopter equipped with night 

vision gear, Regina’s rigid hulled inatable boat captured the smuggler and 

escorted it to a safer area for inspection. 

Hardships strengthened the bond between Canadian and American 

sailors on maritime interdiction operations. e shared misery of serving 

in a region with summertime temperatures in excess of 110 degrees and 

high humidity, to say nothing of the potential there for sudden violent 

encounters with smugglers, reinforced mutual reliance and trust. 

By summer 2001 it was a well-established practice for Canadian Navy 

vessels slated for Gulf interdiction service to work up for the deployment 

with an American task group. Such exercises by the two navies ensured all 

understood the tactics, techniques, and procedures; command, control, 

and communications guidelines; and rules of engagement to be employed 

on the actual operation. ey took turns leading the task group, and 

with the help of legal ocers from both navies they increased mutual 

understanding of rules of engagement. 

So condent were the Americans in Canadian capabilities on the 

maritime interdiction operations that in 2001 the U.S. Fih Fleet made 

HMCS Winnipeg the “mother ship” for MIO in the Northern Arabian 

Gulf and her commanding ocer, the on-site commander. e Canadian 

unit was involved in the interception and inspection of 17 vessels that 

were carrying illegal Iraqi oil. One interpretive dierence between the 

U.S. and Canadian navies was the method used by each to determine 

territorial waters. Americans measured from the low-water point while 

the Canadians used a “straight line” or “baseline” method. But these 

variances were accommodated and the team accomplished the mission. 

In addition to training eectively with the Americans for combined 

Arabian Gulf task groups, the Canadian Navy enhanced interoperability 

with the U.S. Navy by equipping its ships with compatible gear. e 

ABCANZ-5 Information Exchange Project kept not only the Canadians 

292 Summary
and Americans abreast of developments in one another’s information 

technology but that of the British, Australian, and New Zealand navies. e 

Canadians gained access (in U.S. controlled spaces) to the Internet-based, 

secret-level SIPRNET and were thus made privy to classied operational 

intelligence. e COWAN communications system enabled the allied 

navies to see the same detailed maritime picture of an operational area and 

contribute information to that composite understanding. e Canadian 

Navy was also able to exploit operational information and intelligence 

through technically interoperable satellite modems and the Link-14, 

Link-16, and Global Command and Control systems. 

A Canadian Navy task group of ve ships and a maritime patrol 

plane detachment were the rst allied force to bolster U.S. Navy and Royal 

Navy elements in the aermath of 9/11. Canadian leaders were especially 

pleased that their navy could quickly and dramatically demonstrate 

support to the Americans in an hour of need. e ships carried out eet 

protection missions and leadership interdiction operations in the North 

Arabian Sea and the Arabian Gulf. 

To coordinate the contribution to operations in Afghanistan and even 

broader regional missions, Ottawa established Commander, Canadian 

Joint Task Force–South-West Asia near the U.S Central Command 

headquarters in Tampa, Florida. Condent in their ability to do the 

job, Commander Fih Fleet charged the Canadians with the mission of 

protecting a most important U.S. amphibious ready group. e Marines 

from that ARG o Pakistan went on to establish a forward operating 

base in the south of Afghanistan and then to seize Kandahar, heart of the 

Taliban terrorist movement. 

In February and March 2002, a Canadian naval commander was 

tasked with coordinating naval activity in the Southern Arabian Gulf, 

Strait of Hormuz, and Gulf of Oman. He was responsible for the operations 

of 16 ships and aircra from the United States and seven other countries.

 ere were two major events relating to Canadian-U.S. interoperability during the war against Iraq in early 2003. On the positive side, the 

Canadian Navy’s LIO responsibilities expanded to include the Arabian Gulf 

from the Strait of Hormuz to the Kuwait/Saudi Arabia border. Exercising 

its sovereignty, because of political dierences over the nature of the war, 

Summary 293
Ottawa instructed its ships not to turn over any Iraqis captured at sea to the 

Americans. At the same time, the Americans provided less intelligence than 

they had before. But the march on Baghdad took only three weeks to conclude, so close U.S. Navy–Canadian Navy relations soon returned. 

U.S.-Canadian naval interoperability markedly improved in the 

decade aer the Gulf War. e latter sea service made a strategic decision 

to thoroughly integrate its operations with the Americans; join the U.S. 

MIO task groups covering the Arabian Gulf; enhance the professional 

development and operational experiences of Canadian naval personnel 

engaged in these operations; and equip Canadian ships with command, 

control, communications, and intelligence gear compatible with the 

American systems. is approach succeeded so well that aer taking part 

in the oil embargo patrols and naval operations in support of the war in 

Afghanistan, the Canadians had earned the trust of the Americans for 

their operational competence and professionalism. Hence, Canadian 

commanders were placed in charge of vital operational areas and granted 

access to a broad range of U.S. intelligence, planning, and other information. 

At the same time, the Canadian Navy never lost sight of the fact that it 

reported to Ottawa and not Washington for political direction. e ability 

to integrate into the U.S.-led task forces while adhering to national political 

prerogatives truly empowered the medium-size Canadian Navy. 

In short, the navies of the United States, United Kingdom, Australia, 

and Canada executed especially successful peace support operations 

between 1991 and 2003. at success was built on a foundation of close 

cooperation at sea during the previous half-century of the Cold War. e 

naval leaders and commanders of these nations had honed their operational 

skills aer years of experience conducting multinational exercises, 

developing common tactics, techniques, and procedures, and adopting 

compatible command, control, and communications approaches. Even 

more important, these leaders had come to depend on and were condent 

of the reliability and professional competence of their fellow members of 

the seagoing fraternity. e operative word was and still is—trust. 

294 Summary
295

CONCLUSION

Sarandis Papadopoulos

Our profession relies upon customs and traditions such as diplomacy, 

sovereignty, and assistance at sea, norms that are older than any nation 

here today. . . . is 1,000-ship Navy would integrate the capabilities 

of the maritime services to create a fully interoperable force—an 

international city at sea.1

—Admiral Mike Mullen, USN

Naval War College, 21 September 2005

Rather than opening a period of peace and reduced tensions, the last 

 decade of the 20th century witnessed the release of local animosities 

from the restraints of the Cold War. Without the East-West confrontation 

curbing on fanaticism, virulent political or ethnic oppression, regional 

intimidation, or wide-ranging terrorism emerged and spread.2

 e record 

for confronting such challenges in Haiti, Chechnya, Somalia, and Rwanda 

was mixed. Given the test posed in aggressive, fragmenting, or “failed 

states,” marked by “unconventional” combat, mustering the international 

consensus to intervene proved dicult. Such complexities prevailed in all 

of the cases presented in this volume, and made the period between 1991 

and 2002 unstable and dangerous. In terms of global survival the stakes 

had become lower, but the frequency of local crises deserving attention 

had risen dramatically.

Other challenges of the 1990s made the period dicult for Australian, 

British, Canadian, and American military personnel. Aer the Cold War, 

their ranks dropped in number by between 25 percent and 37 percent, 

while they experienced a demanding operational tempo.3

 e remaining 

armed forces, strong by nation-state standards, were not tailored for 

“asymmetric” operations against diuse opponents. Military operations 

in the television and Internet age also became more politically charged, 

fostering greater “informational complexity” than in previous conicts.4

Controversy followed many of these operations, even the successful ones. 

Nonetheless, naval forces oered still useful methods to deter state bullies, 

reinforce stability, minimize disasters, or suppress terrorism. Without 

combined naval interventions, limiting the crises outlined here would 
296 Conclusion

have proven more expensive to achieve and potentially more dangerous.

Most vital to the service members, these operations assumed a 

political charge. e 1991–1996 Balkan civil war stimulated only a fragile 

international political consensus to intervene. Informal favor by NATO 

members for both sides, and a confusing set of UN rules of engagement 

complicated the issue.5

 For these reasons, some U.S. politicians advocated 

defending the Bosnian Muslims, while others pressed for arms deliveries to 

let the ethnic group protect itself. e 1995 refusal of U.S. Army Specialist 

Michael New to serve with United Nations Preventive Deployment Force, 

resulting in his court-martial, stood as the most extreme individual 

rejection of the UN.6

 Less profound rejections played out in all of the 

nations studied to varying degrees.7

 eir response reected an approach 

of accepting limited liability, appropriate given the ambivalence to UN 

commitments.8

 U.S. Senator John McCain, referring to the abortive 

Somalia commitment but eyeing the Balkans, proved emblematic of this 

view: “As the events of 1993 have demonstrated, it is in neither the U.S. 

interest nor the international community’s to subject the U.S. decisionmaking on grave matters of state, and the lives of American soldiers, to the 

frequently vacillating, frequently contradictory, and frequently reckless 

collective impulses of the United Nations.”9

Fortunately, Sharp Guard naval forces ameliorated the Balkan tragedy and prevented a wider war, while keeping intact national decisions.

Human Network

From the vantage point of the 21st century, that these four countries 

succeeding in pulling together and employing naval compatibility borders 

on the miraculous. Real strength lay in the relationships built over time as 

operators worked through these four crises together. Nothing else could 

have built a “human network” driven by trust to overcome the dierences 

between such varied services. Four navies of widely diering sizes, located 

on three continents, culminated a 40-year drive to create a reliable and 

mutually dependent collaboration. eir commitment to interoperability came despite broad political, technical, and social changes at home. 

Harmonizing command and control systems, while all eets confronted 
Conclusion 297

aging ships, absorbed much of the attention and proved most challenging.10 However, the development and maintenance of trust among thousands of service members in ever-changing positions within their services 

fundamentally underpinned these operations and regularly enabled collaboration.11 Virtually no other broad multinational eort has so consistently focused toward such a targeted end. Combined naval power demonstrates the human network in action.

For example, in 1999, General Hugh Shelton used the human network to oer his Australian colleagues American noncombat support for 

Operation Stabilise. is pledge, made below the level of formal agreement or treaty, enabled the planning of the humanitarian intervention 

to continue.12 Subsequently, when the time came for Commodore J. R. 

Stapleton to marshal forces for East Timor, the recent joint exercise had 

already introduced him to many of its ship commanders. ose working 

relationships allowed the Maritime Component Commander to execute 

the naval side of Stabilise.13

While human connections enable eective coalitions, the former can 

also fade if not regularly renewed with multinational exercises, even at the 

expense of committing precious people, aircra, and ships during hard political and economic times. Building the human element converts intangible 

allies into genuine friends, turning abstract multinational doctrine, varying 

tactics, and dierent equipment into the means for fullling military missions and political objectives. While current Indian Ocean and Arabian Gulf 

operations build trust, the exercises chiey responsible for creating multinational capabilities must not be forgotten during the prolonged war on terrorism. Building combined competence requires sustained commitment and 

regular renewal in spite of other pressing obligations. 

Constant Interaction

In response to the crises outlined here the navies of Australia, Great 

Britain, Canada, and the United States assembled an impressive range 

of capabilities for low-intensity conicts. Such interoperability arose 

only aer a great deal of sustained work, much taking place aer 1990. 

ree of these case studies show the evolution of one element, maritime 
298 Conclusion

interception (interdiction) operations (MIO), through the decade. From 

a nascent and halting capability to enforce the Iraq embargo through the 

growing ability to restrain the Balkan conict, allied navies ultimately 

created a method and organization for sea control, eventually denying alQaeda use of the global commons in the 21st century. Concurrently, the 

ambitious East Timor operation used sea control to buy important time 

for an oppressed Indonesian minority.

Building interoperability yielded important benets. For example, 

aer the 1991 Gulf War restored Kuwaiti sovereignty, the United Nations 

needed to limit Saddam Hussein’s military power. A commitment in 

southern Iraq to enforce an arms and oil embargo risked introducing 

foreign soldiers, almost certainly from Australia, Britain, Canada, or the 

United States, into the part of the country neighboring Iran.14 Such a 

ground force threatened to raise tensions in an already volatile segment 

of the Middle East and expose them to attack. Instead, the continued 

multinational naval embargo safely contained Iraq for 12 years and 

prompted much less opposition.

Specically, in those operations the Royal Australian and Canadian navies committed ships to the Arabian Gulf for much of 

the 1990s. Beginning with HMCS Calgary in 1995, Canadian ships 

worked maritime interception duties roughly half of the time, some 

exercising with U.S. task groups en route to set in place a rm sense 

of allied practice.15 ese deployments took place as the similar 

commitment to Operation Sharp Guard wound down. When one 

recalls each such deployment represented 5 percent of total Canadian 

Navy surface strength, the implication is clear: operating together continuously reinforced condence and expertise.

e cases show advantages beyond the addition of “more ags,” as 

described by former U.S. Army General William C. Westmoreland during 

the Vietnam War.16 Nor is this merely the creation, as one press account 

suggests, of a coalition solely to defend Middle East oil routes.17 On the 

contrary, while one should see maintaining the energy trade as a key 

need of the global community, it and naval cooperation are important 

components of the globalization Admiral Mike Mullen described.18

Collaborative maritime interception operations have roots in the 
Conclusion 299

naval blockades practiced since 1700. Typically shipping control had 

been a form of warfare to pressure an opponent and cripple military 

strength. Since 1990, however, MIO represented a willingness to limit 

conict, working under an international mandate. MIO has arisen before, 

only under dierent names. One British analyst in 1928 argued that the 

naval blockade seemed the best tool for applying international pressure 

without combat. In the words of Lieutenant Commander W. E. ArnoldForster, its particular and valuable attribute lay in limiting small-scale 

wars while reconciling “the conict between the interests of neutrals 

and belligerents.”19 Later, the League of Nations attempted to enforce 

such sanctions in the Spanish Civil War. While ineective for stopping 

the conict, naval power limited its consequences by evacuating foreign 

nationals and slowing the ow of weapons, two goals of the international 

community.20 Discrete, and conducted on the open ocean, MIO serves the 

post-9/11 world by oering a key capability.

Greater naval collaboration enabled by trust and regular cooperation 

came to fruition just in time to confront late 20th- and early 21st-century 

crises.21 Collaborating nations adapted Cold War military doctrine to tackle 

low-intensity conicts. Given the intense tempo of the period, the multinational naval option came not a moment too soon.22 As evidence of this 

eort, one should consider the thousands of challenges directed at merchant vessels during the maritime interception operations described in this 

work.23 Naval commitment gave provocative regimes and terrorists reason 

to avoid using the world’s sea lanes. In addition, for governments reluctant 

to put “boots on the ground,” navies became an attractive option. Better, 

naval multilateralism exceeded individual service capacities and outdid the 

cooperative capabilities of land and air services. Put succinctly, the working 

maritime coalition of Australia, Britain, Canada, and the United States, and 

others, is impressive in its own terms.

e preceding points suggest that multinational naval operations 

represent a strategic approach to inuencing events ashore without 

infringing upon hostile or neutral territory. e analysis presented here 

oers neither self-justication nor an evasion of cases where maritime 

power failed. Rather, the present work oers insight into the capacity 

navies have to achieve political results.24 e case studies here show how 
300 Conclusion

dierent sea services created the exibility, built on a common purpose, 

to collaborate, shaping a positive result in four cases of local violence and 

war.25 ey also illustrate the long-term eorts needed to curtail aggressive 

governments and hunt for terrorists. Best of all, the services achieved 

results without bankrupting their own taxpayers or alienating the broader 

international community.

is last point leads to a tension inherent in multinational naval 

operations: eets cost money and investing in interoperability seems a 

minimal payo. Speaking politically, could these navies have achieved the 

same objectives with smaller, less capable forces? Paraphrasing one analyst, 

the response depends upon perspective; politicians will almost certainly 

always try to answer yes and lower their scal investment, while naval 

leaders will strongly object and ask for greater resources.26 But the inverse 

was true strategically: could a single naval service accomplish the same 

political ends without foreign help? In answer, the political leader will gauge 

it riskier to operate alone, while the naval calculus will emphasize the less 

complex route of solely employing national forces, if available in adequate 

quality and quantity. Without such a blank check drawn from national 

resources, increasingly the norm in the 21st century, naval operators want 

to work with trusted foreign colleagues in a combined force.27

To illustrate that last point, the Canadian Navy gambled on purchasing 

interoperable systems, sacricing other purchases by doing so. Only their 

Adriatic and Middle East operations showed the political and professional 

payo on that investment when other nations placed their own ships and 

people under temporary control of their allies.28 Such observations lead 

one to conclude that multinational operations will continue to satisfy the 

needs of both political and naval leaders in the future.

Combat exercises are the crucial adjunct to making these continuous 

operations happen. Only intensive exercises challenge ocers and ratings 

to build combined forces possessing the capabilities required in a crisis. Exercises attune coalition naval personnel to the full range and limits of both 

allied naval credentials and the authority of the human network. Combat 

exercises make these continuous operations happen and constantly refresh 

the relationships upon which they depend.29 Echoing Vice Admiral Hora-
Conclusion 301

tio Nelson, Canadian Navy Admiral Greg Maddison made this point when 

outlining how the extensive workup of Standing Naval Force Atlantic built 

his group of ship commanders into “my band of brothers” for Operation 

Sharp Guard.30 Without seeing full-spectrum competence in exercises, 

naval personnel cannot rely upon their partners’ ability and commitment 

over time and in crises. Witnessing competence established and in action 

builds trust and sustains collaboration in both the short term and long term.

Liaison and Exchange

Unfortunately, interoperability can perish. In particular, the focus of 

military activity following 11 September 2001 is distant from NATO nations, 

and the number of exercises conducted between allied nations near Europe 

has dropped signicantly since the1990s. A complementary means for closing 

the seams between allies on an individual basis are exchange and liaison 

personnel, supportive of the human network in the same manner as combined 

exercises. During discussions in Australia and the United Kingdom, however, 

the historical team discovered that funds for exchange and liaison duty are 

oen the rst targets for cuts as operational demands rise.31

is study suggests the need for another perspective. Looking 

at Operation Stabilise, with liaison ocers attached to the Naval 

Component Commander’s sta and one fullling a crucial role as fuel 

logistician, the emphasis on understanding allies is vital.32 Recall, too, 

that Major General Peter Cosgrove had served as an exchange student 

at the U.S. Marine Corps Command and Sta College 20 years before he 

commanded in East Timor.33 In a converse example, Canadian ships and 

crews returned to the Arabian Gulf in 1995 aer a three-year absence 

that rendered them a lesser known quantity to their allies. Only by 

building familiarity and trust could they step back into a leading role. 

Consequently, personnel assigned to an exchange billet or as a liaison 

to a foreign sta should be rewarded, in career terms, by their services. 

Combined duty must not be a professional poison pill, or it will never 

become widely accepted.34

Access and Trust
302 Conclusion

Technical capabilities and intelligence data oer important advantages, yet they also raise important questions of sharing sensitive information. In Operations Sharp Guard and Stabilise high-end American shipboard command and control systems lent battle management capabilities 

not available to allied nations. Oering such data created the commonly 

held maritime picture of the challenges and threats confronting forces, 

enabling components to work together. It conversely raised challenges for 

sailors forbidden to share national-level intelligence with allies. Only by 

improvising solutions to work around that limitation could operational 

sailors master risks to the force. 

Why should coalition members share intelligence? In doing so they 

should understand that the lower load oered by multilateral operations 

does not merely reduce commitments by any single country, or lower 

wear and tear on equipment and uniformed people. A combined naval 

deterrent creates a symbolic example. As Major General Cosgrove noted of 

East Timor, the warships’ presence demonstrated a broad multilateral will, 

“an important indicator of international resolve,” as a discrete yet forceful 

option when needed.35 Key to maintaining the unity of that deterrent is 

condence in the shared understanding by all parts of the force.

ese essays emphasize that multinational time atsea is vital in creating 

the high-end dexterity needed for littoral and open-ocean combat. Crucial 

as well, however, is sharing as much information as possible. Maintaining 

intelligence under a “NOFORN” header—no foreign dissemination—on 

systems such as the American SIPRNET and Canadian MCOIN serves the 

needs of intelligence stas better than it satises operational requirements.36

Only by avoiding constraints on information whenever possible will all participants believe the common maritime picture.

All ships, aircra, and crews committed to a multilateral operation 

ultimately remain under national control; committing them absolutely to a 

multinational commander would eectively turn them into “a hired force.”37

Multilateral naval operations are a tool, subordinate to national strategy and 

policy, a constraint reected in national rules of engagement, inconvenient 

though they may be. National limits will always be in place, but oering 

intelligence and receiving trust in return bridge the dierences between 
Conclusion 303

forces within a theater of operations.38 In this manner sailors can believe 

their naval partners are providing them the full range of information, and 

not locking the best of it away in an allied admiral’s safe.39 While the patterns 

and practices of these four case studies do not answer all challenges posed 

by contemporary political crises, the cooperative basis oered by shared 

access will support and enable those other operations as well.

Brokering and Re-brokering

How do sailors master the operational complexities confronting them? 

Can their job become easier? Multinational operations in the 21st century 

confront the glare of media publicity, compelling national governments to 

respond to their respective publics; domestic opinion therefore reshapes 

the context of military operations. But because the politics of participating 

nations do not always coincide, combined military operations may move 

slowly and run the risk of becoming politicized.40 e primary means of 

authorizing combined operations, through international organizations, 

also adds a consensus-based actor, by nature inclined to slow military 

responsiveness and complicate decisions. Rules of engagement will reect 

these political limitations and can change over time. In parallel, practices 

will never be the same among all ships in a service. Even the slightest 

dierences in how navies break down tasks, interpreting doctrine in 

dierent ways while still complying with it, complicate the integration of a 

coalition ship into two separate U.S. Navy strike groups. Such individuality 

creates the “tabula rasa” noted in one essay.41 Only on-scene participants 

can solve these problems by clinching or re-brokering arrangements to 

suit particular operational needs.

For example, the initial 1990–1991 Arabian Gulf maritime 

interception operations lacked “plug and play” interoperability. Naval 

leaders settled for less-than-ideal discrete operating areas for dierent 

nations’ vessels, with patrol sectors laid out to accommodate national 

needs, and only developed more comprehensive measures over a threemonth period.42 Interoperability rened through exercises, however, 

reduces the need for such complex arrangements.

e inevitability of political tension between coalition partners 
304 Conclusion

magnies the need for trust between naval personnel from dierent 

countries if sea control operations are to work. e 2005 goal of Admiral 

Mullen, for globalizing sea trac moderated by a “1,000-ship Navy . . . 

made up of the best capabilities of all freedom-loving navies of the world,” 

suggests combined naval operations will become a more regular part 

of naval practice.43 At the operational level the only proven means for 

making such operations work is ongoing negotiation and re-brokering of 

the human network to unify naval forces.

An added benet of re-brokering arises in its role as the forum for 

innovation for operators. Rather than allowing doctrine or tactics to 

become static, the action of renegotiating arrangements, on each occasion, 

allows multinational navies to renew or “refresh” their procedures.44 While 

on rst blush re-brokering may seem a drain on resources and time, in 

actuality it represents an important contribution to building the human 

network, enabling successful naval operations by smoothing disputes and 

invigorating procedures.

If the vision of Admiral Mullen is to become reality, sailors around the 

world must continue to develop and reestablish trust in one another. e 

means for achieving that end will remain the human network, frequent 

interaction at sea in exercises, personnel exchanges, and increased freedom 

from high-level restrictions on oering information to allies, all enabled 

by on-scene brokering to handle the details. Absent these advantages, the 

only alternative will be to stretch operational personnel further, forcing 

them to create awkward workarounds to make coalition missions work. In 

essence, without high-level sponsorship for multinational operations the 

vision of Admiral Mullen becomes a chimera.

Only the shortsighted will view providing resources for further 

multinational naval collaboration as a waste. Recreating such skills without 

an existing foundation, as in the Arabian Gulf in 1990–1991, would require 

heavy initial investment until methods settle in place. Such improvised 

responses strain the liaison sta responsible and risk converting coalition 

advantages into liabilities. Counterfactually, such dangers would have 

prevailed if Australia had attempted the 1999 Stabilise mission on its own. 

Infantry strength alone in East Timor could not end the strife without 
Conclusion 305

support from allied air and seapower. If the mission had been attempted 

on the cheap, with minimal coalition support, a bolder Indonesian military 

and rebel militia would have endangered its more vulnerable intervening 

forces. Instead, a robust coalition force enhanced by prior investments 

in interoperable technology, combined doctrine, and rigorous exercises 

achieved its objectives quickly and with minimal loss of life. Whether 

the future judges these cases merely a fortunate convergence of practice, 

condence, and technology, or something larger marked by a longstanding 

multinational doctrine—well exercised and managed through durably 

interoperable systems—will be decided today by national governments and 

service chiefs.45 e historical analysis presented here demonstrates the 

advantages of making the professional down payments needed to build and 

reinforce the human network. Continuing them will unite navies, enhance 

trust, accelerate reaction time in crisis, and rene interoperability. ese 

attributes will provide a framework for a peaceful and productive maritime 

common, a foundation for eective policy.

Notes

1. Admiral Mike Mullen (Remarks as delivered for the 17th International Seapower 

Symposium,” Naval War College, Newport, RI, 21 September 2005), 7.

2. For a prescient work on the decentralization of conflict after the Cold War, see Martin 

van Creveld, The Transformation of War (New York: Free Press, 1991), especially 57–62. An 

update, emphasizing the international “multipolarity” of power, is S. Brown, “Multilateral 

Constraints on the Use of Force: A Reassessment” (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, 

March 2006), 15–21.

3. Richard Meinhart, “Strategic Planning by the Chairmen, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1990–

2005,” U.S. Army War College, April 2006, 14, at http://www.strategicstudiesinstitute.army.

mil/pdffiles/PUB703.pdf, accessed 5 June 2006. For military force reductions, compare 

International Institute of Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 1990–1991 (London: 

Brassey’s, 1990), 17–23, 60–61, 82–84, 156–57, with International Institute of Strategic 

Studies, The Military Balance 2001–2002 (London: Oxford, 2001), 19–21, 49–50, 75–77, 185. 

In the same period, naval personnel reductions were RAN, 19.9%; RN, 31.5%; CN, 47%; 

USN, 38%, while numbers of warships fell: RAN, 7.2%; RN, 42%; CN, 24%; USN, 47.3%. 

Generally, Canadian force cuts proved highest, with Australia’s the lowest. Budget numbers 

are complex, although in unadjusted U.S. dollars total Australian military spending rose 

4.7%; British, by 9.3%; Canadian outlays fell by 19.9%; and American expenditures rose by 

2.0% over the same period.

4. David Rudd, “Opening Remarks” in Beyond the Three-Block War, eds. David Rudd, Deborah 
306 Conclusion

Bayley, and Ewa K. Petruczynik (Toronto: Canadian Institute of Strategic Studies, 2006), 2. This 

essay outlines the broader theme of post–Cold War media complexities quite clearly.

5. Steven R. Rader, “The U.S. Military Role in a Multilateral Framework,” in Peace Support 

Operations and the U.S. Military, ed. Dennis J. Quinn (Washington: National Defense 

University, 1994), 55.

6. I am indebted to Mr. Frederick H. Codding for reminding me of the New case, where the 

soldier also refused to wear a UN shoulder patch and blue beret. See United States ex rel. 

Michael G. New, Appellant v. Donald H. Rumsfeld, Secretary of Defense and Les Brownlee, 

Acting Secretary of the Army, United States District Court for the District of Columbia, 

Civil Action No. 96-0033 (PLF), at http://www.dcd.uscourts.gov/96-0033-12-22-2004-1.pdf, 

accessed 31 May 2006.

7. Pierre Martin and Michel Fortmann, “Support for International Involvement in Canadian 

Public Opinion after the Cold War,” Canadian Military Journal 2, no. 3 (Autumn 2001): 

48–50.

8. David Jablonsky, “Army Transformation: A Tale of Two Doctrines” in Transforming 

Defense, ed. C. Craneed (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, December 2001), especially 

56–59, at http://www.strategicstudiesinstitute.army.mil/pdffiles/PUB254.pdf, accessed 30 

May 2006.

9. J. McCain, “The Proper United States Role in Peacekeeping,” in Peace Support Operations, 

91.

10. For the preeminence of technical interoperability, see the program of ComDef 2006, the 

25th Conference on International Defense Cooperation, Washington, DC, at http://www.

ideea.com/comdef06/program.htm, accessed 8 August 2006. Save the closing reception, no 

proposed session addressed human interoperability.

11. For a recent land reference to trust, see E. Elron, B. Shamir, and E. Ben-Ari, “Why Don’t 

They Fight Each Other? Cultural Diversity and Operational Unity in Multinational Forces,”

Armed Forces and Society 26, no.1 (Fall 1999): 80–81.

12. David Stevens, “The Combined Naval Role in East Timor,” chap. 4 herein, 109.

13. Ibid., 109, 126.

14. John Mackinlay, “Defining a Role Beyond Peacekeeping,” in Military Implications 

United Nations Peacekeeping Operations, ed. W. Lewis (Washington, DC: National Defense 

University, June 1993), 31–32. In second-generation peacekeeping operations, the roles took 

place in the absence of a fully permissive environment. These operations are notionally 

positioned as UN Chapter “6 1⁄2,” meaning peacekeeping missions (addressed in the UN 

Charter’s Chapter 6, for example, Cyprus from 1964, and Sinai since 1973) conducted in an 

environment more suited for peace enforcement (a Chapter 7 mission, as in Korea, 1950–

1953, or Kuwait, 1991). See Roméo. Dallaire, Shake Hands With the Devil: The Failure of 

Humanity in Rwanda (Toronto: Random House, 2003), 40–41, 71–72.

15. Robert H. Caldwell, “The Canadian Navy, Interoperability, and USN-Led Operations in 

the Gulf Region from the First Gulf War to 2002,” chap. 7 herein, 201–12.

16. William Westmoreland, A Soldier Reports (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976), 114–15.

17. See Ted Koppel and Robert Siegel, “In the Gulf, a Coalition of the Floating,” National 

Public Radio: All Things Considered, 6 July 2006, at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/

story.php?storyId=5539126, accessed 7 July 2006.

18. Mullen remarks, 4.
Conclusion 307

19. W. Arnold-Forster, “Admiralty Staff History: The Economic Blockade 1914–1919,” as 

reproduced in Sea Power and the Control of Trade: Belligerent Rights From the Russian War 

to the Beira Patrol, 1854–1970, ed. Nicholas Tracy (Aldershot and Burlington: Ashgate/Navy 

Records Society, 2005), 242.

20. Stephen Roskill, Naval Policy Between the Wars, Vol. 2, The Period of Reluctant 

Rearmament, 1930–1939 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1976), chap. 12.

21. The ideas in this paragraph stem from conversations between the authors of the 

Combined Operations project team members, especially Stephen Prince. See also H. H. 

Gaffney, The American Way of War in the Emerging Strategic Environment: Remarks at the 

Army War College’s Annual Strategy Conference, 9 April 2003 (Alexandria, VA: CNA, April 

2003), 4–5.

22. On the issues surrounding military planning and operations in the post-1989 period, see 

Meinert, “Strategic Planning by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” 6.

23. Jeffrey G. Barlow, “The U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception in Operation 

Enduring Freedom, 2001–2002,” chap. 6 herein, 174.

24. This concern arose during discussions at Department of Defence Headquarters, 

Canberra, 20 July 2005.

25. Meinert, 14.

26. P. Haydon, “What Naval Capabilities Does Canada Need?” Canadian Military Journal 2, 

no. 1 (Spring 2001): 22.

27. This idea is not new. Captain Alfred T. Mahan suggested an Anglo-American naval 

consortium rooted in economics and common background, what 21st-century observers 

might label a shared culture, eliminating the need for a treaty. See Jon Sumida, Inventing 

Grand Strategy and Teaching Command: The Classic Works of Alfred Thayer Mahan 

Reconsidered (Washington, DC/Baltimore, MD: Woodrow Wilson Center/Johns Hopkins 

University Press, 1997), 82–92.

28. Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 210–12; Barlow, chap. 6 herein, 179–81.

29. This concern also arose during discussions at Department of Defence Headquarters, 

Canberra, 20 July 2005.

30. Sarandis Papadopoulos, “The U.S. Navy’s Contribution to Operation Sharp Guard,” chap. 

3 herein, 88.

31. Discussion with an audience of officers at HMAS Watson, 19 July 2005.

32. Stevens, chap. 4 herein, 118, 137.

33. Papadopoulos, “A Limited Commitment to Ending Civil Strife: The U.S. Navy in 

Operation Stabilise,” chap. 5 herein, 155.

34. Discussion with U.S. Navy officer at the Naval Historical Branch, Portsmouth, England, 

February 2006.

35. As quoted in Stevens, chap. 4 herein, 102.

36. Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 214–215.

37. C. von Clausewitz, On War (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 603.

38. For an older example of conflicting practices in multinational operations, see W. E. B. 

Du Bois, The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America (New 

York: Longmans Green, 1896), 146, 178. See also http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/17700, 

accessed 24 August 2006. Flying an American flag immunized 1850s slavers from foreign 
308 Conclusion

search, leading one Royal Navy captain to suggest “that at least one half of the successful 

part of the slave trade is carried on under the American flag,” and this because “the number 

of American cruisers on the station is so small, in proportion to the immense extent of the 

slave-dealing coast.”

39. An idea derived from Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 238, especially his quotation from 

Commodore James Goldrick, RAN.

40. Brown, 12–14.

41. Caldwell, chap. 7 herein, 265.

42. Barlow, “The U.S. Navy’s Role in Coalition Maritime Interception Operations in the 

Persian Gulf Region, 1991–1996,” chap. 1 herein, 26–28.

43. Mullen remarks, 7.

44. We are indebted to the identification of this important advantage by Commodore G. D. 

Christian, RAN, in discussions at the Naval History & Heritage Command, 18 August 2006.

45. On the narrow, contingent windows of military methods and technology, see W. Murray 

and M. Knox, “The Future Behind Us,” in The Dynamics of Military Revolution 1300–2050, 

eds. M. Knox and W. Murray (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 177. See also 

R. Gimblett, Operation Apollo: The Golden Age of the Canadian Navy in the War Against 

Terrorism (Ottawa: Magic Light, 2004), 22–36, 160.
309

ACRONYMS

AAW Antiair Warfare

ABCA American, British, Canadian, and Australian

ACC Air Component Commander

ADF Australian Defence Force

AG Arabian Gulf

ANZAC Australian and New Zealand Army Corps

ANZUS Australia, New Zealand, United States

AO Area of Operations

AOR Area of Responsibility/Fleet Replenishment Ship

ASEAN Association of Southeast Asian Nations

ASW Antisubmarine Warfare

ATP Allied Tactical Publication (NATO)

AUSCANNZUKUS Australia, Canada, New Zealand, United 

Kingdom, United States

AUSCANUKUS Australia, Canada, United Kingdom, 

United States

AUSCANUS Australia, Canada, United States

AUTODIN Automatic Digital Network

AWACS Airborne Warning and Control System

BRITFOR British Forces (in UNPROFOR)

C2 Command and Control

C4I Command, Control, Communications, 

Computers, and Intelligence

CAS Close Air Support

CBC Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

CD Classified Document

CEC Cooperative Engagement Capability

CENTCOM Central Command (U.S.)

CENTRIXS Combined Enterprise Regional Information 

Exchange System
310 Acronyms

CF Canadian Forces

CFMWC Canadian Forces Maritime Warfare Centre

CINCSOUTH Commander in Chief, South (NATO)

CJFACC Combined/Joint Forces Air Component 

Commander

CJFSOCC Combined/Joint Forces Special Operations 

Component Commander

CJTF Combined Joint Task Force

CLF Combat Logistics Force/Combined Logistics Force

CMS Chief of Maritime Staff (Canadian)

CNA Center for Naval Analyses

COMAST Commander Australian Theatre 

COMBEXAG Combined Exercise Agreement

COMDESRON Commander Destroyer Squadron

COMFLOT Commodore Flotillas (Australian)

COMNAVSOUTH Commander, Naval Forces South (NATO)

COMUSNAVCENT Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Central Command

COWAN Coalition Wide Area Network

CPF Canadian Patrol Frigate

CPX Command Post Exercise

CTF Combined Task Force/Commander Task Force

CTG Combined Task Group/Commander Task Group

CVBG Carrier Battle Group

DCDS Deputy Chief of Defence Staff (Canadian)

DDE Destroyer Escort

DDG Guided Missile Destroyer

DDH Antisubmarine Destroyer (Canadian)

DESRON Destroyer Squadron

DISN Defense Information Systems Network

DJFHQ Deployable Joint Force Headquarters

DJFHQ (M) Deployable Joint Force Headquarters–Maritime
Acronyms 311

DMP Director Maritime Policy (Canadian)

DSN Defense Switched Network

ENFORCECOMS Enforcement Coercive Measures

EOD Explosive Ordnance Disposal

EXTAC Experimental Tactics

FAC Fast Attack Craft

FALINTIL National Armed Forces for the Liberation of 

East Timor

FFG Guided Missile Frigate

FFH Halifax-Class Patrol Frigate (Canadian)

FOSIF Fleet Ocean Surveillance Information Facility (U.S.)

FRY Federal Republic of Yugoslavia

GCC Gulf Cooperation Council

GCCS Global Command and Control System

GCCS–M Global Command and Control System–Maritime

GOO Gulf of Oman

GPO Government Printing Office (U.S.)

HOA Horn of Africa

HODSU Hydrographic Office Detached Survey Unit

IFF Identification Friend or Foe

IFOR Implementation Force (NATO)

INTERFET International Force East Timor

IRST Infrared Search and Track

JROE Joint and Combined Rules of Engagement

JTF Joint Task Force

KAA Khawr Abd Allah

LFA Land Forces Adriatic (U.K.)

LIO Leadership Interdiction Operation

LPA Landing Platform Amphibious (Australian)

LPH Landing Platform Helicopter (U.K.)

LST Landing Ship Tank
312 Acronyms

MACOM Maritime Commanders (Canadian)

MARCOM Maritime Command (Canadian)

MARCOT Maritime Coordinated Operational Training 

(Canadian)

MARLANT Maritime Forces Atlantic (Canadian)

MCC AST Maritime Component Commander Australian 

Theater

MCOIN Maritime Command Operational Information 

Network

MEAO Middle East Area of Operations

MEU Marine Expeditionary Unit (U.S.)

MIC Maritime Interception Commander

MIF Maritime Interception Force/Multinational 

Interception Force

MIO Maritime Interdiction/Interception Operation

MPA Maritime Patrol Aircraft

NAC North Atlantic Council (NATO)

NAG Northern Arabian Gulf

NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization

NAVCENT Naval Forces Central Command (U.S.)

NCB Noncompliant Boarding

NCC Naval Component Commander

NCE National Command Element

NGO Nongovernmental Organization

NHC Naval Historical Center

NHHC Naval History & Heritage Command

NIPRNET Non-Classified Internet Protocol Router Network

NSC National Security Council (U.S.)

NTDS Naval Tactical Data System

NVG Night Vision Goggle

OA Operational Archives (NHHC)

OAS Organization of American States
Acronyms 313

OLOC Operational Level of Capability

OTCIXS Officer in Tactical Command Information 

Exchange Subsystem

PACMEF Pacific Middle East Force (U.S.) 

PASSEX Passage Exercise

PERSTEMPO/OPTEMPO Personnel Tempo/Operations Tempo

RAAF Royal Australian Air Force

RAN Royal Australian Navy

RASP Recognized Air Surface Picture

RCN Royal Canadian Navy

RFA Royal Fleet Auxiliary (U.K.)

RIMPAC Rim of the Pacific

RMP Recognized Maritime Picture

RN Royal Navy

RNZN Royal New Zealand Navy

ROE Rules of Engagement

ROTO Rotation

RRF Rapid Reaction Force

RRFOS Rapid Reaction Force Operations Staff

RS Red Sea

SAA Shatt al-Arab

SAG Southern Arabian Gulf

SCC Sector Control Commander

SFOR Stabilization Force (NATO)

SIPRNET Secret Internet Protocol Router Network

SNFL Standing Naval Force Atlantic (NATO), also 

STANAVFORLANT

SNMG Standing NATO Maritime Group

SNFM Standing Naval Force Mediterranean (NATO), also 

STANAVFORMED

SOC Special Operations Capable
314 Acronyms

SOH Strait of Hormuz

SPC–A Sea Power Centre–Australia

SSK Diesel Submarine

STANAG Standardization Agreement (NATO)

TARPS Tactical Air Reconnaissance Pod System

TLAM Tomahawk Land Attack Missile

TNI Tentara Nasional Indonesia 

(national armed forces)

TRUMP Tribal [class] Update and Modernization Project 

(Canadian)

UAE United Arab Emirates

UKTG U.K. Task Group

UN United Nations

UNAMET United Nations Mission in East Timor

UNOSOM United Nations Operation in Somalia

UNPROFOR United Nations Protection Force

UNREP Underway Replenishment

UNSC United Nations Security Council

UNSCOM United Nations Special Commission

UNSCR United Nations Security Council Resolution

UNTAET United Nations Transitional Administration in 

East Timor

USCG U.S. Coast Guard

USCINCCENT Commander in Chief, U.S. Central Command

USCINCPAC Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Command

USN U.S. Navy

WEU Western European Union

WEUCONMARFOR Western European Union Contingency 

Maritime Force
ABCA Armies Program, 236, 240, 257, 265

ABCANZ-5 Information Exchange Project, 

214, 292 

ad hoc

arrangements, 114, 139

coalitions, 13, 120, 136, 236

force, 141, 267

Adamson, Carey, 108, 125

Adriatic Sea, 48, 58, 78, 84, 86, 94–95

air operations, 56–57, 91–92, 285

Land Forces Adriatic, 52

maritime forces, 64

NATO, 84–88, 90, 94–95, 198, 201, 284

operational areas, 53

operations, 54–55

Royal Canadian Navy, 200, 215, 221, 

257, 300

Royal Navy, 64–66, 71, 74, 77, 283

Aegis

cruiser, 56, 73, 119, 122, 155, 250, 288

destroyer, 36 

system, 90, 283, 286 

Afghanistan, 13, 167–70, 173–77, 224, 228, 

241, 243, 251, 267, 279, 288–89, 293–94

air component commander, 113, 175

air picture compilation team, 28

air standardization coordinating committee, 10

airborne warning and control system 

(AWACS), 70, 92

aircra

Black Hawk, 123

BR 1150 Atlantique, 91

C-130 Hercules, 123, 171

CH-46 Sea Knight, 156

CH-53 Sea Stallion, 156

CH-53E Super Stallion, 130

CP-140 Aurora, 62, 249

E-3 Sentry, 92

EP-3 Aries, 91–92, 155, 285

F-117 Nighthawk, 73

F-14 Tomcat, 37–38

MiG-21, 56

MiG-29, 56, 90

MR-2 Nimrod, 91, 171 

P-3 Orion, 36–37, 91, 285 

Sea Harrier, 66, 70–71

Sea King, 70, 73, 135, 218

Tornado, 60

al-Qaeda, 167–68, 170, 174, 177–78, 211, 

230, 242, 244, 247, 288–89, 298

amphibious 

aoat support, 134–35

lodgment, 129–30

ready group, 69, 151–52, 157, 173, 175, 

179, 223–24, 227–28, 230, 257, 293

amphibious support force defense commander, 224, 258

Anderson, Ian, 207

Annan, Ko, 104, 106

antiair warfare, 30, 36

Iranian Air Flight 655, 56

antipiracy patrols, 264

antiterrorist unit, 173, 289

ANZUS (Australia, New Zealand, United 

States) Treaty, 168, 289

Aqaba, 27, 35, 195 

Arabian Gulf, 95, 175–76, 301

areas C1 and C4, 26

Australia, 30, 172

Canada, 203, 206–8, 222, 225, 301

operations, 36, 179, 181, 195, 281, 

289–94, 297–98, 303–4

Northern, 252, 256, 267, 282, 292

Australia, 180, 225–27, 230, 240, 

248, 250

Canada, 201–2, 204, 209–11, 233, 

255, 263, 292

operations, 37, 174, 219, 230, 237, 

241–42

risks, 224

task group “XJ”, 241–42

sectors, 26

Southern, 31, 179, 203, 209, 219, 232, 

240, 255, 258, 282, 290, 293

United Kingdom, 171

Arabian Peninsula, 37, 176

Arabian Sea, 175, 179, 182, 231–32

North, 37, 168, 173–74, 176–77, 224, 

289–90, 293

arctic patrol, 264

Area Air Resources Mediterranean, 91

Argentina, 26, 198, 281

Aristide, Jean-Bertrand, 197–98

315

INDEX
Armilla patrol, 193

guardship, 171

arms embargo, 48, 50, 59, 84, 87–88

Arnold-Forster, W. E., 299

artillery, 48, 52, 55, 68–69, 71–72, 264 

Association of Southeast Asian Nations, 

111, 140

AUSCANNZUKUS (Australia, Canada, 

New Zealand, United Kingdom, United 

States) cooperation, 10–11, 213–14, 216,

225, 281

Australian Defence Force, 101–2, 107–10, 

114, 117, 139, 142, 171–72

Avis, P. C., 263 

Bab al-Mandeb Strait, 26, 219, 247 

Bahrain, 26–27, 173, 232, 289

Baker, James A., III, 34

Balkans, 47, 52, 67, 76, 83, 90, 96, 201, 

283–84, 287, 296

Baltes, D., 196

Bandar Abbas, 176

Barnett, Roger, 263

Barrie, Chris, 107–8, 114 

Basra, 256

Bates, Daryl W., 112, 225

battle force, 30–31, 175, 251

Battle of

Java Sea, 5

Sunda Strait, 5

Belgium, 26, 281

Bergeron, J. R., 204

bin Laden, Osama, 167–68, 177, 288–89

Black Sea, 87

Blair, Dennis, 119, 154

Blair, Tony, 170

Bosnia-Herzegovina, Republic of, 46, 48–51, 

59, 77–78, 83–84, 89, 90–91, 284

Bosniak-Croat Federation, 48

Boutilier, James, 261

Brindisi (Italy), 73, 94

British Force, 29, 64, 68–70, 76

Buck, Ron D., 215–16, 228–29, 243–44, 255 

Burnell-Nugent, James, 171

Bush, George H. W., 24 

Bush, George W., 168–69

C3I (command, control, communications, 

and intelligence), 36, 294

C4I (command, control, communications, 

computers, and intelligence), 126, 138, 

216–17, 220, 246

Canada First Defence Strategy, 264

Canadian

Forces Maritime Warfare Centre, 199

interservice rivalry, 243

Joint Task Force–South-West Asia, 220, 

224, 233, 248, 255, 293

MCOIN III (information network), 

215, 302

policy, 197, 199–200, 207, 211, 216, 228, 

236, 244, 248, 251, 260–61, 264

noncompliant boarding, 179, 206, 

211, 218, 242, 266–67

Strategic Reconnaissance Team, 127

U.S. Navy relations, 233, 235, 251–53, 

257, 294

cargo, 2, 87, 129, 136

embargoed, 24, 89, 92, 181, 183, 205

nonmaritime options, 195

carrier battle group, 33, 38, 151–2, 174, 193, 

204–5, 208, 215, 236, 250, 259, 289

Abraham Lincoln, 204, 244, 246

Carl Vinson, 168

Charles de Gaulle, 174

Constellation, 204, 207, 209, 211

Enterprise, 168

Fih Fleet, 175

Garibaldi, 174

George Washington, 93, 204

Harry S. Truman, 207–9

John C. Stennis, 173, 217, 228

Sixth Fleet, 66

Virat, 225

Carter, Jimmy, 46 

Castellaw, J. G., 120, 153–54 

CBC Newsworld, 230–31

Cellucci, A. Paul, 252

Central Command, 33, 168–69, 258

area of responsibility, 173, 182, 217, 219, 

224, 248

Combined/Joint Force Maritime Component Commander, 175, 181, 225

Commander in Chief, 24–25, 168, 175, 

248

Naval Component Commander, 246, 248

Chief Defence Force (Australia), 107, 180 

Chief Defence Sta Split, 69

316 Index
Chief of Maritime Sta 

Royal Australian Navy, 215, 228

Royal Canadian Navy, 215, 228–29, 263

Clinton, Bill, 48, 119, 154 

close air support, 46, 49, 51, 70–71, 175

coalition, 1, 5–8, 14, 101–2, 108–9, 114, 133, 

135–42, 258, 266, 297–299, 302 

ad hoc, 13, 120, 236

aircra, 123, 170

airli wing, 129

blockade, 164

forces, 7, 28, 30, 117, 124, 128–29, 181, 

232, 243, 254

interdiction statistics, 245, 247

navies, 26, 34, 36, 125–26, 130–31, 219, 

255, 267–68, 282–83, 287 

Canada, 189, 193–96, 198, 207, 215, 

217, 227, 229, 237, 251

interoperability, 29, 234

Iraq, 28

leadership interception operations 

patrols, 177–79

Operation Enduring Freedom, 176

operations, 39, 250

partners, 183, 235, 249, 304

statistics, 35, 174–75, 182, 249

operations, 45, 240, 252, 254, 259–60, 

265

representatives, 31

rules of engagement, 242–43

Task Force, 203

United Nations, 192

United States, 24

vessels, 191, 204, 222–23, 289, 291, 303

list, 115–16

Wide Area Network (COWAN), 12–13, 

182, 212–15, 220, 234, 236, 242–44, 

246, 248–50, 257–58, 293

Coates, Nigel, 225

Cohen, William, 130, 151, 158

Cohn, Martin Regg, 202

Cold War, 8–9, 76, 83, 85, 93, 257, 283–84, 

294–95, 299

Canada, 199, 231, 264

post–, 2, 6, 24, 149, 150, 279–81

combat capabilities, 24, 126

Combat Logistics Force, 30, 176, 193

combat phases, 174

Combined

Communications Electronics Board, 10

Enterprise Regional Information Exchange System (CENTRIXS), 12–13

Exercise Agreement, 9, 280

Forces Maritime Component Commander, 175

Joint Force Maritime Component 

Commander U.S. Central Command, 

181, 225

Joint Forces Air Component Commander, 175

Joint Forces Special Operations Component Commander, 175

Logistics Force, 31, 193

training exercises, 87, 200, 284

COMISKEY (maritime interdiction/interception operations holding area), 181, 

206, 226

command and control (C2), 5, 7

ad hoc, 114

Australia, 112, 134, 137, 156

Canada, 191–92, 235, 237, 254, 258–59

COWAN/CENTRIXS, 12

ineective, 30–31, 117

interoperability, 28, 60, 66, 290

maritime interception/interdiction 

operations, 30

platform, 220

system, 215–16, 293, 297, 302

Taliban, 175

United Kingdom, 68

command relationships, 13, 257

commander Australian theatre, 117, 123, 

180

commander Standing Naval Force Mediterranean, 53, 89

commodore otillas, 114 

CTG 627.1, 117

communications 

plan, 240, 252

system, 9, 12, 127, 192, 216–17, 234, 

236, 282, 290

Trojan Spirit II, 155

consensual boarding, 178–79, 182, 208, 235, 

237, 242, 245, 247

Contact Group Yugoslavia, 73

contingency plan, 52, 67–69, 109, 268

cooperative engagement capability, 214

Index 317
Corbett, Sir Julian, 2, 4, 279, 287 

Corfu Channel, 52

Cosgrove, Peter, 102, 109–10, 117, 120, 123, 

128–29, 131, 134, 137, 140, 152, 155, 158, 

301–2

Cowling, Peter J., 33, 195–96

Chrétien, Jean, 172

Croatia, 46, 48, 52, 62, 72, 83

Cummins, Warren, 108, 121, 126

CZ (command call sign), 232–33, 240, 

242–44, 246, 258

Danube, 49, 74

Darwin (Australia), 134–35, 138–40

Dayton Peace Agreement, 48–49, 73, 78

Deep Blue, 182

defence planning guidelines (RCN), 218

defence watches (RN), 53

Defense Information Systems Network 

(DISN), 126 

MSQ-126, 126–27

Defense Switched Network (DSN), 127

Denmark, 26, 195, 281 

Department of External Aairs (Canada), 

194

Deployable Joint Force Headquarters, 

109–10

(Maritime), 111

Dhorra oileld, 29

Diego Garcia, 170, 172

Dili (East Timor), 104, 110, 119, 127, 

149–51, 156, 287 

guardship, 123, 126, 134

Director Maritime Policy, 263

doctrine

Allied Tactical Publications, 6, 54, 85, 285 

BR 1806 “Fundamentals of British Maritime Doctrine,” 6

Experimental Tactics, 6, 85

U.S. Naval Doctrine Command, 3

Downer, Alexander, 106

du Toit, Allan, 172, 180–81, 225–26, 230, 

238–39, 241

Duy, M. E., 202

Durres (Albania), 62

East Timor, 1, 110, 118, 123, 129, 133, 141, 

150, 279, 285–88, 305

independence, 103, 149, 162

Indonesia, 1975 invasion by, 103, 107, 149

International Force East Timor (INTERFET), 101–2, 106, 122, 124–29, 

131–33, 135–38, 140–42, 215

Australia, 101-2, 111–13, 117–19, 

123, 286–88

organization, 109, 114

U.S. participation, 120, 151–57, 

159–61

vessels, 115–16, 121 

intervention, 151–54, 156–58, 161

massacre, 104–5

militia, 105, 125, 127–29, 132, 150, 158, 

161, 285, 305 

National Armed Forces for the Liberation of East Timor (FALINTIL), 105

naval component, 119, 121, 134, 

297–98, 302

UN Mission in East Timor (UNAMET), 

105–6

UN Transitional Administration in East 

Timor (UNTAET), 133, 159, 161

Eggleton, Art, 173 

Ellis, P., 219, 222

embargo, 23, 60

Adriatic, 55, 285

Afghanistan, 294

Bosnia, 50, 59, 284

Gulf War, 24, 26–28, 30

Haiti, 291

Iraq, 174, 196–98, 202, 281, 283, 291–92, 

298

post–Gulf War, 32–35, 39

Yugoslavia, 48, 62–63, 66–67, 74, 77, 

84–90, 92–95 

escort duties, 134, 241

ethnic cleansing, 83, 151

violence, 46, 84

Exercise

Argonaut 2001, 170

Command Post, 113, 286, 288

Crocodile 99, 113, 119, 142, 155–56, 288

Destined Glory 2001, 170

Dogsh, 87

Maritime Coordinated Operational 

Training, 199–200

passage, 8, 197

318 Index
Rim of the Pacic, 215–16

Saif Sareea, 171

Saif Sareea 2 [II], 170–71

Tandem rust, 10

Falklands War, 170

Fleet Air Arm, 70–71

Fleet Logistics Force CTF 53, 227, 234–235

Fleet Ocean Surveillance Information Facility, 58, 93

France, 6, 25–26, 29, 35, 57, 60, 64, 66, 74, 

126, 169

coalition interdiction statistics, 245

Forward Action Task Force, 198

Gulf of Oman, 232

INTERFET coalition vessels, 115

leadership interdiction operations, 177, 

197, 290

maritime interception operations, 281

Operation Enduring Freedom participation, 173–74, 289

Franks, Tommy R., 168–69, 174–75, 177, 248

Friedman, Norman, 102 

fuel, 135, 160

Fujairah, 222

Gimblett, Richard, 21 

Girouard, Roger, 113, 250, 252–53, 255

Global Command and Control System, 127, 

215, 293

Maritime, 216

go fasts, 242, 249

Goldrick, James, 126, 238–39, 241, 248, 259 

Gordon, Rob, 230–31

Gornji Vakuf (Bosia-Herzegovina), 68

Gow, James, 50

Grand Harbor (Malta), 52

Gray, Colin, 262 

Greece, 26, 83, 173, 245, 281, 289

Guam, 160

Gulf Cooperation Council, 27

Gulf

of Aden, 27, 177 

of Aqaba, 27, 197, 291 

of Oman, 26, 178, 245–46

Canada, 217, 219, 222, 232–233, 

240–41, 293

leadership interdiction operations, 

177, 179, 225, 252, 254, 290

Gulf War, 5, 24, 36, 181, 192–94, 199, 202, 

215, 219, 251, 257, 286, 290–91, 294, 298

Habibie, B. J., 104, 106–7, 149

Haiti, 197–98, 200, 291, 295

Harper, Stephen, 264

Harsch, H. T., 255

Hayes, J. W., 204

health and comfort inspections, 206, 211

Heath, J. T., 228

helicopter operations, 53, 171

Herger, J. F., 202

holding area COMISKEY, 181, 206, 226

Horn of Africa, 174, 176, 182, 219, 241

Howard, John, 172

Howard, Michael, 261

Howard, T. M., 205

humanitarian assistance

Afghanistan, 174

Bosnia, 48, 51, 76

Canadian missions, 264

East Timor, 101, 106–7, 111, 119, 132, 

136, 139, 153, 156–57, 159, 297

Iraq, 176

New York City, 220

Hungary, 49

Hussein, Saddam, 251

Hydrographic Oce Detached Survey Unit, 

116, 124

Implementation Force (IFOR), 48–49, 74 

India, 176, 224, 261

Indian Ocean, 175, 208, 297

Indications and Warning (signals) intelligence mission, 91

Indonesia, Republic of, 103–7, 111, 117, 125, 

128, 149–50, 152–53, 177, 279, 285 

Indonesian

Army, 121–22, 285

National Armed Forces. See TNI

Navy, 121, 124–25, 128, 154

security forces, 105

Inge, Peter, 51, 72

interception operations. See leadership interception operations; maritime interception/interdiction operations

International Force East Timor (INTERFET). See East Timor

Index 319
interoperability and information technology, 

213–15, 257, 261–62, 293

interoperable paradigm, 192, 194, 217

Iraq, 1, 13, 24, 29–30, 203, 267, 288

no-y zone, 152, 207

operations against, 192–93, 201–2, 238, 

249–54, 256, 281, 289, 293

sanctions, 32–35, 172, 174, 194–95, 

208–9, 225–26, 238, 279, 291, 298 

UN, 176, 181, 196, 247, 256

Ireland, 130

Italy, 61, 63, 84, 108, 195

air operations, 66–67, 73, 284

coalition interdiction statistics, 245

Gulf of Oman, 232

INTERFET coalition vessels, 108, 115

leadership interdiction operations, 290

maritime interception operations, 26, 

227, 281

Operation Enduring Freedom participation, 31, 173–74, 177, 180

Jackson, David, 181, 226

Jakarta, 105, 150, 285

Johnson, B. J., 203

Joint

Canadian, Task Force South-West Asia, 

220, 224, 233, 248, 255, 293

Chiefs of Sta, 109, 169, 259

Combined Task Force Headquarters, 109

Intelligence Centre HQ (Australia), 123

Operation Tactical System, 127

Resolution (S. J. Res 23), 168

Task Force, 154

JTF 2, 173

commander, 113, 125, 130, 136

Timor Sea Operations, 156

joint training, 142

Jones, Peter, 248, 250–51

Jordan, 35, 195, 256 

Jutland, 279

Kandahar, 224, 293

Keating, Timothy J., 246, 248

Khawr Abd Allah, 176, 201, 206, 238, 240, 

250, 256

Kotor Bay (Montenegro), 55, 67, 84

Krajina (Serbia) (Operation Storm), 46

Kuwait, 24–25, 30, 176, 195, 251, 267, 281, 

293

Laing, K. D. W., 200

Land Forces Adriatic, 52

Larson, Charles R., 33

leadership interception operations, 177, 218, 

228, 240–41, 246 

air support, 245

legal implications, 236–37

locations, 179, 182, 252, 290, 293

resource allocation, 233, 243, 247

risks, 224–25

rules of engagement, 177–78, 223, 267

terms, 254

League of Nations, 299

Lehre, Eric, 179, 191, 215, 240–47

Lesser Sunda Archipelago, 103

Leyte Gulf, 230

lily pad, 132, 156

Link, 123, 240

11 (system), 12–13, 28, 57–58, 92, 122, 

155, 257, 281, 283

14 (system), 215, 293

16 (system), 155, 215, 257, 293

littoral operations, 2, 122, 199, 202, 257, 262, 

264, 279, 291, 302

Lloyd, M. F. R., 207, 220

local area warfare commander, 132

lodgment, 129–30

logistics support, 102, 160

Lord, J. R., 117, 121, 128, 135

Loren, Donald P., 199

Lundquist, C. I., 201

Macedonia, 74, 83

Mackeigan, D. M., 255

MacLean, M. B., 220, 263

Maddison, Greg R., 87–88, 198, 219, 221, 

224, 284, 301

Maddison, Paul A., 254 

Madely, Steve, 228 

Mahan, Alfred ayer, 261, 263

Malaysia, 177

Maness, Anthony, 37

March, Daniel P., 30

Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable), 33 

320 Index
Maritime Command, 199

Maritime Commander Australia, 117, 121, 

139, 180, 226 

maritime commanders, 33–34, 194, 196

Maritime Component Commander Australian eatre, 180, 226

Maritime Forces Atlantic, 199, 220

Maritime Interception/Interdiction Force, 

26–27, 33–34, 37, 88, 223, 238

Canadian participation, 179, 193

frigate, 171–72

non-U.S. ocer in command, 230, 238, 

250

Royal Australian Navy, 225–26

ships, 180–81

supply ship, 31

maritime interception/interdiction operations, 23–26, 32–38, 152, 181, 191, 196, 

201, 230, 237, 254, 256, 282, 289–90, 

298–99

Adriatic Sea, 87

command and control, 28, 30

coordination, 31, 87, 179, 233, 252, 281, 

303

CTF 440, 86

expanded duties, 177, 267

focus, 176

legal implications, 236

Royal Australian Navy, 180–81, 226, 

248, 267

Royal Canadian Navy, 193, 198, 202, 

206, 209, 211, 217, 223–25, 228, 

242–43, 291–92, 294

Royal Navy, 52, 171, 182

statistics, 174

Task Force 50, 176

maritime patrol aircra, 122, 245–46, 249

areas of operation, 37, 56–59

force allocations, 29, 217

resources, 58, 86–87, 90–91, 171, 241–42

sorties, 95

maritime surveillance, 37, 78

interdiction operations, 189, 197

picture, 122

Mauz, Henry H., Jr., 26–27, 281

McCain, John, 296

McCarthy, J. B., 220, 233–36 

McCourt, David, 179–80, 225

McLennan, Roxley, 113

Melnick, R. H., 194–95

messaging systems, 127

Middle East, 25, 30, 152, 287, 298, 300

area of operations, 172, 180, 225

Force, 33, 175

Pacic Force, 202

military assets, 196

Indonesian, 121–22

United Kingdom, 170

military units 

Australia

3rd Infantry Brigade (Army), 150, 

155

United Kingdom

24 Airmobile Brigade, 72

148 Battery Royal Artillery, 67

3 Commando Brigade Royal Marines, 72

United States

11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, 

130

31st Marine Expeditionary Unit, 

130, 156

Destroyer Squadron 9, 202

Destroyer Squadron 16, 90

Destroyer Squadron 21, 201

Destroyer Squadron 28, 200

Destroyer Squadron 50, 202, 222, 

226, 230, 248

Fih Fleet, 175, 180, 201–2, 204, 

209, 222–25, 227, 233, 238, 248, 

291–93

Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 265, 156

Seventh Fleet, 155, 161

Sixth Fleet, 66, 87, 90, 207

Miller, Duncan E. “Dusty”, 31, 193–94

Mina al-Bakr oil terminal, 176

mine countermeasures, 195

missile

Exocet, 56

Harpoon, 199

Lynx, 66

Maverick, 56, 91

Sea Sparrow, 199

Silkworm, 5

Standard 2MR, 199

Index 321
Styx (SSC-3), 55, 84

Tomahawk land attack missile, 32, 73, 

170–71, 289

MK-46 torpedo, 91

Moord, C. L., 230

Montenegro, 53–54, 56, 83, 86, 89, 91, 94

operations area, 59, 62, 64, 66, 75

Moore, Charles W., Jr., 175–77, 179–80, 223, 

225

Moore, John, 107

Morin, Jean, 31 

Mullen, Mike, 295, 298, 304

Mulroney, Brian, 197 

multinational, 179, 195, 297, 302–5

classied data, 12

doctrine, 5–7, 297

exercises, 87, 183, 215–16, 294, 297

forces, 1, 9, 102, 205, 256, 291

operations, 3, 6, 8, 10, 13, 24, 34–35, 37, 

139, 142, 232, 279–84, 288, 299–300

Multinational Interception Force, 193, 196

Multinational Interoperability Council, 6

Murphy, Dan, 244, 247–50

Muslim-Croat Federation, 46, 50

Myers, Richard B., 169

Naples (Italy), 57–58, 285

nation building, 101

national

command element, 140, 220, 223–24, 233

sovereignty, 7, 261

National Armed Forces Liberation East 

Timor. See FALINTIL

NATO

allied tactical publications, 6, 54, 85, 285

antisubmarine warfare concepts, 54, 60

combat operations, 84

Commander in Chief South, 56, 58

Commander Naval Forces South, 

56–58, 86, 91–92, 285

Exercise Mainbrace, 9

maritime surveillance, 78, 122

Military Committee, 58

MC192 (document), 58

MC192/2 (document), 90

On-Call Force Mediterranean, 54, 86

permanent assessment team, 57

standardization agreement, 6, 11, 280

Standing Naval Force Atlantic, 54–55, 

57–58, 60, 63, 77, 85–88, 173, 195, 198, 

203, 219, 221, 229–30, 283–84, 301

Standing Naval Force Mediterranean, 

52–55, 57, 84–86, 89, 170, 201, 207, 

284

Naval 

Component Command, 111–12

Component Commander, 101, 112, 114, 

117–19, 126–27, 136–41, 246, 286

Doctrine Command, 3, 6

Forces Central Command, 26, 36, 

175–77, 183, 206, 223, 225, 248, 250, 

281

N3 (Operations), 182

Tactical Data System, 11

Navy Warfare Development Command, 3

Nelson, Horatio, 88, 301

Netherlands, 25–26, 31, 174, 180, 198, 227, 

232, 236, 245, 281, 289

New, Michael, 296

New Zealand, 7, 114, 126, 130, 153, 157, 

213, 289

coalition vessels, 115, 205

Defence Force, 108

Royal New Zealand Navy, 10–11, 108, 

121, 214, 286, 293

9/11 attacks, 168, 211, 289

operations aer, 257, 259–60, 266–67, 

299

operations before, 208, 211–215, 217, 

228, 255, 263, 267

response, 171–72, 175–76, 189, 218, 293

NIPRNET (Non-Classied Internet Protocol Router Network), 127

noncompliant boarding, 211, 242, 266

operations, 218

policy, 267

tactics, 179

team, 206

nonconsensual boarding, 179, 182

North Atlantic Council, 48, 52, 167

Norway, 26, 281

Nunn-Mitchell Amendment, 89

Ocean Surveillance Information System, 93

Oecussi enclave (Indonesia), 129, 132, 141, 

158

322 Index
Ocer in Tactical Command Information 

Exchange Subsystem, 58, 123

oil spot concept, 129

Oil-for-Food Program, 176, 202, 256 

Oman, 27

Operation 

Active Endeavour, 170

Allied Force, 151

Apollo, 173, 218, 220, 230, 255

Deliberate Force (NATO), 47, 49, 71–72, 

78

Deny Flight, 49, 66, 76, 78, 83–84, 90

Desert Shield, 28–29, 32, 34–35, 37

Desert Storm, 30, 32, 35 

Enduring Freedom, 167–77, 179–80, 

182–83, 218, 241, 246, 249, 251–52, 

254, 289

Forward Action, 198

Grapple, 78

Hamden, 45, 78

Iraqi Freedom, 251–52, 254 

Joint Endeavor (NATO), 48, 78

Lavarack, 129

Maritime Guard, 53, 63, 78

Maritime Monitor (NATO), 48, 52, 54, 

62, 78

Provide Promise, 84, 90

Respite, 129

Sharp Fence, 53, 78

Sharp Guard, 45, 49, 53–64, 66–67, 71, 

73, 76, 78, 83–96, 221, 283, 285, 296, 

298, 301–2

Sharp Vigilance, 48, 52, 62–63, 78

Slipper (OEF), 172

Southern Watch, 152, 203, 238

Spitre, 109, 111, 121

Stabilise, 101, 111, 118–120, 123, 

141–42, 301–2, 304

Australian leadership of, 106, 113, 

152, 285–87

U.S. forces, 149, 153, 155–61, 

287–88, 297 

Storm, 46, 75

Strand, 129

Veritas, 171

operational

area

command designator CZ, 232–33, 

240, 242–44, 246, 258

Montenegro, 55, 59, 62, 64, 66, 75

Otranto, 61, 70

choices, 7, 260

control, 26, 30–31, 92, 117, 122, 154, 

181, 225, 248, 282

training, 199

operations other than war, 1, 7, 23

Organization of American States, 197–98

Otranto (Italy), 84

operational area, 61, 70

Strait of, 5–54, 56–57, 59, 62, 86, 91

Pacic Middle East Force, 202, 205

Pakistan, 176–77, 179, 224, 230, 249, 289, 293

paradigm, 247, 257

ABCA, 240

interoperable, 192, 217

shi, 194, 217

Paulson, G. A., 201

Pennefather, David, 72–73

Persian Gulf, 231–32, 252–53

region, 189, 192

War, 202

Philippines, e, 111, 177

Pile, T. H. W., 202

plebiscite, 3, 150

Poland, 174, 289

Provencher, Jerry, 226

Qatar, 27, 176

rapid reaction force, 46, 48–49, 71–73

operations sta, 72–74

recognized air and surface picture, 57, 61, 

64, 66

recognized maritime picture, 122, 233, 249, 

257, 293, 302

Canada, 126, 208, 213, 215–17, 222, 

224, 243

denition, 190–91 

Red Crown, 36, 57–58, 62, 90, 94, 283

Red Sea, 27, 34–35, 175, 177, 195, 219

refugees, 127, 129, 150, 156

regime change, 103–4, 256, 285

Republika Srpska, 48

Riding, Doug, 111

Robertson, B. D., 137, 140

Robertson, Drew W., 173, 179, 220, 223–24, 

227, 232–33, 235–37, 240, 258–59, 267

Index 323
Romania, 49

Rota (Spain), 58, 93

Royal Australian Air Force, 102, 121, 123, 171

Royal Australian Navy, 215

assets, 102, 119–20, 131, 246

Exercise Crocodile 99, 113, 119, 142, 

155–56, 288

INTERFET, 114, 138, 140

issues, 109, 215

operations, 117, 230, 241, 251, 263, 

285–86

structure, 250

unit assignments, 117, 126, 180, 222, 

225–26

Royal Canadian Navy, 190, 261, 263–65, 

279, 300–1 

assets, 31, 69, 199, 257, 293, 298

Caribbean operations, 197–98

cooperation, 28, 31, 173, 189, 191, 

212–13, 216, 231, 260, 291, 294

evolution, 200

exercises, 280

future, 202

interoperability, 189–92, 204, 212–13, 

216, 244

interservice rivalry, 243

legal implications, 259

lessons learned, 206

operations, 197, 202, 206, 212, 231, 

291–93

renaissance, 194, 199–200

statistics, 244–45, 247

surge, 69

unit assignments, 173

World War II, 192

Royal Fleet Auxiliary, 67–68, 71, 171

Royal Marines, 29, 72–73

protection parties, 61

Royal Navy, 284, 293

air support, 70, 75, 204

assets, 45, 57

connectivity, 244, 282

cooperation, 9, 28–29, 33, 53, 59, 64, 69, 

77, 222, 241, 251, 283

deployments, 52

diplomatic relations, 62

doctrine, 6

exercises, 60, 280

Fleet Air Arm, 70

Mediterranean Sea, 52

national task group 612, 64, 78

operations, 45–51, 61–63, 66, 74, 126, 

279, 289

submarines, 67, 170

TLAMs, 77

training area Portland, 54

unit assignments, 26, 61

World War II, 52

Royal New Zealand Air Force, 121

Royal New Zealand Navy, 10, 108, 119–20, 

286

Royal ai Navy, 138

rules of engagement, 4, 7–8, 182, 263, 

266–67, 280, 282–83, 286, 290–92

Canada, 179, 206, 208–9, 212–13, 227, 

236–37, 242–43, 249, 252, 257–58, 

266–68

coalition, 177–78, 218, 223, 242–43

coordination, 10, 26, 28–29, 39, 88, 118, 

182–83

Great Britain, 171, 182

IFOR, 49

INTERFET, 118, 120, 125

MARCOT 96, 200

national, 302–3

NATO, 58–60, 88, 139

OEF, 182

Operation Stabilise, 140

Sharp Guard, 59, 63, 88–89

United Nations, 51, 53, 296

United States, 12, 89–90, 153, 159

Western European Union, 86

Rumsfeld, Donald, 168–69

Rwanda, 295

sanctions committee, 48

sanctions enforcement, 49, 90, 93, 194–95

Sarajevo, 46–48, 71

Sasebo (Japan), 158, 160

Saudi Arabia, 27, 251, 293

Schwartzkopf, H. Norman, Jr., 33 

sea basing, 134

sea control, 151, 256, 262, 298, 304

Australia, 250–51, 267

Canada, 241, 248, 264–65 

components, 224, 234

denition, 190–91

Gulf of Oman, 232, 240

324 Index
leadership interdiction operation, 218

legal implications, 259

Northern Arabian Gulf, 211–12, 233, 240

Sea Power 21, 134

sector 

A (Alpha), 26, 134

B (Bravo), 26, 134

C (Charlie), 26, 134

control commander, 258

D (Delta), 134

E (Echo), 134

Gulf of Oman, 179, 232

Persian Gulf, 205

Secret Internet Protocol Router Network 

(SIPRNET), 12, 127, 212–15, 234, 236, 

246, 257, 293, 302 

Serbia, 46–51, 64, 67, 71–76, 78, 83–84, 

89–90, 285

Shackleton, David, 138 

Shatt al-Arab, 201, 250, 256

Shelton, Hugh, 109, 297

ship (civilian) 

Al Wasitti, 29–30

MV Bore C, 53

MV Gloria, 62, 75

MV Lido II, 62–63, 94, 285

MV Limberg, 247–48

Rooa, 242

ship (military)

Australia: Royal Australian Navy 

(HMAS)

Adelaide, 29–30, 116–17, 120, 125, 

172, 180–81, 225, 230, 286 

class, 225

Anzac, 116, 120, 123, 125, 172, 180, 

225, 239

Balikpapan, 116, 120 

Brisbane, 30

Brunei, 116, 120, 133 

Darwin, 28, 30, 116, 121–23, 125, 138

Jervis Bay, 109–10, 116, 121, 124

Kanimbla, 172, 179–81, 225–27, 230

Labuan, 116, 120, 133

Success, 116–17, 120, 123, 135

Sydney, 30, 116, 132, 172, 180, 

225–26, 230 

Tobruk, 109, 113, 116, 120, 130–33, 

139, 287

Canada: Royal Canadian Navy (HMCS)

Algonquin, 87, 240, 244

Athabaskan, 30–31, 193–94 

Calgary, 200–1, 205–6, 212, 255, 

291, 298

Charlottetown, 173, 207, 209, 212, 

220, 227

Endeavour, 115, 121, 135

Fraser, 198

Fredericton, 200, 229, 252, 255

Gatineau, 198

Halifax, 173, 179, 219, 222–23, 227, 

229

class, 197, 199, 291

Huron, 194–96, 201

Iroquois, 62, 173, 220 230, 251–54 

class (also Tribal-class, also 

280-class), 193, 199, 269 note 

33

Montreal, 249, 252, 254

Ottawa, 204, 240, 242

Preserver, 136, 173, 198, 220, 227, 

233, 235, 240

Protecteur, 31, 115, 135–36, 193, 

240, 287 

Regina, 202–5, 252–54, 291–92

Restigouche, 196–97, 200

Terra Nova, 30–31, 193

Toronto, 203–4, 229–30, 239

Vancouver, 173, 217–18, 228, 233, 236

Winnipeg, 207–13, 219, 252, 267, 292

France: Navy (FS) 

Charles de Gaulle, 174

Jacques Cartier, 115, 139 

Siroco, 115, 139

Vendémiaire, 115, 117, 121

India: Navy (INS)

Virat, 225

Italy: Navy (ITS)

Garibaldi, 174

Netherlands: Royal Netherlands Navy 

(HMNLS)

Van Heemskerk, 62–63

New Zealand: Royal New Zealand Navy 

(HMNZS)

Canterbury, 108, 115, 120

Endeavour, 115, 121, 135

Te Kaha, 115, 120, 125

Index 325
ailand: Royal ai Navy (HTMS)

Surin, 115, 138

United Kingdom: Royal Fleet Auxiliary 

(RFA)

Argus, 65, 67–68

Bayleaf, 171

Brambleleaf, 171

Diligence, 171

Fort Austin, 71

Fort Rosalie, 171 

Fort Victoria, 171 

Sir Percivale, 171 

Sir Tristram, 171

United Kingdom: Royal Navy (HMS)

Ark Royal, 52, 64–65, 69 

Battleaxe, 29

Chatham, 62–63

Cornwall, 171

Cumberland, 244

Fearless, 171, 230

Glasgow, 115, 119–20, 123, 125

Gloucester, 53, 62

Illustrious, 64, 72, 171, 204

Invincible, 73, 204

class, 64

Kent, 171, 230

Minerva, 52

Nottingham, 61

Southampton, 171

Superb, 170

Trafalgar, 170–71

Triumph, 170–71

United States Naval Ship (USNS)

Kilauea, 115, 156, 158, 288

San Jose, 115, 158

United States Navy (USS)

Abraham Lincoln, 248

battle group, 204, 244, 246

Arleigh Burke class, 36–37, 205, 207, 

246

Bataan, 224

Belleau Wood, 115, 130, 156–59, 

161, 288

class, 156

Benfold, 37, 207

Bighorn, 207

Bunker Hill, 32

Carl Vinson, 176–77

battle group, 168

Carr, 207, 209

Charles F. Adams class, 11

Chosin, 36, 207, 210–11

Cole, 231, 248

Constellation, 208, 248

battle group, 204, 207, 211

Elliot, 226

Enterprise, 168, 289

battle group, 168 

George Washington, 93, 95, 248

battle group, 93, 204

Harry S. Truman, 207

battle group, 207, 209

Jarrett, 230

John C. Stennis, 217, 228

battle group, 173, 217, 228

John F. Kennedy, 244

John Young, 226, 230

Kinkaid, 207, 210–11

Leyte Gulf, 230

Milius, 205

Mitscher, 207, 209

Mobile Bay, 115, 119–22, 125, 

155–56, 158, 160, 286, 288

Newport class, 109

Nicholas, 211

Nimitz class, 207 

Normandy, 73

Oldendorf, 205

Oliver Hazard Perry class, 207, 225

Peleliu, 115, 130, 156, 158, 161, 224, 

288

Philippine Sea, 62, 94

Rainier, 207

Reasoner, 29

San Antonio, 158

Spruance class, 205, 207, 226, 230

Stark, 56

ach, 207, 211

Ticonderoga class, 36, 207

Vincennes, 56

Whidbey Island, 224

ship (type)

ammunition (T-AE), 36, 156, 288

amphibious assault (LHA), 130, 159, 

171, 224

amphibious transport (LPA), 172, 225

326 Index
amphibious transport dock (LPD), 158

auxiliary eet support (T-AFS), 158

cruiser, guided missile (CG)

Ticonderoga class, 36, 207

destroyer (DD)

Type 42, 30, 53

Spruance class, 205, 207, 226, 230

destroyer (DDH), 193, 269 note 33

280 class, 193–94, 197, 199, 220

Iroquois class, 193, 199

Tribal class, 173, 193–94, 220, 264

destroyer, guided missile (DDG), 193

Charles F. Adams class, 11

Arleigh Burke class, 36–37, 205, 207, 

246

destroyer escort (DDE), 193, 196

fast attack cra (FAC), 55, 62, 264

fast combat support ship (AOE), 207

eet replenishment ship (AOR), 120, 

135, 193, 220, 233, 240, 287

frigate (FF)

Halifax class (FFH), 197, 199, 225, 

291

Type 22, 244

Type 23, 171

frigate, Canadian patrol (CPF), 197, 

199–201, 203–4, 218, 228, 235, 242, 

247, 249, 257, 265–66, 291

deployments, 35, 173, 265

frigate, guided missile (FFG)

Adelaide class, 225

landing cra, heavy (LCH), 120, 130 

landing platform helicopter (LPH) 

(RN), 77

landing ship, tank (LST), 109, 120, 139, 

172

missile boat, 84

replenishment ship, 120, 135, 193, 220, 

233, 240, 287

rigid hull inatable boat, 37, 205, 292

submarine, 77, 92–93, 171, 175, 223, 241

tanker, 135, 238–39

ships

boarded, 63, 94, 174, 181, 183, 206, 210, 

237, 284, 290

challenged, 61, 63, 94, 284

diverted, 23, 34–35, 63, 94, 174, 181, 

210, 284, 290

intercepted, 29, 34, 61–62, 210, 244

Sierra Leone, 77

Sigonella (Sicily), 91

Sinclair, Peter, 248

Singapore, 135, 140, 160 

Singaporean Navy, 140

SIPRNET. See Secret Internet Protocol 

Router Network

Slovenia, 46, 52, 83

Smith, Alison, 230

Smith, Geo, 180, 226

Smith, Rupert, 72

Smith, Tim, 226

Somalia, 5, 50, 136, 177, 287, 290, 295–96

Southeast Asia, 102, 106, 111, 121, 151, 290

Southern Arabian Gulf. See under Arabian 

Gulf

Soviet Union, 10

Spain, 26, 60, 170, 174, 195, 245, 281, 285, 289

Spanish Civil War, 299

spare parts issue, 160, 162

Special Forces, 123–24, 132, 174, 248 

Srebrenica (Bosnia-Herzegovina), 46, 69

Stabilization Force, 49

sta college

Joint Services Command, 77

U.S. Marine Corps Command and, 155, 

301

standardized doctrine, 142

Standing Naval Force Atlantic. See NATO 

Standing Naval Force Mediterranean. See

NATO

Stapleton, James R., 101, 112–14, 117–20, 

127, 137, 286, 297

(Strait of) Bab al-Mandeb, 26, 219, 247 

Strait of Hormuz, 26, 172, 179, 209, 219, 

230–33, 240, 243, 247–48, 258, 290, 293

escorts, 179, 222, 241–42, 245, 247, 249, 

252, 254–55

Strait of Tiran, 27

Suai (Timor), 129–30, 133–34

guardship, 134

Submarine Attack Force, 92

Submarines Mediterranean, 92

Sudan, 177, 290

Suez Canal, 170, 207, 209, 219, 222, 289

Suharto, President, 104, 107, 149 

Summers, Kenneth J., 30, 193–94

Supreme Allied Commander Europe, 56

Syahnakri, Kiki, 123

Index 327
Sydney (Australia), 111, 123, 160, 215

tactical control, 30, 90, 117, 137, 192, 224, 

227, 233, 258, 282

tactical information data exchange committee, 281

tactical operational control, 26, 30, 117

Taliban, 13, 168–70, 174–75, 177–78, 

227–28, 230, 247, 267, 289, 293

Tanker War, 192–93

Task Force

TF 50 (Battle Force), 175–77, 181, 182, 

224, 233, 258

TF 53 (Logistics Force), 175, 227, 

234–35

TF 54 (Submarine Force), 175

TF 55 (Middle East Force), 175

TF 56 (Special Tasks), 175

TF 57 (Maritime Patrol Force), 175

TF 58 (Amphibious Force), 175

TF 59 (Coalition Integration Force), 175

TF 60, 66

TF 151, 229, 250–51, 255, 258 

TF 561 (SEAL Force), 175

Task Force, Combined

CTF 440, 56, 85–86, 88, 90, 94

Task Force, Commander

CTF 50, 176, 209, 228, 243–44, 246–47

CTF 53, 227, 234–35

CTF 152 (Maritime Interception Force), 

33, 195

CTF 307, 255

CTF 440, 86

CTF 627, 117

CTF 645, 117 

Task Group, 217, 220, 222, 226

TG 627.1, 172, 225

Task Group, Combined

CTG 440, 56, 60, 85–86, 88, 90, 94 

CTG 440.1, 56, 62, 86, 90, 94

CTG 440.2, 56, 86 

CTG 440.3, 57, 60, 86

Task Group, Commander, 217, 243

CTG 50.4, 224

CTG 50.6, 233

CTG 307.1, 224

CTG 321.1, 34, 195 

CTG 627.1, 117

CTG 627.2, 120

CTG 627.4, 34, 225 

CTG 645.1, 117

Task Group, Commodore

CTG 321.1, 33–34, 195

Task Group Logistic Commander, 136

Taylor, Raynor A. K., 33–34, 195 

ailand, 108, 111, 115

iault, J. J. Pierre, 224, 248

1000-ship navy, 295, 304

Till, Georey, 262 

Tito, Marshal, 46, 52

TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia), 103–5, 

110–11, 121–25, 127–28, 149–50, 161, 305 

Toronto Star, 202

Treloar, R. B., 117

tripartite talks, 104

Tsushima, 279

Turkey, 83, 152, 256

Umm Qaasr, 250–51

United Arab Emirates (UAE), 27–28, 176, 

179, 195, 222

United Kingdom

Carrier Task Group 612, 78

United Nations

Charter, 106

Chapter VII, Article 42, 151

Mission in East Timor (UNAMET), 

105–6

Mission in Haiti, 198

Operations in Somalia (UNOSOM), 5 

Preventive Deployment Force, 296

Protection Force (UNPROFOR), 46, 

49–51, 64, 67–70, 72, 75–76

Bosnia, 72, 83

Implementation Force, 48–49, 74 

Secretary General Ko Annan, 104, 106

Security Council Resolution, 207, 238, 

240, 249, 267

UNSCR 660, 24 

UNSCR 661, 24, 171, 174, 196

UNSCR 665, 24, 171, 174, 196

UNSCR 678, 30, 32

UNSCR 686, 32

UNSCR 713, 48

UNSCR 724, 48

UNSCR 743, 48

UNSCR 757, 48

328 Index
UNSCR 781, 48

UNSCR 787, 48, 52, 78

UNSCR 820, 48, 87, 92

UNSCR 986, 176, 206

UNSCR 1021, 89

UNSCR 1022, 89

UNSCR 1236, 105

UNSCR 1264, 106, 133, 150–51

UNSCR 1272, 133

UNSCR 1368, 167

UNSCR 1483, 256

Special Commission, 203

Transitional Administration East Timor, 

133, 159, 161

United States

Air Force, 154, 171

Central Command, 24–25, 168, 175, 

219, 224

Coast Guard, 197, 226–27

Congress, 89, 168, 285

Marine Corps, 153, 155, 158, 227, 301

Military Communication–Electric 

Board, 214

Military Seali Command, 156, 288

National Security Council, 154

Naval Doctrine Command, 3, 6

Naval Forces

Central Command, 175, 206, 225, 

281

Europe, 87

South, 56–58, 86, 91–92, 285

Navy

operational control, 30–31, 122, 248, 

250, 282

Pacic Command, 33, 119, 126, 154

van der Lugt, Nicolas, 89

Venezuela, 198

Vietnam War, 102, 280, 286, 298

Washington Times, 153

Washington Treaty

Article 5, 167, 169, 173, 289

Welsh, Jennifer, 260

Western Australian Exercise Area, 172

Western European Union, 83–84, 90, 92, 

195–96, 221, 285

combined operations, 49, 52–53, 55–58, 

77–78, 85

Contingency Maritime Force, 52, 54, 57

deciencies, 31

maritime monitoring operation, 78

Operation Sharp Guard, 86–88, 283

response, 48

separate operating area, 26–28

statistics, 63, 75, 94

Westmoreland, William C., 298

Wetar Strait, 121

Williams, K. E., 207–13

Wolf Pen contingency plan, 67 

Yaeger, Tom, 233

Yemen, 176–77, 290

Young, omas-Durell, 28

Yugoslavia

Federal Republic of, 55–56, 58, 60, 

62–63, 66–67, 69, 74, 83, 90, 283

Socialist Federal Republic of (former), 

13, 45–46, 48, 51

Zelibor, omas E., 176

Index 329
You Cannot 

Surge Trust

Combined Naval Operations of the Royal Australian Navy, 

Canadian Navy, Royal Navy, and United States Navy, 1991–2003

After the Cold War, maritime forces shifted much of their focus from 

engagements at sea to events ashore. Naval forces were uniquely positioned to influence regional conflicts and to conduct peace support operations called for by the international community—particularly when 

they cooperated with one another. In this book, naval historians from 

Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United States explore 

how their navies created an effective multinational, or “combined,” 

framework of interoperability while under national rules of engagement. 

The authors address cases including maritime operations during the 

First Gulf War (1990–1991) and later (2001–2003) as part of Operation 

Enduring Freedom; off the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in Operation 

Sharp Guard (1991–1996); and in East Timor during Operation Stabilise 

(1999–2000). This multinational naval force’s success in each crisis depended not just on shared doctrine, training, tactics, and technology, but 

on the trust its sailors built in combined operations over time.

DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY ★ WASHINGTON, DC