This is not GWOT: in a war over Taiwan, trigger-pullers may finish the fight, but button-pushers will decide it

Recent headlines leave little doubt: the Department of Defense is now squarely focused on China, with deterring or defeating a potential invasion of Taiwan as its top operational priority. The Pentagon's strategy is likely grounded in denial—aiming to prevent the PLA from achieving its objectives in the first place, rather than simply responding after the fact. Reflecting this shift, the U.S. Army is undergoing a major transformation, moving away from some traditional maneuver formations and toward long-range fires, autonomous systems, and electronic warfare. This is not theoretical. It is a visible realignment toward the kind of fight it is most likely to face.

A war over Taiwan, if it comes, will not resemble the last one the United States fought. It will not be won by the kinds of small-unit, ground-centric operations that defined the Global War on Terror. It will be decided—perhaps before the first shot is fired—by which side can sense more, strike faster, and impose greater disruption. More specifically, it will be decided in the air, at sea, in space, and across the electromagnetic spectrum. "Trigger-pullers" of either side may ultimately finish the war on the ground, but its outcome will have been largely decided—and in some cases predetermined—by "button-pushers" who control information, aircraft, ships, submarines, drones, and precision fires.

That reality stands in contrast to some arguments and mindsets—such as one recently published in the U.S. Naval Institute's Proceedings that suggested special operators should take on leadership roles across the Navy, including as Commanding Officers of ships and submarines. To be clear, special operators' tactical competence and motivation is not in question. But in a high-end fight over Taiwan, elite ground units will not be the decisive factor. The notion that such a war will be won by such forces misunderstands the likely nature of the conflict. Victory will depend on the integrity of kill chains, the survivability of ISR assets, and an ability to deny the PLA the ability to communicate, maneuver, and reinforce.

This challenges in some ways the image many still hold of what a "warfighter" looks like. Two decades of GWOT reinforced the picture of a soldier (or sailor) in camouflage with a rifle and night vision, operating in villages or mountains. In fact, for years now even U.S. Navy uniforms have come to reflect that idea. But in a Taiwan scenario, the key variables will be control of the air and sea by air and naval units, supported by long range strike, resilient ISR, reliable satellite access, and spectrum control. Ground troops will still fight with courage, skill—and if necessary, sacrifice. Yet if China achieves air and maritime dominance, its landing force will be able to reinforce at will from China's near-inexhaustible number of ground troops—and Taiwan’s ground forces, no matter how motivated, will eventually be overrun. Conversely, if the PLA loses control of the air and sea, its invasion force will be stranded, exposed, and defeated. Likewise, no matter how well-trained, well-equipped, or numerous U.S. ground forces might be, if China secures air and naval superiority in the early phases of the conflict, those forces will never reach the battlefield: reinforcement and resupply at scale across the Pacific will be impossible in a contested or denied maritime environment. Strategic access hinges on winning the air and sea fight first. Again, the outcome will have been decided at sea and in the air.

We have seen this pattern before. In the early months of World War II, U.S. and Filipino forces in the Philippines fought with determination and courage. But despite their best efforts, they were ultimately forced to surrender—not for lack of grit or leadership, but because sea and air control around the Philippines had been lost to Japan. Cut off from reinforcement and resupply, these troops were eventually subjected to the Bataan Death March, one of the war’s most infamous atrocities. Their defeat was not the result of tactical failure at the unit level, but of larger operational conditions set by loss of control of the surrounding maritime and air domains. It would take the United States years of sustained naval and air campaigning to fight its way back across the Pacific and reverse the strategic tide.

Prisoners of war on the Bataan Death March. (U.S. Air Force photo)

Similarly, on Guadalcanal the fight on land was intense and costly, but it was control of the surrounding sea and air that determined the result. In fact, more American sailors died in the waters around Guadalcanal than Marines and soldiers died on the island. The same war offers a reminder that the most dangerous roles were often off the traditional battlefield. RAF Bomber Command suffered a 44% fatality rate. U.S. submariners lost 22% of their force—one of the highest fatality rates in the U.S. military during World War II and more than ten times the average for the rest of the Navy. If war comes to Taiwan, the most critical and at-risk roles may not wear body armor or carry rifles, but instead fly aircraft and crew ships, manage satellites, operate kill chains, or maintain resilient communications.

The crew of USS Snook (SS-279), lost with all hands in March 1945

The PLA understands this dynamic. In 2024, it announced a sweeping reorganization that created three new co-equal forces: the Aerospace Force, the Cyberspace Force, and the Information Support Force. Each is responsible for a distinct but interrelated domain—space operations, cyber warfare, and information integration and support. This restructuring reinforces the PLA's commitment to dominating the key enabling dimensions of modern warfare. Their doctrine of systems destruction warfare aims to blind, jam, and paralyze U.S. forces before the first kinetic exchange. They assume that by severing our networks, they can win before a coherent response can be mounted. For the United States, deterrence must therefore rest not only on the promise of retaliation, but on credible denial. The United States must demonstrate that even a well-planned first strike will not ensure Chinese success. This requires hardened, distributed networks, prepositioned capabilities, and personnel trained to operate through disruption.

Some might argue that this vision places too much emphasis on technology and not enough on human grit—that wars are ultimately won by leadership, resolve, and courage. Others might worry that an overreliance on ISR and networks sets us up for failure if those systems are degraded or destroyed. And still others may contend that we are underestimating the importance of elite ground forces who can clear, hold, and secure terrain.

These are valid concerns. But history and doctrine point to a different conclusion. At Guadalcanal, grit and valor were abundant—but it was sea control that ended Japanese hopes of victory. Their army was not defeated in battle; it was cut off. And while resilience is essential, that is precisely why the United States must build and train systems and operators to function under duress. The kinds of missions we too often overlook—electronic warfare, cyber operations, space domain awareness—are not supporting acts. They are center stage. If preparations assume the fight will be decided by ground maneuvers alone, there is a risk of being fatally unprepared.

A war over Taiwan may be finished with rifles, but it will be decided by those who control the spectrum, the network, the air, and the sea lanes. The sooner strategic thinking, resources, and the idea of what a warfighter is are aligned with that reality, the better our chances of deterring war altogether. If this alignment is not achieved, the United States may find itself facing the war it hoped to avoid, with the wrong tools, at the wrong time.

Note: this piece was written with the assistance of artificial intelligence