The question is no longer whether drones will shape future conflict. The question is whether New Zealand intends to participate in that future – or be left behind, writes former New Zealand Army officer Graeme Doull.

Drones are no longer a theoretical capability – they are reshaping warfare on land, at sea and in the air. No technology in the last half-century has altered modern conflict more radically.

In Ukraine, drones account for up to 80% of battlefield casualties, while in the current US-Israel-Iran conflict thousands of armed drones are being launched by all sides. New Zealand must recognise that the world is becoming more dangerous and that, despite our remoteness, we no longer operate in a benign environment.

The recently announced SYOS drone partnership is encouraging, but this $1.5m commitment pales in comparison with $700 million spent on a pair of civilian airliners and $2 billion for five naval helicopters – investments in imported platforms to replace existing systems, rather than building new capabilities for the modern battlefield.

“For a small force such as the NZDF – limited in scale and operating under persistent fiscal constraint – drones represent a disproportionately important opportunity.”

The scale of this collaboration is simply insufficient compared to the size of the opportunity – it lacks both breadth and volume. It only engages a single drone supplier, and many key segments of the unmanned ecosystem aren’t in scope. 

The deal offers no solution for fixed-wing surveillance (such as Baykar Bayraktar TB2 – although the persistent surveillance tender may address this), no low cost long range strike (like the Shahed 136 or its US clone), no subsurface platforms (like Anduril’s Ghost Shark), and, critically, it does not provide for the relatively unsophisticated low-cost systems capable of being fielded in massive volumes, such as those used on Ukraine’s front line.

Ghost Shark XL-AUV system. Image: Anduril.

Counter drone solutions

An alarming gap in counter-drone capability also remains unaddressed. Drones are increasingly accessible to a wide range of threat groups – from individuals who could conduct a ‘lone wolf’ strike, to terrorist groups capable of causing disproportionate chaos by attacking civilians – or targeted attacks on infrastructure, and ultimately to hostile nation states.

These threats pose a significant risk to New Zealand, where critical infrastructure and major public events currently lack effective counter-drone protection. Basic off-the-shelf drones equipped with explosives could cripple ports, airports, the power grid, or be used for attacks on civilians that would severely damage New Zealand’s reputation as a safe destination.

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During the Second World War, New Zealand was never directly invaded, but it was not untouched. German forces mined the approaches to the Hauraki Gulf and raiders sank ships in New Zealand waters, targeting economic lifelines rather than territory. In a future regional or global conflict, New Zealand would likely face the modern equivalent – attacks designed to disrupt the economy rather than invade.

A long-range one-way attack drone, such as a Shahed-136, striking the Wiri Fuel Terminal could be launched from well beyond New Zealand’s defensive reach – from parts of the South Pacific such as Fiji, New Caledonia, or Tonga – using offshore or covertly deployed platforms. An attack of this kind would cause severe economic disruption, and even with warning, current capabilities would offer no meaningful options for interception.

In addition to defending against domestic threats, the NZDF also requires defensive systems to protect personnel deployed on peacekeeping operations and in high-intensity conventional warfare. The battlefield is changing faster than the NZDF is responding – this is not a future problem – it is a current strategic deficit.

A SpektreWorks FLM 136, a Shahed-136 clone. Image: SpektreWorks.

Defence Science and Technology – A combat multiplier

New technologies demand close cooperation between scientists, industry, and operational units. Defence Science and Technology (DST) should be a powerful combat multiplier for the NZDF – the bridge between innovation and the battlefield.

Testing and trialling alongside military units and industry partners, DST scientists should help iterate techniques, technologies, and tactics in realistic conditions. Fighting both sides of the drone battle. Learning. Breaking things.

Given their importance to modern warfare, drones should dominate DST’s programme of work and demand the attention of military leaders at all levels. For a small force such as the NZDF – limited in scale and operating under persistent fiscal constraint – drones represent a disproportionately important opportunity. 

“To be effective, DST must move from being a research portfolio manager to being a capability accelerator, working with industry, with clearly defined priorities set by defence leaders.”

Yet drones do not appear to be the main effort within DST’s programme of work, with only 9% of spending and no clear direction to prioritise drone-related research ahead of other projects.

The current DST portfolio lacks the hard-edged discipline required for a small military. It reads less like a strategic roadmap and more like a collection of legacy academic interests, drifting far from the realities of the modern battlefield. We are currently burning intellectual capital on projects of marginal strategic value – either attempting to reinvent systems already proven elsewhere or chasing high-end research better suited to superpowers with deep industrial pockets.

A number of existing DST projects seem to be based around procurement or sustainment of platforms. For mature systems we should rely on Australia to lead procurement and resolution of any problems that may occur. This would not only enhance interoperability but also free up DST capacity.

Likewise, there appear to be a number of projects focused on sea conditions, climate, and weather. The government merged GNS and NIWA to reduce duplication – it would make sense for DST climate and weather scientists to also be folded into the newly formed Earth Sciences New Zealand.  This would allow DST to concentrate on science that directly supports warfighting.

To be effective, DST must move from being a research portfolio manager to being a capability accelerator, working with industry, with clearly defined priorities set by defence leaders.

 Defining main effort

In military doctrine, a “main effort” is not simply something important. It is the activity to which disproportionate attention, resources and intellectual energy are directed in order to achieve decisive effect. It requires accepting risk elsewhere. It requires stopping worthy but secondary work.

You cannot have multiple main efforts. If everything is treated as equally important, nothing is prioritised.

Applying a main effort mindset requires discipline. DST needs more money and people working on drones, working within a constrained budget and these resources will need to come from other projects. The hardest decision in any institution is often deciding what to stop doing. If drones are defined as the main effort, leaders must accept that other programmes slow down, shrink, or stop. That is what prioritisation really means – deciding what to sacrifice so higher priorities can thrive.

The opportunities for research into unmanned systems are almost overwhelming. How should the Army deploy massed, low-cost drones in the land domain to create surveillance webs, and use them to drop bombs and conduct kamikaze strikes? Working in the maritime environment how do you extend surveillance and strike – coordinating long-range aerial systems teaming with surface and subsurface unmanned platforms? In the air and strategic domain, how can you improve long-range drone survivability, and what are the high-speed and high-capacity strike options?

For every option, there must also be iteration on how the drone and counter-drone battle will evolve. Working with military units and industry, DST should be examining the first- and second-order effects of that contest, and the implications for both offensive and defensive capabilities.

Developing operational capabilities

The drone revolution is as much about the economics of war as the technical development. It’s about volume and effect – at a low cost.  New Zealand needs to work out what classes of systems offer compelling capabilities in the Pacific theatre and how local industry can mass produce them.  

At this stage, familiarity with drone systems is more important than mastery of a specific platform. Personnel will be able to adapt to new systems as technology evolves, but the tactics and techniques will take longer to embed. 

Capability development must be driven by a focus on getting tools into the hands of soldiers, sailors and aviators. It is not about achieving a perfect solution. It is about rapidly fielding the ‘good enough’ solutions that are affordable enough to allow adoption at scale both for drone and counter-drone solutions.

Adoption is everything. If systems aren’t being widely and actively used by service personnel, there is no real capability development – you are just dabbling with drones. Nowhere is this more urgent than in counter-drone warfare. In order to develop meaningful drone literacy, learning to fight these systems is critical.

Waiting for a perfect future platform is not prudent – it is arrogant and misguided, and it robs personnel of the time they need to build the skills that will actually matter.

New Zealand cannot compete with volumes of conventional forces. Our limited industrial base means we cannot expect to develop or manufacture armoured vehicles, ships or aircraft at meaningful mass. Our advantage must come from agility, leadership and the speed with which we translate innovation into operational capability.

The future of New Zealand’s defence forces

Drone and counter-drone systems represent the single greatest opportunity – and threat – facing the NZDF. Without a heavy industrial base, they are an ideal sector in which to develop sovereign capability, requiring creativity, high-technology engineering, and cost discipline – areas in which Kiwis traditionally excel.

For New Zealand, sovereign capability is not just an economic opportunity – it is a matter of logistical security. In a disrupted or contested environment, reliance on offshore supply chains may not be viable.

The question is no longer whether drones will shape future conflict. The question is whether New Zealand intends to participate in that future – or be left behind. If the NZDF enters a future conflict without credible drone and counter-drone capability, it will not be because the technology was unavailable – it will be because leaders failed to act. Senior officers, NZDF leaders, and Ministry officials must choose to increase the focus on drones. Failure to do so would not be a technical oversight, but a failure of leadership and strategic-orientated thinking.

If New Zealand is serious about building a modern warfighting capability using the newly committed $12 billion in defence spending, drones must take a significant share. The NZDF must drive domestic investment, not just issue RFIs to survey the market. Defence needs to act – leading procurement innovation rather than passively testing industry. Investment only works when made ahead of need; once a crisis hits, it is too late to start developing new capability.

For the NZDF to remain relevant in modern conflict, the priority is unmistakable: drones must be the main effort in technology and capability development.