In what can only be described as a Tuesday, Kuwait has become the latest unwilling guest at the global barbecue of geopolitical chaos. Reports filtering through the sand-blown ether suggest that drone attacks have struck American radar installations, sending the local British contingent into what the MoD euphemistically calls 'a heightened state of readiness'. I imagine that means the NAAFI queue has doubled and someone's had to put the kettle on twice.
Let us, for a moment, consider the drone. A marvel of modern warfare: a machine that allows a man in a windowless room in Nevada to ruin someone's afternoon in the Gulf without ever having to smell the burning rubber of a real explosion. It is the ultimate passive-aggressive weapon, the unmanned aerial vehicle that says 'I could shake your hand, but I'd rather press a button 7,000 miles away'. And now, these mechanical locusts have turned on their masters, buzzing American radar sites like particularly aggressive wasps at a picnic hosted by a jam factory.
Kuwait, a country whose national identity seems to be a perpetual state of being 'grateful for liberation', now finds itself on the receiving end of a drone strike that nobody claims, nobody denies, and everybody will litigate at the Hague in approximately twelve years. The United States, predictably, has responded by 'monitoring the situation closely', a phrase that in diplomatic terms means 'we have no idea what is happening and are hoping it goes away before the next election cycle'.
But what of our British forces, those stiff-upper-lipped guardians of global stability? According to a Defence Ministry source who spoke on condition of a gin and tonic, 'We are aware of the situation and are taking all necessary precautions. Tea is being brewed at two-minute intervals.' This is the sort of robust response that has made the British Army the envy of the world. While American generals consult satellite imagery and drone feed, our chaps are consulting a 1973 manual on how to make a proper brew in a sandstorm.
Let us examine the strategic implications. The radar sites in question are part of a network designed to detect incoming missiles. Their destruction suggests either a highly coordinated attack by a technologically sophisticated enemy, or a delivery mix-up involving a crate of fireworks and a misguided pigeon. The latter, in my experience, is far more likely given the track record of the region.
Meanwhile, the internet has exploded with theories ranging from Iranian vengeance to a rehearsal by the Ghosts of 9/11. The truth, as always, is probably more banal: a bored teenager in Basra has hacked into a delivery drone and is using it to wreak havoc on the only target that consistently appears on Google Maps. The Pentagon has not ruled this out, stating simply that 'all options remain on the table, including asking nicely'.
For the British Tommies on the ground, this means yet another sleepless night of waiting for something to happen. They will grip their rifles, stare into the darkness, and wonder if the sound they hear is a drone or a particularly large bat. They will be told to be vigilant, which is military speak for 'we have no new information but feel obliged to say something'. And they will carry on, because that is what we do, the plucky little island nation that specialises in muddling through while the empire crumbles.
I propose a toast, then, to the drones. May they run out of battery soon. And to the British forces, may their rations include a decent single malt. The world may be a mess, but at least our buttons are polished.
