In a development that has sent shockwaves through the military-industrial complex and the gin-soaked corners of my liver, the British Army is currently investigating the potential acquisition of American sea drones. This bombshell comes hot on the heels of a remarkable rescue operation in which one of these unmanned aquatic dachshunds apparently plucked a downed helicopter crew from the briny deep, as if it were a robotic retriever fetching a particularly expensive stick.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, because I’ve been reading your minds and they’re full of sensible objections. Why, you ask, are we outsourcing our naval derring-do to the Yanks? Haven’t we got our own proud tradition of amphibious incompetence? Well, gentle reader, it appears that after decades of building ships that cost more than a small country and sink on their way to the launch party, the Ministry of Defence has decided that the future of maritime warfare might just involve something that doesn’t require a crew of 200 and a lifetime supply of Weetabix.
Let us examine the facts, or what passes for facts in this fevered age of alternative truths and suspiciously damp squibs. The US Navy, in a fit of practical innovation that no British admiral could have countenanced without a stiff sherry, has been deploying these autonomous surface vessels in the Gulf. And lo, one such vessel, a robot boat with the personality of a toaster and the bathos of a drowning man, actually saved lives. Helicopter crew, down in the water, flailing about like landed fish, and along comes a drone that beeps, whirs, and plucks them to safety. Cue the patriotic music, the backslapping, and the inevitable parliamentary inquiry into why we don’t have one.
But will the British Army’s investigation yield anything other than a mountain of paperwork and a new shade of bureaucratic beige? History, my dear optimists, suggests not. I can already see the evaluation committee, comprised of three brigadiers and a man who once saw a speedboat on the telly, meeting in a bunker somewhere in Wiltshire. They will deliberate. They will hold feasibility studies. They will commission a report that costs seven million pounds and concludes that, actually, a flotilla of rubber ducks with GoPros might be more cost-effective. And by then, the US will have drones that can make tea and write scathing satire, and we’ll still be arguing about the colour of the lifejackets.
But let us not be entirely cynical. There is a certain poetry in the image of a robot boat doing the job our so-called Navy couldn’t be arsed to do. Perhaps this is the future: a fleet of unmanned vessels, powered by renewable energy and a profound sense of indifference, patrolling our shores while the admirals sip port in their clubs and complain about the decline of standards. I, for one, welcome our new robotic maritime overlords. They might actually be able to find their way to the Falklands without needing a GPS and a miracle.
In the meantime, I shall raise a glass of the cheapest airport gin to the brave men and women (and drones) who risk their circuits to save lives. May your propellers stay untangled and your programming forever logical. And may the British Army’s investigation be swift, decisive, and utterly ignored by everyone except the contractors who will inevitably get rich off it. Cheers.
As you were, reader. As you were.
