In Washington, Field Marshal Asim Munir increasingly looks like the man who can make Pakistan useful to the United States. Pakistan has just written Munir even more deeply into the architecture of the state as he now sits atop a legally centralized command that reaches conventional forces, strategic systems, and the prime minister’s national-security advice. Munir, now formally serving as Chief of Defense Forces, speaks directly with President Donald Trump and has become Washington’s principal channel for engaging Tehran.

The latest restructuring of Pakistan’s military command has actually made the opposite case. The 27th Constitutional Amendment, followed by legislation passed this month to implement the new command architecture, has concentrated unprecedented authority in Munir’s hands. Yet his military cannot stabilize Pakistan-administered Kashmir, cannot contain the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and Baloch insurgents, and has still signed a mutual-defense pact with Turkey and Saudi Arabia—dubbed the Mecca Accord—that could drag it into distant crises. For the world, treating Pakistan as a reliable intermediary in negotiations with Iran would be a mistake of timing and of judgment as the state becomes more militarized domestically, more ambitious diplomatically, and increasingly overstretched militarily.

A Field Marshal Above the State

In November 2025, the 27th Constitutional Amendment abolished the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee and created the office of Chief of Defense Forces (CDF), held concurrently by the army chief. The restructuring was completed with another step this month when Pakistan’s parliament passed the Defense Forces Act 2026 and amendments to the National Command Authority Act, providing the statutory framework for Munir's new position and headquarters. The new architecture gives the CDF a central role in operational command and joint military coordination across the armed forces.

The new law places the army, navy, and air force under a unified Defense Forces Headquarters commanded by Munir. He is designated the prime minister’s principal military adviser on national security and defense and exercises operational command and control across the services with sweeping personnel authority—hiring, firing, retirement, and extensions. Amendments to the National Command Authority law align nuclear and strategic command with the same hierarchy, with a new four-star Commander of the National Strategic Command sitting alongside the CDF. The significance goes beyond military administration, as Munir now occupies a position from which military command, strategic security policy and foreign-policy influence converge. He is not constitutionally Pakistan's president or prime minister, but describing him merely as a military officer increasingly misses the political reality. Such radical consolidation of power in Pakistan’s civil-military landscape matters for Washington because the United States is increasingly treating Munir personally as a diplomatic asset. Therefore, Washington must factor in that any “Pakistani” channel on Iran now runs, in practice, through a single command that answers first to its own institutional interests.

Consolidation Without Control

The strongest argument against treating Munir's Pakistan as a reliable strategic partner can actually be found inside Pakistan itself. The military has acquired unprecedented institutional power, yet the state remains under enormous security pressure. Pakistan Institute for Conflict and Security Studies data show that July 2026 was the deadliest month of the year, with 606 people killed in militant violence and counter-militancy operations, including 112 security personnel and 401 militants. The violence is concentrated precisely in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK) and Balochistan, where Pakistan's military has struggled for years. Such a security landscape is a sustained counterinsurgency burden for a military that is simultaneously presenting itself as a regional security provider.

The latest round of violence in Pakistan-Administered Kashmir has added another layer of security burden for an overly stretched military. In the surrounding areas of Rawalkot, Pakistan-administered Kashmir, protests led by the Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC) escalated after authorities outlawed the movement under anti-terrorism laws, suspended mobile data and internet services, and deployed security forces ahead of a JAAC-organized June 9 strike. According to a local human rights watchdog report dated August 8, at least 89 civilians died in Pakistan-administered Kashmir as a direct result of the state’s brutal crackdown on unarmed protesters.

Locals demanded cheaper power from dams that generate electricity for Pakistan, representation that is not diluted by non-resident seats, and an end to elite privileges. The state’s answer was lethal force, sedition cases, travel advisories, and the criminalization of a civic coalition that had previously extracted limited subsidies through protest. That is the Balochistan playbook applied to a territory Pakistan still markets internationally as “Azad” or free. It did not produce consent but a banned movement, underground leaders, and a legitimacy crisis inside a territory the army treats as strategic hinterland. If Munir’s new command structure was meant to deliver coherence, Kashmir shows the opposite, where a security establishment that can rewrite the constitution faster than it can address bread-and-butter revolt. An army that cannot manage a rights protest in Muzaffarabad and Rawalakot without mass casualties is not an army that can be trusted to midwife a delicate regional settlement with Iran or be a reliable partner for the so-called Mecca Accord.

Pakistan’s Utility Should Not Be Mistaken for Reliability

US talks with Iran already sit on a knife-edge of “Economic D-Day” politics, Hormuz control, and factional vetoes inside Tehran. None of this means the United States should abandon Pakistan as that would be strategically simplistic. Pakistan remains nuclear-armed, sits between Iran, Afghanistan, India and China, and retains diplomatic access across the Muslim world. Its ability to communicate with Tehran can be useful, particularly when direct US-Iranian channels are blocked. Three factors that Washington should use to distinguish between utility and reliability while dealing with Munir’s Pakistan:

First, Munir’s legal supremacy does not equal policy reliability. A CDF who is also army chief, principal adviser, and strategic-command fulcrum will filter any Iran file through the army’s need to look indispensable at home—that incentive points toward swagger, not quiet brokerage.

Second, Washington cannot treat Islamabad’s internal security failure as a side issue. An institution that answers civic protest in Kashmir with live fire and a terrorist ban is the same institution that would be asked to counsel restraint, verification, and de-escalation with Iran. The record says it prefers coercion when legitimacy frays.

Third, Munir’s capacity is already committed to a plethora of insurgencies. TTP and Baloch campaigns consume attention, ammunition, and men. A Mecca clause adds hypothetical external obligations without adding spare combat power. A partner that is simultaneously over-centralized and overstretched cannot deliver the one thing Washington would need from it: consistent, low-drama influence on a file that can restart a wider war.

If the United States wants Pakistan to help mediate with Iran, it should judge Islamabad by the outcomes of that diplomacy, not by the personal access Munir enjoys in Washington. And if Washington wants Pakistan as a security partner, it should look beyond the impressive authority of its field marshal to the increasingly unstable state that authority is supposed to govern. A stronger Pakistani army does not automatically produce a stronger Pakistan. And a stronger Munir does not automatically produce a more reliable American partner.

The Cipher Brief is committed to publishing a range of perspectives on national security issues submitted by deeply experienced national security professionals. Opinions expressed are those of the author and do not represent the views or opinions of The Cipher Brief.

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Last week, I argued in these pages that the United States is buying an army it cannot command — writing procurement checks at a scale its adversaries cannot match, without writing the doctrine or arbitration to decide how the capability behind those checks gets used. Not everyone agreed. The sharpest pushback came from readers with institutional equity in the current procurement path — those with the most to lose if the diagnosis is right. Fair question they kept asking: what is at stake if we get this wrong?

The answer arrived this week, and it is not what most observers are watching.

Beijing is pursuing a two-pronged strategy against the American artificial-intelligence industry, and neither prong depends on beating American laboratories on model capability. The first prong attacks the market instrument that finances the industry: paid enterprise access to closed frontier models at premium margins. The weapon is state-backed open-source saturation of the global developer market. When Chinese laboratories release high-performing models at zero marginal cost, the price American laboratories can charge collapses — and with it, the revenue that funds tens of billions in specialized compute committed to their pipelines.

The second prong is architectural. American frontier laboratories run closed models in centralized data centers connected to their customers via fiber. The Pentagon has awarded contracts for missions that cannot use that architecture — drone swarms, autonomous undersea platforms, cognitive attack detection, and tactical multi-sensor fusion. Consider a drone swarm over the Taiwan Strait that must identify and engage a hostile target in seconds. It cannot query a compute cluster in Virginia and get an answer in time. The bandwidth needed in a denied, degraded, intermittent, or limited spectrum environment is unavailable. Chinese research has shifted toward Large Concept Models — smaller, edge-resident, multi-sensor — that run on the platform and fuse light-detection-and-ranging, radiofrequency, electro-optical and infrared, and acoustic inputs at the edge, without a network dependency an adversary can touch.

This is not a theoretical architecture. Ukraine is running it now. Ukrainian drone units operate with organic, edge-resident targeting within seconds of adversary contact, without a reliable network back to headquarters. Ukrainian schools graduate thousands of drone specialists each year. The country teaching NATO the most about the next fight is doing so in the register the American AI stack cannot yet operate in. The contracts are being placed. The integration doctrine has not yet been written.

Beijing has run this playbook before. Western economies depend on China for rare-earth and critical-minerals processing — the industry that supplies permanent magnets, batteries, and defense electronics. Every F-35 electric-actuation system, every Virginia-class submarine drivetrain, and every Patriot interceptor guidance package relies on rare-earth processing capacity the United States cannot reconstitute within a decade. That capacity was lost not because the deposits lie under Chinese soil but because Beijing sustained state-subsidized processing for twenty years at prices that broke the private-sector cost of capital in every alternative jurisdiction. Open-source artificial intelligence is the same instrument, aimed at a different substrate.

What is at stake?

First, America's most consequential capital-expenditure cycle. Roughly $400 billion a year in AI infrastructure is financed against a revenue model an opposing state has organized its economy to defeat. If that model breaks on Beijing's timeline, the compute pipelines carrying a meaningful share of American growth do not close.

Second, Pentagon operational readiness. Contracts placed today for missions the Pentagon needs to field in three to five years cannot be executed by an AI stack designed for centralized data centers. Platforms that cannot operate in a multidomain and joint-force environment at wartime tempo are not a deterrent. They are procurement projects.

Third, alliance credibility. Sovereign AI programs in Korea, Japan, and the Gulf price today against the American premium-margin model. If it breaks, those programs re-price against Chinese open-weight tooling, and the alliance's technological dependency structure shifts.

Fourth, deterrence. The Taiwan Strait scenario is not theoretical. The platforms that would decide it are being contracted for now, on an architecture that cannot execute the mission at wartime tempo.

What needs to happen requires an integration authority the American sovereign apparatus does not yet exercise. Two responses.

A state-capacity capital response to the first prong. Some form of federal instrument that bridges the compute-to-market pipeline so a Chinese-organized collapse in AI pricing does not take the compute build-out with it. Export-import financing, defense production authorities, and strategic stockpiles are the precedent. No current U.S. government office owns this problem.

A Pentagon-led investment in a distributed inference substrate — the shape of what the Joint Fires Network concept was originally designed to be. Edge-native, platform-resident, multi-sensor, doctrinally integrated. This is procurement of an integration architecture as much as procurement of a technology. The Pentagon has placed the contracts for the platforms. It has not placed the contract for the integration.

Last week I wrote that America is buying an army it cannot command. The diagnosis has evolved: America is also buying an artificial intelligence it cannot deploy. Ukraine is teaching the doctrine the American AI stack has not been designed to run. Beijing is engineering the collapse of the revenue model that stack is financed against.

Coordination assigns. Integration arbitrates. What is at stake is whether the American sovereign apparatus can find the integrator — for the capital response and the operational doctrine — before the platforms the Pentagon is buying arrive without an architecture capable of commanding them.

The Cipher Brief is committed to publishing a range of perspectives on national security issues submitted by deeply experienced national security professionals. Opinions expressed are those of the author and do not represent the views or opinions of The Cipher Brief.

Have a perspective to share based on your experience in the national security field? Send it to Editor@thecipherbrief.com for publication consideration.

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The most important lesson emerging from the Iran conflict may not actually be about Iran. It is about the changing economics of warfare and what happens when autonomy, artificial intelligence, commercial technology and inexpensive mass begin eroding advantages once reserved almost exclusively for major powers.

In many ways, modern warfare is increasingly becoming a story of David versus Goliath. The difference is that today’s David is armed with drones, software, commercial sensors, open-source intelligence and rapidly adaptable technology. Goliath still has overwhelming advantages in scale, firepower and resources, but the sling has become far more sophisticated — and far cheaper.

For most of the modern era, advanced military power belonged overwhelmingly to countries capable of spending billions of dollars on sophisticated aircraft, warships, missiles, sensors and command-and-control infrastructure. That advantage is not disappearing. Aircraft carriers, submarines, advanced fighters, bombers and integrated missile defenses remain essential instruments of national power. But the economics beneath them are changing as autonomy, AI, inexpensive sensors, commercial communications, advanced manufacturing and widely available components lower the cost of creating meaningful military effects.

Ukraine provided the first large-scale demonstration of this shift. A materially weaker “David” used drones, software, commercial technology, open-source intelligence and rapid battlefield innovation to impose extraordinary costs on a much larger Russian “Goliath.” Ukraine did not eliminate Russia’s advantages in manpower, missiles, aircraft or industrial capacity. It showed that technology could narrow the gap without matching a stronger adversary platform for platform.

Iran is now demonstrating another version of the same problem. Tehran cannot compete with the United States carrier for carrier, fighter for fighter or missile-defense battery for missile-defense battery, but it does not need to. Iran has spent decades investing in missiles, drones, proxies, cyber capabilities, maritime harassment, information warfare and strategic geography precisely because those tools allow a materially weaker power to impose disproportionate costs on a stronger one.

That is the economic logic of asymmetric warfare. An inexpensive autonomous aircraft does not need to outperform an F-35, and a small unmanned surface vessel does not need to defeat a destroyer in a traditional naval engagement. It only needs to create enough risk that the defender is forced to respond. When one side can repeatedly spend thousands or tens of thousands of dollars and compel the other to spend hundreds of thousands or millions, the exchange ratio eventually becomes strategically significant.

The United States cannot build a sustainable long-term strategy around answering every inexpensive drone with a multimillion-dollar interceptor or every maritime threat with another billion-dollar warship. That does not mean exquisite platforms are obsolete. It means using exquisite platforms to solve every problem eventually becomes economically unsustainable.

The more useful debate is not whether a drone can replace a fighter or whether an autonomous vessel can replace a destroyer. They cannot. The better question is how many missions currently concentrated aboard expensive crewed platforms can migrate toward cheaper autonomous systems: surveillance, reconnaissance, communications relay, target detection, electronic sensing, mine detection, logistics, persistent maritime presence, decoys and distributed weapons carriage.

Technology disruption rarely begins by replacing an incumbent system outright. It begins by stripping away individual functions. Instead of asking whether one autonomous vessel can replace a destroyer, military planners should be asking what happens when dozens of autonomous vessels operate around that destroyer, extending its sensing range, complicating enemy targeting, absorbing risk, providing persistent presence and allowing the crewed combatant to operate farther from danger. The destroyer remains essential, but its role changes.

Artificial intelligence accelerates this transition because it changes the manpower economics of military mass. Traditional military power is extraordinarily manpower intensive. Every additional aircraft, ship or vehicle generally requires crews, training, maintenance and support personnel. Software scales differently. As autonomous systems become more capable of navigating, sensing, classifying targets and coordinating with one another, fewer operators may eventually supervise far larger numbers of assets.

The strategic value is therefore not simply removing a sailor or pilot from danger. It is changing the relationship between manpower, mass and military capability. Ukraine has also shown how quickly this cycle can evolve: operators identify a battlefield problem, engineers modify hardware or software, the adversary develops a countermeasure, and the system changes again. That cycle can occur in weeks while traditional acquisition processes often operate in years. The widening gap between those timelines is becoming a national-security vulnerability.

Iran also demonstrates why the economics of modern warfare extend far beyond the price of a missile or drone. Consider the Strait of Hormuz. Iran does not need to defeat the U.S. Navy in a traditional fleet engagement to create a strategic crisis. It needs only to generate enough uncertainty around one of the world’s most important maritime chokepoints to affect shipping behavior, insurance premiums, energy markets, naval deployments and political calculations thousands of miles from the battlefield.

A drone does not necessarily need to sink a tanker to be successful. If it forces commercial vessels to reroute, raises insurance premiums, pushes energy prices higher, requires additional naval escorts and generates political pressure in Washington or allied capitals, it may have produced a strategic return far beyond its acquisition cost. The Strait of Hormuz is therefore not merely geography; it is economic leverage.

The same logic applies to the Bab el-Mandeb, the Red Sea and other maritime chokepoints. Protecting those spaces exclusively with crewed ships and aircraft is extraordinarily expensive. Autonomous maritime systems offer another model by providing persistent surveillance, distributed sensing, electronic warfare, communications relay, logistics and eventually additional defensive or offensive capacity without the manpower burden of conventional warships.

The future fleet will almost certainly be hybrid. Submarines, destroyers, carriers and advanced aircraft will remain critical, but they will increasingly operate inside larger networks of autonomous systems. The same principle applies to the defense industrial base. The United States is not going to replace traditional primes with startups, nor should it. The engineering, manufacturing and systems-integration capabilities required to build submarines, bombers and complex weapons remain indispensable.

But the traditional model cannot remain the only model. Modern warfare increasingly rewards an ecosystem that combines established defense companies with emerging technology firms, commercial manufacturers, software companies, universities, private capital and government laboratories. The industrial challenge is no longer simply building the most sophisticated weapon. It is building sophisticated weapons while also producing enough affordable systems to create mass, replace losses and adapt faster than the adversary.

Quantity is not a substitute for quality, but quality alone is not enough if an adversary can manufacture threats faster and more cheaply than the defender can respond to them. A weapons system that performs extraordinarily well but cannot be produced in sufficient quantities or replaced during a prolonged conflict carries its own strategic vulnerability.

There is another cost curve collapsing alongside hardware: information. Artificial intelligence and social media are dramatically reducing the cost of conducting information and cognitive warfare. An inexpensive drone can force an expensive military response, while an AI-generated video, manipulated image or coordinated social-media campaign can create political effects at almost no marginal distribution cost.

Iran, Russia and China understand that these domains reinforce one another. A tanker is attacked, insurance rates rise, energy markets react, images spread across social media, and AI-enabled narratives amplify fear or confusion. Physical warfare, economic warfare and cognitive warfare increasingly operate as parts of the same system. A missile can therefore be intercepted and still produce strategic effect if it forces millions of dollars in defensive spending, disrupts commerce, dominates media coverage and creates the perception that an adversary controls the pace of escalation.

That is why modern warfare can no longer be measured exclusively through targets destroyed or territory captured. Costs can be military, but they can also be economic, political and psychological. The United States still possesses extraordinary technological and military advantages; the greater danger is economic rigidity.

America and its allies cannot allow adversaries to consistently dictate exchange ratios in which cheap systems consume expensive defenses, small attacks produce major commercial disruptions and rapidly evolving technologies are answered by procurement processes that take years. The answer is not abandoning exquisite weapons, but building a broader force architecture around them: autonomous mass, distributed sensors, AI-enabled command and control, resilient manufacturing, commercial intelligence, lower-cost interceptors, modular payloads and systems capable of evolving at something closer to software speed.

Cold War 2.0 will therefore not be determined solely by which country builds the best fighter, submarine, missile or autonomous system. It will also be determined by which side can manufacture capability faster, distribute it more broadly, replace it more cheaply, adapt it more quickly and impose greater costs on an adversary than it absorbs itself.

Ukraine demonstrated how a modern-day David can use technology to challenge a much larger conventional Goliath. Iran is showing how a materially weaker state can use technology, geography and irregular warfare to impose disproportionate costs on a superpower. China is watching both.

The competition underway is increasingly a competition between military-economic systems. Goliath still matters, but the battlefield is changing in ways that increasingly empower David. The side that prevails may not be the one that builds the most exquisite individual weapon, but the one that can keep adapting, producing and fighting after the other discovers that it cannot.

This keeps the David-versus-Goliath analogy as a recurring frame rather than a gimmick—once near the opening, concretely through Ukraine, and again in the conclusion.

The Cipher Brief is committed to publishing a range of perspectives on national security issues submitted by deeply experienced national security professionals. Opinions expressed are those of the author and do not represent the views or opinions of The Cipher Brief.

Have a perspective to share based on your experience in the national security field? Send it to Editor@thecipherbrief.com for publication consideration.

Read more expert-driven national security insights, perspective and analysis in The Cipher Brief