The country Call of Duty made

“The British are behind this.”

Tune into any Russian or Iranian news channel, and it won’t be long before you hear this. Ask an expert why, and the answer is usually historical - something about Britain’s past legacy - or maybe something cultural: in other words, James Bond. But I favour a different explanation: the video game series Call of Duty.

It’s difficult to overstate the success of this video game franchise. With over 500 million copies sold and around 25 billion hours of playtime, it’s one of the most popular entertainment products ever. It’s probably no exaggeration to say that over a billion people have experienced the game in some form.

Made by Americans, mainly for an American market, yet - inexplicably - obsessed with Brits.

The first Modern Warfare game debuted in 2007: the fourth in a series which until then had been set in World War II. When the makers of the game, Infinity Ward, decided to pivot, they faced a challenge: desert settings were visually dull, and accurately mirroring the asymmetric conflicts of 2007 made for one-sided, uninspiring gameplay.

They needed to invent something new:

“We spent hours brainstorming with military advisors, trying to come up with a credible scenario that would involve a large-scale war, and then weeks interviewing writers to find someone who could help us craft a narrative.”

The result? A blockbuster game that begins on a military base in Hereford.

A conflict in the Caucasus quickly spills over into the rest of Europe, while the Middle East becomes ensnared in a spiral of instability. The result is a war between major powers that somehow avoids going nuclear.

After a brief training mission, the SAS are whisked onto a helicopter to raid a cargo ship. Ostensibly civilian, the vessel is actually being used by Russians for decidedly nefarious purposes.

The team is unmistakably British. John "Soap" MacTavish, whose Glaswegian accent leaves no room for doubt about his origins. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, who I’d place somewhere around South London. Both are led by a modern-day blend of Nelson and Wellington: Captain Price.

Price is the sword of Albion - and, by extension, the entire West. Together, they do whatever it takes to tip the scales in freedom’s favour.

A mission to kill an Iranian General? It’s a Brit on the ground with a laser pointer, guiding the paveway missile. A US Embassy is attacked? You might think the back-up is a team of Navy Seals. It’s not. It’s two Brits with a crowbar. The franchise’s most popular recent mission was a hyper-realistic SAS raid on a townhouse in Camden.

To a Russian or Iranian propagandist, it’s a fever dream. Or, from another angle, the best sell imaginable for the UK’s security and military prowess. Think Henry V with laser sights.

This really matters. Because Call of Duty now looks much more like our geopolitical reality than in 2007, when it was made. And it’s hard to say whether the game simply reflects the narrative of British national security dominance, or has actually helped create it.

The UK’s place at the table rests on our intelligence and military power. The intelligence budget is larger than the Treasury, Cabinet Office and Department for Business and Trade, combined; and most top civil servants have spent some time in Vauxhall, Millbank or Victoria.

How do UK security services continue to attract such talent, even in the face of lower pay? Surely, it’s the belief that what you do actually matters. On the other side, if you’re a source thinking about whether or not to talk, it’s imperative to think that the person you're about to confide in runs the show.

And why do we believe this? Because it’s all around us, in the games we play and the stories we see. Right now, the top shows on Sky, Netflix, and Apple TV are all about British spies - Day of the Jackal, Black Doves, Slow Horses - plus there’s the 26-film franchise underpinning it all that I don’t even need to mention.

Far more people have played Call of Duty than have watched all those shows combined, making the franchise the dominant symbol of Britain’s military and intelligence prowess to a new generation: the Iranian embassy siege, but on steroids.

The ultimate lesson here is contingency: power often emerges from unstable, serendipitous ways. Decisions made by a small group in a California game studio can unintentionally become the backbone of a G7 country’s national brand.

States and businesses alike rely on the volatile mix of timing, talent, and sheer luck: a well-timed tweet, an unexpected TV appearance, or an unforeseen cultural wave. Sometimes, great houses are built on foundations of sand.

So here’s to Call of Duty. Are we paying them for this? We should be.

aled@ashore.io

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