Military – The Freedomist

ZOMBIE TRAINS

Michael Cessna March 13, 2026

Military planning is weird. While most people view the field as planning to simply “blow stuff up and kill people“, that only makes up a vanishingly small sliver of the field. “Military planning“, as such, encompasses planning that considers what amounts to every other field that you can imagine…just with a particular focus. This is because military officers are – or were – not at all the cartoon characters they are frequently portrayed as in popular media.

As a result, composing a military plan – especially at the higher levels – usually takes into account things most civilian planners never have to think about at any scale. Case in point…

In that vein, here’s a Cold War planning problem that doesn’t get nearly enough attention: what do you do with your railroad network after the bombs fall?

While this sounds like the setup for a bad science fiction novel, planners in the Soviet Union took it with deadly seriousness – and their answer was one of the more quietly ingenious contingency programs of the entire Cold War era. They called it the “Strategic Steam Reserve“, and by the 1970’s it amounted to thousands of carefully maintained steam locomotives, pre-positioned across the length and breadth of the USSR, ready to rise from their cold storage like iron zombies to keep the country moving when everything modern had stopped working.

The Problem

To understand why this was so vital, requiring a massive diversion of money and resources, you have to understand how utterly dependent the Soviet Union was – and, in the form of modern Russia, is – on its rail network. The Trans-Siberian Railway was not merely a transportation asset…it was the central nervous system of a continent-spanning state. Break that spine, and Moscow’s control over its eastern territories, all the way to the Pacific, collapses. This was true in the 1960’s and it remains largely true of modern Russia today.

Through the 1950’s and into the 1960’s, as part of the nation’s recovery from the destruction of the Second World War, Soviet railways completed a rapid transition from steam to diesel and electric railroad systems. It was the right call operationally – diesel locomotives are faster, more fuel-efficient, and required far less infrastructure support than steam. But the transition created a new vulnerability that Soviet planners were not prepared to ignore. A nuclear exchange, or even a large-scale conventional assault on infrastructure, posed two catastrophic risks to a modernized diesel and electric network.

*View of the refinery explosion in Catano, Puerto Rico, 2009. CCA/3.0*

First, a disrupted fuel supply chain could ground diesel locomotives almost immediately. Second – and much more troubling to Soviet military planners – the later discovery that the electromagnetic pulses generated by nuclear detonations could destroy the solid-state electronics increasingly embedded in modern motive power. An electrified network with no electricity, and diesel locomotives with fried control systems, is a very expensive collection of unusable metal.

A steam locomotive, by contrast, is magnificently indifferent to electromagnetic pulses. It has no sensitive electronics to fry. It runs on fire, water, and mechanical ingenuity – technologies that were already ancient when the first Bolshevik fired up a nationalized engine in 1917. Coal works. Wood works. Siberia, as one observer noted, is covered in wood. And while contaminated surface water would be undrinkable after a nuclear exchange, it is perfectly adequate for generating steam.

The Reserve Itself

The Strategic Steam Reserve consisted of withdrawn steam locomotives maintained in working order for potential use in a national emergency. The program was structured with genuine military rigor. Locomotives were dispersed to special depots across the country – deliberately sited in rural and mountainous areas away from likely nuclear target sets. Some engines were kept indoors in controlled environments to reduce rust and degradation. Many more were simply parked wherever space existed: in yards, on sidings, in tunnels, beside forgotten branch lines.

Critically, these were not museum pieces; they were maintained as “operational assets“. Mechanics periodically fired up the engines and ran them under load. Dedicated cadres of engineers were trained in steam operations long after those skills had vanished from the mainstream railway workforce – and those specialists were deliberately kept dispersed so that a single strike couldn’t eliminate the entire knowledge base at once. The reserve was structured along military readiness standards, with some locomotives capable of being operational within 12 to 24 hours, others requiring several days of preparation, and a long-term cold storage tier beyond that.

The locomotive types kept in reserve reflected Soviet engineering pragmatism: the workhorse SO series, valued for reliability and ease of field maintenance; the powerful FD series freight locomotives; the postwar L series; and the more sophisticated P36 passenger engines. The reserve also absorbed significant numbers of captured German Kriegslokomotive Class 52 engines – over 6,000 of which had been built during the war against Germany – many of which ended up rusting in Soviet reserve lines, waiting for a call that never came.

*Steam locomotive FD20-1679 at train parade during Expo 1520 railway exhibition in 2017 on railway test circuit in Shcherbinka, Moscow, Russia. 2017 photo. Public Domain.*

Secrecy & Aftermath

The existence of the program was classified throughout the Cold War. Western intelligence had only fragmentary knowledge of the depot locations, which were kept off civilian maps. Even within the USSR, knowledge was compartmentalized, and workers assigned to the reserves were sworn to secrecy under conditions comparable to military installations. It was not until the post-Soviet years that researchers and railway enthusiasts began uncovering the remains of reserve depots, often finding locomotives still intact – heavily rusted, vandalized, sitting in forgotten sheds or overgrown sidings. Those are the source of the striking photographs of abandoned Soviet steam engines with red stars that circulate online.

The collapse of the USSR in 1991 effectively ended the program. Economic chaos, loss of strategic direction, and the privatization of the railway system meant that most reserve locomotives were either scrapped or sold off. By the time researchers began documenting what remained near cities like Roslavl, only a handful of engines survived in any condition – and the Russian government was considering scrapping those, too.

The idea was not uniquely Soviet. Sweden and Finland maintained their own strategic steam reserves during the Cold War, structured against the possibility of a Soviet invasion rather than nuclear exchange. Britain is rumored to have done the same – but despite decades of enthusiast mythology and at least one BBC Radio investigation, no evidence of an official British reserve has ever surfaced.

The Verdict

It is easy, in retrospect, to smile at the image of stolid Soviet planners earnestly cataloging steam locomotives as strategic assets while American engineers were designing MIRV warheads and advanced satellites. But their logic was sound. The Soviets were solving a real problem – how do you maintain national cohesion and logistical function in a post-nuclear environment where modern infrastructure has failed? – and they solved it with the tools available. For a nation held together by rail, the answer was to keep the old iron breathing, just in case.

The zombie trains never rolled in earnest. They quietly rotted away in their sidings while the Cold War ended around them. But the thinking behind them deserves more credit than it typically gets.

*The Freedomist — Keeping Watch, So You Don’t Have To*

Lost Arsenals

Michael Cessna March 6, 2026

Last week, we covered a “Might Have Been” military firearm, that was strangled in its crib as a sacrifice to the political gods. This week, we will extent that, and look briefly at some very bad decisions made by people who should have known better.

In the grim calculus of military history, few questions are more haunting than “what if they’d had just one more year?” For interwar Poland, caught between a resurgent Germany and Stalin’s brutal Soviet Union, that question carries particular weight. Between 1935 and 1939, Polish arms designers produced two weapons that demonstrated genuine innovation and quality: the wz.38M semi-automatic rifle and the Vis 35 pistol. The first never reached beyond test-model production numbers before the September 1939 invasion. The other was so well-designed that German conquerers of Poland immediately put it into mass production for their own forces’ use.

Together, these weapons tell the story of a nation racing against time — and losing.

The Maroszek Rifle: Innovation Without Enough Time

The wz.38M represents one of military history’s more frustrating might-have-been’s. Designed by Józef Maroszek — the same engineer behind Poland’s successful wz.35 anti-tank rifle — the infantry rifle emerged from Polish Army trials begun in 1934 seeking a semi-automatic replacement for the nation’s standard wz.29 Mauser bolt-action rifle. The requirements were straightforward: 600mm barrel, under 4.5 kilograms weight, 10-round magazine, chambered in standard 8x57mm Mauser ammunition, and critically — cheap and simple to produce.

*Polish semi automatic rifle – Kbsp wz. 38M. Undated photo from the Polish Ministry of Culture and National Heritage. CCA/3.0 Unported*

Nine designs competed initially. Three advanced to further testing, with Maroszek’s early prototype placing third. But in late 1935, Maroszek proposed a radical redesign. The evaluation committee gave him six weeks to rebuild the rifle from scratch — roughly the same development timeline as the Sten gun…and Maroszek delivered.

The redesigned wz.38M was genuinely innovative. Its tilting-bolt locking system combined elements of the Czech ZB vz. 26 light machine gun with the Petter-Browning pistol‘s locking mechanism — the bolt tilted up into a recess in the receiver top rather than rotating. The gas system featured an adjustable regulator with three numbered settings, though the incremental differences were so minute they likely represented fine – tuning for specific ammunition lots rather than accommodation of different cartridge types. Most impressively, the rifle broke down into large, discrete assemblies with almost no small parts to lose — a single pin held the entire trigger group, which dropped out cleanly.

Contemporary accounts suggest the wz.38M was remarkably refined for a prototype. Field stripping was simpler, by far, than the M1 Garand; the sight system used familiar Mauser-pattern components; and it even incorporated a simple muzzle brake — very unusual for individual military rifles of the era. The magazine was fixed and not removable, fed via stripper clips like the Mauser and most other bolt-action rifles, but the rifle locked open on empty and closed when the trigger was pulled after reloading — a feature some designers considered elegant, others awkward.

*Polish semi automatic rifle – Kbsp wz. 38M, field-stripped. 2014 Photo by the **Polish History Museum**, Warsaw, Poland. CCA/3.0 Unported*

By 1937, five prototypes underwent testing. In 1938, fifty-five rifles (serial numbers 1001-1055) were manufactured at the Zbrojownia 2 arsenal in Warsaw for troop trials, scheduled for delivery by January 1, 1939. They were delivered, and testing began. The paper trail ends there. Eight months later, German and Soviet forces invaded Poland, and the wz.38M’s development simply…stopped. Only five original examples are known to survive today.

The tragedy of the wx.38M is not just that Poland lost a promising rifle — it’s that the rifle demonstrated Poland possessed the industrial capacity and design expertise to field modern infantry weapons. Given another year or two for refinement and production ramp-up, Polish infantry might have entered World War II with semi-automatic rifles when most armies still carried bolt-actions.

Sadly, of course, it almost certainly would not have saved Poland, and may have actually harmed the war effort in Europe…in a manner far out of proprotion to our next bit of Polish ironmongery.

The Vis 35: The Pistol Good Enough for the Enemy

If the wz.38M represents potential strangled in its crib, the Vis 35 demonstrates what Polish weapons designers could achieve when given slightly more time.

Also known as the “Radom“, the pistol’s development began with 1927 Polish Army trials seeking a new sidearm. Initially focused on small .380 ACP pistols, the trials included submissions from FN, CZ, and others. FN brought along their then in-development Browning High Power as a demonstration piece — which didn’t meet the requirements, being too heavy — but Polish officers were impressed, nonetheless.

*Vis 35 “Radom” semi-automatic handgun. 2012 photo from WikiUser **Askild Antonsen**. CCA/2.0 Generic*

In 1929’s follow-up trials, Poland decided to adopt the High Power outright. Then the FN-manufactured wz.28 BAR contract went badly — quality issues, delivery delays, general dysfunction — souring Polish-Belgian relations and killing the High Power deal.

Poland’s solution: build it themselves.

Pistol designer Piotr Wilniewczyc filed patents in 1932 covering key features — a telescoping recoil spring guide rod, other mechanical elements — carefully sidestepping FN’s patents while legitimizing Polish domestic production of what was fundamentally a High Power derivative. The Poles don’t emphasize this lineage, but the influence is unmistakable.

The design process hit an absurd snag in 1934. The cavalry department objected to the de-cocking method: using the disassembly lever to lock the slide open, then pulling the trigger to drop the hammer safely. This was actually listed in Wilniewczyc’s patent mainly so he could charge the government more for additional patent claims, but the cavalry took it seriously and demanded a proper de-cocking lever. Under threat of derailing adoption entirely, engineers spent another year designing an elegant de-cocker that simultaneously tripped the sear *and* retracted the firing pin, preventing hammer-pin contact during the drop.

Production began in late 1936, ramping to full scale by 1939. Poland manufactured approximately 46,000 Vis 35 pistols before the invasion, beautifully finished with Polish eagles on the slides. When Germany captured the Radom factory essentially intact, they immediately recognized quality. The pistol was chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum, fit German logistics perfectly, and was arguably better-made than most German sidearms.

Germany designated it the P.35(p) — Pistole 1935, Polish origin — and produced an additional 305,000 during the occupation. By 1945, it was the third most common pistol in German service after the P08 Luger and P.38.

Polish factory workers fought back through ingenious resistance: they duplicated serial numbers, producing two pistols with identical markings daily. One passed German inspection normally; the other was smuggled to the Polish Home Army. The scheme ran until September 1942 when it was discovered. One hundred workers were arrested, fifty publicly hanged in Radom. Germany added a third, tightly-controlled Waffenamt stamp and revised procedures to prevent further theft.

The Bitter Irony

The wz.38M and Vis 35 represent opposite trajectories intersecting at the same catastrophe. The rifle demonstrated Poland’s capacity for innovation but arrived too late for meaningful production. The pistol reached full-scale manufacture but became a weapon for Poland’s conquerors. Both were casualties of timing — not technical failure, not market rejection, but simple chronology.

Had Poland been given the breathing space other nations enjoyed—even two more years — the September 1939 invasion might have faced Polish infantry equipped with semi-automatic rifles and standardized with one of the war’s finest pistols. Instead, these weapons became footnotes: the rifle that never was, and the pistol too good to abandon.

An Arsenal Squandered

The Vis 35’s postwar fate illuminates a peculiar Allied blindness, post-war. Germany, despite losing the war, understood the value of capturing and cataloging enemy weapons — the Wehrmacht’s elaborate Beutewaffe (captured weapons) designation system ensured every captured Polish, French, Soviet, and British weapon received a German nomenclature and integration into logistics chains. Captured Vis 35 pistols became P.35(p), Polish wz.29 Mausers became Gewehr 296(p), French Hotchkiss machine guns became leMG 257(f), and so on.

Storeroom at Sola aerodrome, Stavanger, holding some of the estimated 30,000 rifles taken from German forces in Norway after their surrender. Still image from: “Norway After Liberation 1945”, No 5 Army Film & Photographic Unit, British Army, filmed by SGT A. H. Jones. Imperial War Museum. Public Domain

The victorious Allies, conversely, largely discarded this organizational discipline. While the USSR stockpiled captured Wehrmacht weapons systematically — MP-40s later armed Mongolia, MG-34s went to North Vietnam, 98k rifles filled Syrian arsenals into the 1960s — Western powers treated Axis equipment mostly as scrap metal. Warehouses of serviceable German weapons were crushed or dumped into the sea. Japanese Arisakas were bulldozed into Pacific landfills.

This wasn’t mere spite. It reflected industrial arrogance: why catalog enemy weapons when you could produce M1 Garands by the millions? The irony came a few years later, when Cold War allies desperately needed inexpensive small arms. Instead of issuing stockpiled Axis weapons, America sold worn-out WWII Garands to the Philippines, Guatemala, and South Korea at a loss. The Soviets, meanwhile, profited handsomely selling captured 98k’s to Egypt and Syria — weapons that cost Moscow nothing.

Very un-Capitalist behavior…Also, clearly, very short-sighted.

The failure to preserve Poland’s small WWII arsenal followed the same pattern. The fifty-five wz.38M rifles simply vanished — most likely destroyed as unidentified foreign prototypes during postwar cleanup. Had even a dozen survived in American or British repositories, the rifle’s innovative features might have influenced postwar designs. Instead, the wz.38M exists today only in fragmentary archival photographs and the fading memories of Forgotten Weapons videos.

Sometimes the cruelest questions in military history aren’t about what failed, but about what succeeded too late to matter — and what victors carelessly discarded while assuming tomorrow’s wars would never resemble yesterday’s.

The URZ: Czechoslovakia’s Forgotten Universal Weapon

Michael Cessna February 27, 2026

In the annals of firearms development, some of the most intriguing stories aren’t about successful designs that changed military history — they’re about the promising concepts that vanished into bureaucratic obscurity. Weapons like the Polish wz.38 M and the Belgian FN-49 failed commercially through no fault in their respective designs – they simply arrived on the military rifle scene to late to sell effectively.

The Czechoslovak URZ (Univerzální Ruční Zbraň, or “universal hand weapon”) represents one of Cold War arms development’s most fascinating might-have-beens: a modular weapons system built around a unique roller-delayed action that solved real problems, demonstrated genuine innovation, and then simply…disappeared.

Between 1962 and 1970, designer Jirí Čermák — the same engineer who created Czechoslovakia’s successful Vz. 58 rifle — developed a weapons platform intended to replace everything from individual rifles through vehicle-mounted machine guns with a single standardized system. The concept wasn’t entirely new; Germany had pursued similar universality with the MG34 and MG42, and the United States would later attempt it with the Cadillac-Gage Stoner 63 fully modular weapon system. But the URZ’s technical approach was genuinely novel, featuring a roller-delayed blowback system mechanically distinct from anything before or since.

The project emerged from an interesting bureaucratic workaround. The Czechoslovak military had no interest in replacing the recently-adopted Vz. 58, so Cermák pitched the URZ to the sort-of Communist Ministry of Foreign Trade as an export weapon. This explains one of the program’s most peculiar aspects: a Warsaw Pact nation developing a rifle chambered in 7.62x51mm NATO. The intent was clearly to compete with West German G3 rifles and Belgian FALs in the non-aligned nations market — countries like India, Indonesia, and various African states seeking NATO-compatible weapons without colonial political strings attached.

*Photo from **US Patent US3456553A**, 1968. Public Domain.*

What made the URZ technically significant were two things: first, its roller-delay mechanism. While it operated on the same basic principles as the Heckler & Koch roller-delayed system, derived from German WWII development, the Czech path of implementation was entirely different. Instead of HK’s signature angled wedge pushing rollers outward into locking recesses, the URZ used rotating curved surfaces machined into the receiver’s front trunnion. As the bolt closed, locking rollers rotated downward approximately 60 degrees into engagement with these precision-curved tracks.

When fired, chamber pressure pushed directly against the bolt head, but the rollers had to climb up their curved ramps — working at mechanical disadvantage against the bolt carrier’s mass and a substantial recoil spring — before the action could open. This created the delay necessary for safe operation with full-power rifle cartridges. The geometry differed fundamentally from HK’s approach, but achieved identical results through elegantly different means. Those curved locking surfaces were hand-polished to exacting tolerances; even minor variations in curvature could mean the difference between reliable function and catastrophic failure.

The result, the URZ – like the HK – required no gas system to run a full-power rifle cartridge, as well as allowing the seamless use of rifle grenades.

*URZ rifle fitted with rifle grenade. Undated photo by **Grunty89**.* ***CCA-SA 3.0***

The URZ’s other distinctive feature was its belt-feed system, standard even on the infantry rifle variant. The weapon used a mechanically-actuated drum magazine holding Czech-designed push-through metallic link belts — similar in concept to the Soviet-designed RPD machine gun, but with feed pawls driven directly by cam tracks on the bolt carrier rather than via gas operation. Fifty-round belts were carried in the drum-box as standard…more interestingly, exposed belts could feed from the side for sustained fire in the machine gun role. It was a unique and ingenious solution to the modularity problem: one feed system serving across all configurations larger than a submachine gun.

This is not an insignificant element of design – and may, in fact, be the URZ’s most important feature. Loaded belts of ammunition require no real or significant spring tension to hold the rounds in place. This means that the belts can be stored for years, even decades, in properly maintained armories. Because the URZ used a 50-round belt pre-loaded into a drum (similar in concept to the German MG-34’s “Gurttrommel” belt drum), this means that a “one-size-fits-all” combat rig could be stored – ready to issue in an emergency – that includes a rifle and three to five drums. Where the normal process of issue for field equipment, ammunition and weapons would take up to three or four hours, minimum, this hypothetical URZ system would need under fifteen minutes…Compare this to what happened in Ukraine, in 2022.

*URZ rifle in tripod-mounted machine gun mode. Undated photo by **Grunty89**. **CCA-SA 3.0**.*

For all of its potential, unfortunately only nine URZ weapons were ever manufactured across all variants — infantry rifles, light and heavy machine guns, and a solenoid-fired version for vehicle-mounting. The initial prototypes were chambered in the Russian/Soviet 7.62x39mm, but most were built in 7.62 NATO. One open-bolt rifle suffered an out-of-battery detonation (a common “teething” problem in all firearms designs) in late 1967, although the receiver was salvaged and rebuilt. By 1970, the entire program and all documentation was transferred to the Ministry of Foreign Trade, where the trail goes cold.

No known records explain why development ceased. The URZ never reached production, never found interest with export customers, and generated no further development after 1970. All eight surviving receivers now reside in the Czech Military History Institute’s collection in Prague, testament to a “path not taken”.

The missed opportunity is significant. The URZ solved real modularity challenges with proven technology. Its unique roller-delay system demonstrated that innovative approaches to established principles could yield functional alternatives to dominant designs. Had Czechoslovakia committed to production and aggressive marketing, the non-aligned arms market of the 1970’s might have looked quite different. Instead, those markets went to G3s, FALs, and later Galil’s, while one of the Cold War’s most interesting weapons systems became a footnote known primarily only to firearms historians and collectors of military curiosities.

Sometimes the most important innovations are the ones that never escaped the prototype stage — not because they failed, but because circumstance, politics, or simple bureaucratic inertia left them stranded between concept and reality.

When Availability Beats Capability

Michael Cessna February 13, 2026

From the days of the very first aircraft carriers, like the USS Langely (CV-1), until the 2009 retirement of the USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63), virtually all of the aircraft carriers in the United States Navy ran on some flavor of marine diesel fuel. Beginning in 1961, however, with the advent of the USS Enterprise (CVN-65), the Navy began transitioning all of its new aircraft carriers to nuclear power. The benefits appeared to be clear, as the nuclear powered aircraft carrier could cruise without refueling its nuclear power plant for up to 25 years.

But, just how clear was that advantage, over the conventionally engined carriers of the past? And – much more important – what were the downsides of completely shifting to nuclear power? These question came into needle-sharp focus on January 1st, 2026.

The United States Navy began 2026 with a problem that should alarm anyone paying attention to the global security of the United States: of the current fleet of eleven aircraft carriers, exactly two were deployable – the USS Gerald Ford (CVN-78), which was the center-point of the operation against Venzuelan dictator Nicolas Maduro, and the USS Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72), which was patrolling the South China Sea.

By early February, facing simultaneous crises from the sudden Iranian revolution, to the increasing instability in Communist China, the Navy emergency-scrambled two more carriers (the USS Theodore Roosevelt (CVN-71) and the USS George H. W. Bush (CVN-77)) to operational status — completing their Composite Training Unit Exercises COMPTUEX while already underway to their deployment zones.

Of the remaining carriers, only the USS Eisenhower (CVN-69) is undergoing “workups”, beginning the three or four month process to return to deployment. Every other nuclear carrier is either undergoing decommissioning (USS Nimitz (CVN-68)), or undergoing repair/overhaul/refueling. It is unclear exactly when a carrier other than the Eisenhower will be available for operations.

This isn’t a sign of extraordinary capability – it’s a symptom of a fleet in crisis.

The ten nuclear-powered Nimitz-class and the one Ford-class carriers represent remarkable engineering achievements. They can steam virtually forever without refueling. The USS Stennis, however, has been undergoing its mid-life nuclear refueling and overhaul since 2021 — a process now entering its fifth year. The USS Truman remains sidelined following collision damage, unable to deploy before its own – now-delayed, because there is only one refueling dock for nuclear carriers – refueling cycle. When you need carriers now, theoretical capabilities matter less than actual availability.

This brings up the uncomfortable question: what are we actually buying with nuclear propulsion for aircraft carriers?

The standard answer is “unlimited range” — carriers that never need to refuel their main engines. But carrier strike groups don’t operate in isolation. Their aircraft require JP-5 jet fuel continuously. Their escorts need bunker fuel. Even the carriers run backup diesel generators and require regular underway replenishment for aviation ordnance, food, and supplies. The nuclear reactor means the ship’s hull doesn’t need to refuel, but the mission absolutely does. The need for UNREP operations remain constant regardless of propulsion type.

Underway Replenishment (UNREP) operations in the Arabian Sea support of Operation IRAQI FREEDOM and Operation ENDURING FREEDOM. Pictured foreground-to-background are the USN Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier USS RONALD REAGAN (CVN 76); the USN Military Sealift Command (MSC), Supply Class Fast Combat Support Ship USNS RAINIER (T-AOE 7) and the USN Arleigh Burke Class (Flight II) Guided Missile Destroyer (Aegis), USS McCAMPBELL (DDG 85). Undated US Navy phot by PH3 Aaron Burden, USN. Public Domain.

What nuclear propulsion does require is specialized infrastructure. Refueling and Complex Overhaul (RCOH) cycles take two to three years, normally, and demand nuclear-qualified facilities and workforce. The Navy has only one, single facility that can refuel nuclear aircraft carriers – which is why the USS Truman is currently riding at anchor, waiting for the Stennis to clear the dock, as the carrier fleet cannot use the same refueling docks as nuclear-powered submarines, due to size and configuration.

Budget cuts have also compounded the maintenance delays — the Obama administration’s sequestration-era budget reductions followed by COVID-related disruptions have created a cascading refueling backlog across the fleet. When institutional maintenance capacity is disrupted, nuclear carriers don’t degrade gracefully; they become tied to pier-side for years.

An aerial view of the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER (CVN 69), right, being assisted into port at Pier No. 12 by large harbor tugs. The aircraft carrier USS AMERICA (CV 66) is tied up at the right. 1985 US Navy photo. Public Domain.

Diesel-powered carriers offered a different trade-off. Yes, they need refueling — something which is already done constantly for the rest of the carrier’s accompanying strike group. But they also eliminate multi-year RCOH cycles. Conventional powerplants can be serviced at standard shipyards around the world without nuclear certification requirements. Battle damage to diesel systems can be more easily repaired or replaced; damage to nuclear propulsion systems requires specialized facilities and extended timelines, if they are actually repairable at all – unlike World War Two, where rapid repair of severe combat damage was routinely accomplished in a few months, at most…But, as no nuclear powered carrier had yet to be seriously damaged in combat, we really have no idea if repair of a combat-damaged nuclear carrier is even possible. Construction timelines also shrink dramatically when you remove the nuclear certification requirements from the process.

The question isn’t whether nuclear carriers are impressive pieces of engineering. They are. The question is whether that impressive engineering serves strategic needs. Consider the Essex-class carriers of World War II and beyond — diesel-powered, mass-produced, and maintained in sufficient numbers to ensure availability. Twenty-four hulls provided persistent presence through Korea and Vietnam. Our current eleven-carrier nuclear fleet just demonstrated it can field four during a global crisis.

The Reagan administration’s 600-ship Navy called for fifteen carrier battle groups — emphasizing numerical presence across global theaters. President Trump has recently advocated for returning battleships to service, arguing their firepower and durability offer capabilities modern vessels lack.

Both proposals address real problems but miss the core issue: availability. Fifteen carrier groups – or eleven – mean nothing if chronic maintenance backlogs sideline half the fleet simultaneously. The proposed battleships — essentially huge missile platforms with armor — require crews of 1,500+ versus modern a destroyer’s c.300, while offering marginal advantages over “distributed lethality” concepts using existing hulls.

The actual requirement isn’t more carriers or bigger guns — it’s operational carriers and maintainable systems. Fifteen diesel-powered carriers with conventional maintenance cycles would provide far more deployable presence than fifteen nuclear carriers cycling through extended overhauls. Similarly, additional Arleigh Burke-class destroyers deliver sustained missile capacity without the proposed battleships’ manpower and maintenance burdens.

Strategic presence requires operational availability — not just impressive-looking platforms.

Ships of the U.S. Navy Pacific fleet anchored at Ulithi Atoll, Caroline Islands, February 1945.. The aircraft carrier USS Saratoga (CV-3) is in the right middle distance. There are at least eight Essex-class carriers present. 1945 US Navy photo. Public Domain.

Form should follow function. If the function is “project American power globally during crisis,” then presence matters more than theoretical endurance. A diesel carrier that’s actually there outweighs a nuclear carrier in year five of refueling. This isn’t about going backward technologically — it’s about being operational strategically.

The Navy faces a choice: continue investing in exquisite platforms that spend years unavailable for specialized maintenance, or diversify toward simpler systems that prioritize fleet availability. The Iranian crisis and Western Pacific tensions aren’t waiting for the Stennis to complete its overhaul. Neither will the next emergency. We need carriers that can steam now, not carriers that can theoretically steam forever.

Strategic availability isn’t a compromise…And in February 2026, it’s the actual requirement.

Knees To The Breeze…?

Michael Cessna February 6, 2026

Mankind has always been fascinated by the idea of flight. The more rational thinkers realized that they had to find a way to land safely. In Europe, Leonardo Da Vinci designed a parachute – that worked – but didn’t really have a viable way to make it a “tactical system” (to borrow the modern term).

Later, in France, a balloon designed by the Montgolfier brothers was first flown successfully in 1783; luckily, the ‘aeronauts’ did not have to bail out in an emergency. In 1797, that was changed by André-Jacques Garnerin. Not exactly a “tactical” jump, but it worked.

The sight of thousands of paratroopers descending from the sky remains one of warfare’s most dramatic images. From the mass drops over Crete in 1941, and Normandy in 1944 to the 173rd Airborne’s combat jump into northern Iraq in 2003, airborne operations have captured military imagination for over eighty years. But, as anti-aircraft capabilities proliferate and modern warfare evolves, a hard question emerges: can massed parachute assaults above the battalion level still accomplish their mission in contemporary conflict, or have they become elaborate exercises in nostalgia?

A 22-aircraft “freedom launch” took place Sept. 11, 2013, at Travis Air Force Base, Calif. Seven C-17 Globemaster IIIs, 11 KC-10 Extenders and four C-5B Galaxies from the 60th Air Mobility Wing lined up in what is historically referred to as an “elephant walk,” then launched consecutively over 36 minutes to take part in Air Mobility Command missions. (U.S. Air Force photo/Ken Wright)

The last major U.S. combat jump occurred over two decades ago when the 173rd Airborne Brigade dropped onto Bashur Airfield in northern Iraq — a deliberately uncontested drop zone that faced minimal air defense threat. Since then, American paratroopers have deployed worldwide, but only as elite infantry landed by aircraft that are delivered by aircraft landing at the field, rather than jumping from aircraft in flight. This isn’t coincidence or lack of opportunity; it reflects cold calculation about what modern air defenses can do to slow-moving transport aircraft packed with paratroopers.

The tactical problem is straightforward. A C-17 or C-130 transport aircraft flying at jump altitudes — typically 800-1,250 feet — presents an ideal target for modern air defense systems. Unlike fast-moving fighters that can employ countermeasures and evasive maneuvers, transports must fly straight and level at predictable – and slow – speeds during the actual drop. Man-portable air defense systems (MANPADS) like the Russian SA-24 Igla-S or American Stinger can engage targets up to 11,000 feet, well above jump altitude. More sophisticated systems like the Pantsir-S1 or Tor-M2 can simultaneously track and engage multiple aircraft, turning a mass drop into a massacre before the first paratrooper touches ground.

Historical precedent supports this concern. The 1956 Anglo-French drop on Port Said during the Suez Crisis faced minimal organized resistance and still suffered significant casualties during the drop phase. The Russian airborne assault on Hostomel Airport outside Kyiv in February 2022 — conducted by helicopter rather than parachute — was devastated by Ukrainian air defenses despite Russian air superiority claims. Transport helicopters are marginally more maneuverable than fixed-wing transports, and they still suffered catastrophic losses.

The infrastructure requirements compound the problem. A brigade-level parachute assault — roughly 3,000-4,000 personnel with equipment — requires somewhere between 40-60 transport aircraft flying in close formation. This aerial armada must be assembled, staged, and flown through potentially contested airspace to reach the drop zone. Suppression of enemy air defenses (SEAD) operations must precede the drop, requiring air superiority that itself demands significant resources. By the time you’ve secured the airspace sufficiently for a mass drop, you’ve likely already achieved the operational objectives that justified the drop in the first place.

The equipment limitations compound tactical vulnerabilities. Paratroopers drop with what they can carry — typically small arms, some types of crew-served weapons, and man-portable anti-tank systems. Heavy-drop platforms can deliver light vehicles like HMMWVs and 105mm howitzers, but these require separate aircraft, precise drop coordination, and recovery time before becoming operational. The U.S. M551 Sheridan light tank was specifically designed for airborne operations but proved too fragile for conventional combat and was retired in 1996. Its replacement, the Mobile Protected Firepower vehicle, won’t be air-droppable. Russia’s BMD series represents the most capable air-droppable armored vehicles globally, but even these sacrifice protection for air-transportability. This means airborne forces hit the ground significantly outgunned compared to even light mechanized forces, entirely dependent on air support and rapid linkup with heavier reinforcements. Without that linkup – or even a delayed linkup – an isolated airborne force becomes a besieged force, nearly guaranteed to be destroyed…as the British discovered at Arnhem in 1944.

Modern alternatives offer similar rapid deployment without the vulnerability. Air assault operations using helicopters provide tactical mobility with greater flexibility in landing zones and timing, the ill-planned and poorly-executed Hostomel assault notwithstanding. Air-landing operations — where aircraft actually land and offload troops — allow heavier equipment and supply delivery while reducing the time troops spend exposed during descent. Special operations forces conducting small-unit infiltrations can seize airfields for follow-on air-landing forces, the approach used successfully in Grenada and Panama.

*U.S. Army Rangers parachute into Grenada during Operation Urgent Fury. 1983 US Army photo. Public Domain.*

Yet the massed airborne capability persists. The United States maintains the 82nd Airborne Division as a ready brigade combat team capable of deploying anywhere globally within 18 hours. Russia’s Airborne Forces (VDV) number roughly 45,000 personnel organized into divisions specifically for airborne operations. France maintains the 11th Parachute Brigade, while China has expanded its own airborne corps and continues developing heavy-drop capabilities for armored vehicles.

The retention suggests these forces serve purposes beyond massed combat jumps. Airborne units provide rapid-reaction forces for contingency operations, often deploying by air-landing rather than parachute. Their light infantry organization and expeditionary culture make them ideal for quick-response scenarios. The threat of airborne operations forces adversaries to defend potential drop zones across wide areas, tying down forces and resources. And in permissive or semi-permissive environments — humanitarian operations, disaster response, non-combatant evacuation — airborne forces provide capabilities no other units match.

The answer, then, appears to be both ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Against peer adversaries with modern integrated air defenses, massed parachute drops above battalion level represent unacceptable risks for uncertain gains. The operational requirements to make such drops feasible — comprehensive SEAD, air superiority, electronic warfare support — require resources that could achieve the desired objectives through less vulnerable means.

But against less sophisticated opponents, in denied areas where air-landing isn’t feasible, or in time-critical scenarios where hours matter, airborne operations retain relevance. The capability also serves as strategic deterrent and rapid-response option that justify maintaining the specialized training, equipment, and doctrine even if actual combat jumps remain rare.

The parachute remains in the arsenal, but it’s increasingly a tool for specific, narrow circumstances rather than a general-purpose solution. Sometimes, the most important capability is the one you maintain but rarely use — because its mere existence shapes adversary planning and preserves options when conventional approaches fail.

The M60 Tank’s Surprising Second Act

Michael Cessna January 30, 2026

The war in Ukraine, once again, has revived the tired old saw about the armored combat tank being “obsolete” in warfare, because – drones…and, like every other time someone said something this silly, it has been proven categorically false. Not least, in the fact that older tanks – not simply older designs, but physical vehicles that are older than their crews…and sometimes, older than the entire crew, combined.

Both Russian and Ukrainian tank crews are driving the full panoply of ex-Soviet designs long considered not simply obsolescent, but absolutely obsolete. From T-54/55‘s, T-62‘s, T-72‘s and T-80‘s, these old warhorses still grind around the modern battlefields of Ukraine in large numbers, a function of the truly massive numbers of the vehicles produced during the Cold War.

But these vehicles also still fight in battles all over the world, as most of them were exported in large numbers to anyone aligning with Soviet ideology – honest or not – or, later, any state with very modest cash reserves.

In this, the 1990-1991 Gulf War – “Operation Desert Storm” – created some fundamental misunderstandings about old armor, “brain bugs” that have metastasized over the decades, creating truly insane levels of incompetence (but we’ll talk about “Force Design 2030” in a later article). Among those were the general idea that Soviet vehicles were grossly inferior to western designs, when the reality was abysmally poor training, logistics and leadership on the Iraqi side.

The M60A3 main battle tank was considered “old” during Desert Storm; only the US Marine Corps fielded them in that conflict, when the Marine Corps still had tank units (“Force Design 2030” Delenda Est). Even with hasty add-on “reactive armor“, the -60’s were viewed as being dangerously under-armored, going hand-in-hand with its 105mm main gun, which had been replaced in its successor, the 120mm cannon of the M1 Abrams.

**Magach 6**, an Israeli-upgraded M60A1 Patton with Blazer ERA in Yad la-Shiryon Museum, Israel. 2005 photo by Bukvoed. CCA/3.0

And yet – the United States still maintains M60A3’s in “deep storage”, in places like the Sierra and Anniston Army Depots, despite parking older-model M1’s in the same storage lots.

But – why?

When the United States retired its last M60 Patton tanks from front-line service in the 1990’s, conventional wisdom suggested this Cold War workhorse would fade into history alongside other relics of the Soviet-American standoff. Instead, something curious happened: nations around the world began investing serious money into modernizing their M60 fleets rather than replacing them with newer designs. From the deserts of the Middle East to the mountains of Taiwan, the M60 has been experiencing a quiet renaissance that tells us something important about practical defense economics.

The M60 entered American service in 1960 as a counter to Soviet tank development, eventually seeing production of over 15,000 units, in various models. It fought in multiple Middle Eastern conflicts, performed credibly in Desert Storm, and became one of the most widely exported tanks in history. By most measures, it should be obsolete — after all, its basic design is now 65 years old. The M1 Abrams replaced it in U.S. service decades ago, and even the Abrams is facing questions about its age in modern warfare.

Yet in 2023, Taiwan awarded a contract worth hundreds of millions to upgrade 460 M60A3 tanks with new fire control systems, improved armor packages, and 120mm main guns. Turkey has upgraded hundreds of M60s with indigenous modifications, creating the M60T “Sabra” variant, which have seen extensive combat in Syria. Egypt operates over 1,700 M60’s with ongoing modernization programs. Israel, which originally developed many of the upgrade packages now used worldwide, continues operating upgraded M60s alongside newer Merkava tanks. Even smaller nations like Bahrain, Jordan, and Morocco maintain modernized M60 fleets.

**Magach 7**, an Israeli-upgraded M60A1 Patton with the “Sabra” package, in Yad la-Shiryon Museum, Israel. 2005 photo by Bukvoed. CCA/3.0

The economics tell the story. A new main battle tank costs anywhere from $6-9 million per unit — and that’s for Russian or Chinese models. Western tanks like the M1A2 Abrams, Leopard 2A7, or British Challenger 3 run $8-15 million each. Comprehensive M60 modernization packages, by contrast, typically cost $2-4 million per tank. For a nation maintaining a battalion of 58 tanks, that’s the difference between a $120 million upgrade program and a $400-600 million replacement program, not including the necessary retraining and new logistics chains. When you’re not facing adversaries equipped with the latest Russian or Chinese armor, that cost differential becomes compelling.

But the financial argument only explains part of the M60’s longevity. The platform offers practical advantages that newer designs sometimes sacrifice. At roughly 52 tons combat weight, the M60 can cross bridges and operate on terrain that won’t support the 70-ton M1 Abrams. Its fuel consumption, while substantial, doesn’t approach the gas-turbine Abrams’ notorious thirst. The mechanical simplicity of its diesel engine means maintenance doesn’t require the specialized expertise that more sophisticated platforms demand — a critical factor for smaller militaries with limited technical infrastructure.

Modern upgrade packages address the M60’s original shortcomings remarkably effectively. New fire control systems with thermal imaging, laser rangefinders, and digital ballistic computers bring targeting capabilities close to contemporary standards – in an environment where “close” still counts. Explosive reactive armor tiles, cage armor, and composite armor packages significantly improve survivability against modern anti-tank weapons. Some variants mount 120mm smoothbore guns — the same main armament found on current M1A2 Abrams tanks. Engine upgrades improve power-to-weight ratios. The result is a platform that, while not matching the latest MBT’s in every parameter, provides legitimate armored combat capability at a fraction of the cost.

The strategic calculus matters too. Many nations employing M60s face threats from irregular forces, not peer militaries with modern tank armies. In counterinsurgency, urban warfare, or defensive operations, an upgraded M60 provides mobile protected firepower that is perfectly adequate to the mission. Turkey’s experience in Syria against Kurdish forces demonstrated that properly supported and employed, modernized M60s remain effective in contemporary combat environments — though they also verified the main battle tank’s well-known vulnerabilities when employed without adequate infantry support or air cover.

There’s a broader lesson here about defense procurement. The endless pursuit of cutting-edge capability often produces systems too expensive to acquire in meaningful numbers, too complex to maintain, and too precious to risk in actual combat. The M60’s ongoing renaissance suggests an alternative approach: proven platforms, continuously modernized, maintained in sufficient numbers to matter operationally. It’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t win promotions for procurement officers, but it might represent more actual combat power per defense dollar than many more modern and “sexier”, alternatives.

As so-called “hybrid warfare“, drone technology, and precision fires force reconsiderations of armored combat tactics, questions about the main battle tank’s future persist. But for nations prioritizing practical capability over theoretical performance, the upgraded M60 offers a pragmatic answer: sometimes the best tank for your situation isn’t the newest one — it’s the one you can afford to field in useful numbers, while still paying your soldiers, that will continue to get the job done.

The Emperor Who Quit

Michael Cessna January 23, 2026

The Devil, they say, is in the details…and this is nowhere more true than with nation-states.

The Mists of Time

On August 6, 1806, Holy Roman Emperor Francis II performed an unprecedented act: he declared the Holy Roman Empire dissolved. Not abdicated — dissolved. In a single proclamation, he claimed to release all imperial estates from their obligations and declared the thousand-year-old state institution defunct.

But – did he actually have the legal authority to do so?

*Map of the Holy Roman Empire in 1356. By Cameron Pauley, 2019. CCA/4.0 Int’l*

The Holy Roman Empire had survived invasions, religious wars, and constitutional crises since its founding under Charlemagne. Its complex federal structure, codified most notably in the Golden Bull of 1356, distributed sovereignity among the Emperor and seven Electors who chose him. This wasn’t an absolute monarchy — it was a constitutional arrangement where the Emperor derived legitimacy from election, not divine right alone.

Francis faced genuine crisis in 1806. Napoleon’s war machine had crushed Austrian forces, and had forced most of the tiny German states into his Confederation of the Rhine, while threatening further action against the Empire if Francis maintained his imperial title. Francis, obviously, threw up his hands and simply quit, deciding to try and destory the empire he had inherited at the same time But duress doesn’t create constitutional authority. The question isn’t whether Francis felt compelled to act — it’s whether the act itself was legally valid.

*Francis II, Holy Roman Emperor by Joseph Kreutzinger (1757–1829), c.1806. Public Domain.*

Previous imperial abdications had followed a well established procedure. When Charles V abdicated in 1556, he transferred the crown to his brother Ferdinand, who was then elected by the Electors. The institution continued. Only the office transferred. Francis did something entirely different: he claimed the office itself ceased to exist.

But here’s the constitutional problem: nowhere in the HRE’s imperial law was there a mechanism for the Emperor to unilaterally “dissolve” the Empire. The Golden Bull and subsequent constitutional documents provided for succession, election, even deposition of inadequate emperors. But dissolution? That authority didn’t exist. The Empire was not the Emperor’s personal property to dispose of — it was a corporate entity with distributed sovereignty among hundreds of estates, seven Electors, and the Emperor himself.

*Page from the Golden Bull manuscript of King Wenceslaus, c.1400. Austrian National Library. Public Domain.*

Think of it this way: a modern Prime Minister can resign, but cannot abolish Parliament by their resignation. The institution exists independently of any single officeholder. Francis treated the Holy Roman Empire as if his abdication necessarily meant its termination, but the constitutional logic doesn’t support this.

The proper procedure would have been abdication, returning authority to the Electoral College. They could then either elect a successor, declare an interregnum while addressing the crisis, or — if they possessed such authority — negotiate formal dissolution. Francis bypassed this entirely. He acted ultra vires — far beyond his legal powers.

This is not merely an academic oddity. If Francis’s dissolution of the Empire was constitutionally defective, then the Empire was never properly terminated. It would still exist, in abeyance, awaiting constitutional resolution of the issue by competent authorities. The parallel to various royal restoration claims is direct: an improper termination of a state or ruling body does not create legitimacy through passage of time, if the original constitutional breach was fundamentally outside the scope of its parent document.

The Treaty of Westphalia and subsequent settlements treated the Empire’s constitutional arrangements as part of the international order. Francis’ unilateral action disrupted this without proper legal process. Yes, the Empire was functionally dead by 1806 — but “functionally dead” and “legally dissolved” are two very different things.

Okay, But…So What?

Why does this matter now? Europe is facing its own legitimacy crisis. The European Union struggles with democratic deficits, member state frustration, widespread Citizen anger and questions about sovereignty that echo the Empire’s earlier federal complexity. Recent events — Romania’s annulled election, chronic German governmental instability, and questions about republican/democratic institutional stability suggest arrangements once considered permanent might be more fragile than assumed, among many others — indicate that institutional arrangements once considered permanent might be more fragile than originally believed.

Germany’s security services are currently monitoring the various Reichsbürger movements intensely, precisely because these groups attract otherwise frighteningly competent people — elite military officers, civil servants, judges — seeking alternative frameworks to what they see as fundamentally failed institutions. To be clear, most Reichsbürger constitutional theories are deranged nonsense. But — a restoration claim based on Francis II’s procedural defect in dissolving the Empire would be constitutionally defensible in ways “sovereign citizen“-type arguments aren’t.

The Holy Roman Empire was multi-ethnic, federated, and legally complex — arguably a more functional proto-European union than what currently exists. Its constitutional traditions emphasized distributed sovereignty and limited central authority. For Europeans frustrated with Brussels’ centralized in insensitive bureaucracy, that historical model might seem increasingly attractive.

None of this requires believing that restoration is imminent, or even desirable. But it does require acknowledging that Francis II’s 1806 dissolution rested on questionable legal authority, and that constitutional irregularities — even centuries-old ones — don’t automatically become legitimate through time’s passage.

But – What would an attempt at legal restoration look like?

Any claimant would face immediate practical obstacles: no territory, no recognition, and likely harassment from modern German authorities nervous about monarchist movements. Yet the constitutional argument itself remains surprisingly robust. When Juan Carlos returned to Spain in 1975, he didn’t claim the throne by force — he accepted it through a constitutional process during institutional transition. A Holy Roman Empire restoration would require similar conditions: crisis’ severe enough to make a monarchical alternative attractive, yet orderly enough to permit constitutional rather than revolutionary change.

The most constitutionally defensible approach would mirror Francis II’s error in reverse: a claimant declaring themselves ‘Interim Emperor‘ pending the reconvening of the Electoral College. This acknowledges the procedural defect — no proper dissolution occurred — while avoiding claims to absolute authority. It’s restoration through constitutional humility, not monarchical assertion.

The Emperor dissolved his Empire. The question is whether he had the right to do so. And if he didn’t, what does that mean for the constitutional status of a thousand-year institution that may never have been properly put to rest?

Iran: The Superpower the U.S. Built — and Couldn’t Control

Michael Cessna January 16, 2026

Background

Iran is an almost unimaginably ancient culture. Only Egypt comes even close in age.

Iran – also known as “Persia“, from the Greeks – played pivotal roles in both Greek and Jewish history. Iran was, for good or ill, the external unifier of the fractious Greek city-staes. It was also the saviour of the Jews, when Cyrus the Great not only freed the Jews from their Babylonian Captivity, but helped them to build the Second Temple (Isaiah 44:28, Isaiah 45:1, Ezra 1, and 2 Chronicles 36). Sasanid Persia was the state that went to war with the Eastern Roman Empire after the assassination of the Roman Emperor Maurice, inadvertantly making room for the rise of Muhammad and Islam.

But, Iran was never happy under Islam, not simply because the form of Islam in Iran – Shia – was at odds with mainstream Sunni Islam, but because it was adamantly opposed to being dominated by the Ottoman Empire. This back-and-forth situation continued into the 20th Century, until Reza Pahlavi overthrew the ruling Qajar dynasty, and was made Shah (“King“, approximately) in 1921.

Reza Pahlavi, as Reza I, was removed from power in 1941 by an invasion by Britain and the Soviet Union, because they wanted to use Iran as a supply route to the Soviet state, and were afraid that Reza I would remain neutral, if not actually ally with Nazi Germany. The two Allied powers sent Reza I into exile, and placed his young son, Muhammad Reza II, onto the throne.

*Reza Shah, emperor of Iran, c.1931 in uniform. Public Domain.*

This situation continued for the next thirty years, as the new Shah worked carefully to first secure his throne, then begin the slow and painful process of bringing Iran into the modern age…a process which was well on its way to success by 1978, building up Iran’s oil, manufacturing and electronics sectors, and becoming the most solid ally of the United States in the region, far more so than Israel…when it all went off the rails.

Power Play

When the Iranian Revolution erupted in 1978, Washington’s response puzzled many observers. The Carter Administration seemed strangely passive as Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi’s grip on power began to crumble. While historians typically attribute this to Carter’s “naive and kindly nature”, human rights concerns over the Shah’s perceived increasingly brutal crackdowns on internal dissent and diplomatic fumbling, a closer look at the Shah’s military ambitions reveals a much more complex story — one where America’s most reliable Middle Eastern ally had become something Washington never quite intended: a genuine regional superpower with its own agenda…and an existential threat to the Soviet Union.

By the late 1970s, the Shah had transformed Iran into a regional military colossus. The ruler openly declared he wanted the Iranian armed forces to become “probably the best non-atomic” military in the world, and he was well on his way to achieving that goal. Iran became the only foreign customer ever for the F-14 Tomcat, America’s most sophisticated fighter jet at the time, ordering 80 of the aircraft along with 714 AIM-54 Phoenix missiles in what was then the largest single foreign military sale in U.S. history.

But the F-14’s were just the beginning. The Shah sought to transform the Imperial Iranian Navy into not only the predominant force in the Persian Gulf but a naval force capable of patrolling the Indian Ocean. His vision extended far beyond defending Iran’s borders. He wanted power projection capabilities that would establish Iranian dominance from the Mediterranean to South Asia.

This was not mere vanity. The Shah had positioned himself as the guardian of Western interests in the region, and initially, Washington welcomed this role. Following Britain’s 1971 withdrawal from the Persian Gulf, the Nixon administration embraced Iran as the primary pillar of regional security, offering the Shah what amounted to a blank check for military purchases. Any non-nuclear weapons system Iran wanted, America would sell them.

Underlying this buildup, however, was a very simple psychological perspective: the Shah was bitter over his father’s fate, and how he came to power as a puppet-king. His relentless rearmament program was his hedge against that happening again.

Yet the very success of this policy created an uncomfortable paradox. Iran’s conventional buildup was turning it into the primary military power between Israel and India, and the Shah’s ambitions increasingly diverged from American strategic interests. Pakistan was a developing country while Iran had the world’s fifth-largest military, a strong industrial base, and was the clear regional superpower.

The Shah’s regional behavior began to quietly raise eyebrows in some sectors of Washington, D.C. He openly supported Pakistan in both the 1965 and 1971 wars against India, providing free fuel and military equipment. In June 1974, when asked if Iran would develop nuclear weapons like India had just tested, the Shah declared: “Without any doubt, and sooner than one would think” — before walking back the comment to placate international concerns.

Perhaps most significantly, Iran’s geographic position adjacent to Soviet Azerbaijan, combined with its growing strike capabilities, meant the Shah commanded theoretical leverage over Soviet oil infrastructure at Baku. This was a double-edged sword: useful for deterring Soviet aggression, but also giving Iran independent strategic options that could complicate U.S.-Soviet relations during an era of détente.

*Azerbaijani-Iranian border, 1995. Map from Central Intelligence Agency. Public Domain.*

But for the Soviets, their battle-planners saw the threat immediately: a capable Imperial Iranian Air Force could threaten the Soviet’s oil jugular: the port city of Baku, on the Caspian Sea – which in the 1970’s supplied some 30% of the Soviet Union’s oil reserve. A successful Iranian strike on Baku, especially if it came during a war in Europe with NATO, would result in complete defeat and capitulation to the West. As long as the Shah had a “toy army”, he was no threat to the Communist state.

The question was: Just how capable was the Shah’s military in the mid-1970’s?

In 1973, the Soviet’s got their answer.

The Dhofar Intervention: Iran’s Dress Rehearsal

Perhaps the clearest demonstration of Iran’s emerging regional power — and the strategic dilemma it posed — came not in the Persian Gulf itself, but on the Arabian Peninsula. Between 1973 and 1976, the Shah deployed over 4,000 Iranian troops to Oman to help Sultan Qaboos crush a Marxist insurgency in the Dhofar region. The operation, conceived entirely by the Shah himself, included an Iranian infantry brigade, sixteen jet fighters, naval support, and critical helicopter transport capabilities that proved decisive in the counterinsurgency campaign.

It was not simply the hardware, however. It was that Imperial Iranian forces showed in Dhofar that they actually knew how to employ the weapons and tools they Shah had supplied them with. In the military sphere, that scope of training and capability is far more important that the mere tools themselves.

*A pair of IIAF F-14’s, refueling in-flight from a USAF KC-135. Date c.1977. Imperial Iranian Air Force photo. Public Domain.*

The Shah justified this intervention by claiming he needed to defend the Strait of Hormuz from the threat of communist control. But the operation demonstrated something more profound: Iran now possessed the capability and will to project military power across the region independently. Iranian forces operated far from their borders, coordinated multi-domain operations, and effectively determined the outcome of a neighboring country’s civil conflict — all without requiring American permission or direct U.S. involvement.

For Washington, Dhofar was simultaneously reassuring and alarming. The Shah had proven himself a capable regional policeman willing to contain Soviet-backed insurgencies. Yet, he had also demonstrated that Iran’s military reach now extended well beyond merely defensive operations. The same expeditionary capabilities deployed against Marxist rebels in Oman could theoretically be used to pursue Iranian interests elsewhere — including objectives that might not align with American strategic goals.

For the Soviet Union the fact that Dhofar was “limited”, in a technical sense, was irrelevant. The Imperial Armed Forces had proven that they were good enough, that Soviet battle calculus had to recognize that the Shah had built the equivalent of a NATO field army on its southern frontier, an army that was capable of striking a fatal blow at the Soviet Union in a full-scale war.

Endgame

By 1978, American officials increasingly realized that they were facing a critical dilemma they had helped create. The Shah’s military modernization had proceeded so rapidly that Iranian aircrew simply couldn’t be trained fast enough to operate all the aircraft, with hardware literally piling up on docks. A Senate committee estimated Iran could not go to war without U.S. support on a day-to-day basis, yet the Shah was increasingly asserting his independence…yet the Iranian’s were not deficient in their training and readiness, and had proven themselves to be a capable and dangerous armed force with a regional reach.

Thus, when a Soviet-aided “revolution” threatened the Pahlavi regime, Carter’s response was notably restrained. The administration pressured the Shah to implement political reforms rather than crack down decisively on protesters. By November 1978, U.S. Ambassador William Sullivan alerted Washington that the Shah was “doomed”, yet the administration actively discouraged the Iranian military from launching a coup to save the monarchy.

The conventional narrative on the US failure to support the Shah usually blames this on Carter’s human rights idealism and/or poor and naive intelligence. But there’s another possibility worth considering: that after a decade of arming the Shah to the teeth, many in Washington now saw that an independent, militarily powerful Iran — one capable of threatening fundamental Soviet interests without American permission or dominating regional neighbors — might not serve U.S. interests as reliably as previously assumed.

*Official portrait of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, 1973. Public Domain.*

The Shah had done exactly what Nixon and Kissinger had asked: he’d built a militarily capable regional superpower. The question Carter faced was whether that superpower would remain aligned with American objectives — or become a force unto itself. When the moment came to save the Shah’s regime, Washington hesitated. Whether that hesitation stemmed from human rights concerns, fear of failure, or quiet recognition that the United States had created a monster it would not be able to fully control, remains one of the revolution’s enduring questions.

Whatever the case, the Carter administration’s actions regarding the Shah’s declining health in his exile indicate that far darker maneuvers may have been in play.

In the end, the failure of Western support to the Shah resulted in five decades of horror, around the world. Whether that is about to come to an end or not, remains to be seen.

Israel’s Recognition of Somaliland May Have Just Killed the Post-War World Order…

Michael Cessna January 9, 2026

Nation-states are odd things. They are not really “tribes”, and are “more” than cities. But, perhaps insensibly, the mass of people today self-identify with one nation or another. Things have been this way since long before the Egyptians duked it out with the Hittites at Kadesh.

But sometimes…things go sideways. Really sideways.

On December 26th, while most of the world was still digesting Christmas leftovers, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu did something that might prove to be the most consequential geopolitical act since 1945: Israel became the first nation to formally recognize the Republic of Somaliland as an independent state.

Somaliland has been seeking international recognition since 1991 – and recently tried to entice the United States with a similar offer of basing rights as they offered to Israel – but has been rebuffed by the “international community” at every turn…until now.

*Somaliland map. 2022 image by WikiUser Siirski. CCA/4.0 Int’l*

This act by Israel immediately set off hysterical outcries throughout the United Nations (but not from Israel’s closest regional allies, Ethiopia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE), note), with the Security Council calling an emergency session on the matter. However, complaints were short-circuited by Tammy Bruce, the United States’ Ambassador to the UN, who pointed out that Israel’s action in recognizing Somaliland was in no way different than the UN’s own actions in recognizing a state – Palestine, in 2012 – that has a far better claim to “legitimacy” than either Palestine or Somalia itself.

If your reaction is “So what? Some breakaway African territory got recognized by Israel — big deal,” then you’re missing what just happened. This isn’t about Somaliland. This is about the deliberate destruction of the international order that’s governed the planet since World War II ended…and may be the death-knell for the 400-year old Treaty of Westphalia – which matters a very great deal.

What Westphalia Is, and Why It Matters

The Peace of Westphalia (1648) established the principle that sovereign states have exclusive authority over their territory and that external powers shouldn’t interfere in their internal affairs. After 1945, this was modified: the United Nations system added the idea that existing borders are sacrosanct and territorial integrity must be preserved. In practice, this meant that no matter how artificial, dysfunctional, or oppressive a state might be, its borders were frozen in place by “international consensus.”

This system has a name in international law — the “constitutive theory” of statehood — which holds that you’re only a legitimate state when other states recognize you. It supposedly replaced the older Montevideo Convention standard (but see below…), which holds that you’re a state if you have: a permanent population, a defined territory, a functioning government, and the capacity to conduct foreign relations. “Recognition” just acknowledged an existing fact; it didn’t create statehood.

The problem with constitutive theory that should be obvious after about sixty seconds of thought is: who recognized the first state? The whole concept is circular logic masquerading as international law.

The Hidden Crowbar

One of the leading opponents of Israel’s move – Slovenia – complained that it was a violation of a member-state’s sovereign territorial integrity…which is a very rich and ironic take on the subject, given that the former Yugoslavian state’s existence as a sovereign nation was confirmed by the 1991 Badinter Arbitration Commission, which – by the UN’s own rules – openly and nakedly violated Yugoslavia’s sovereign territorial claims.

Why is this important? Because of the Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States.

Signed in 1933, and ratified into law in the United States in 1934, this international legal agreement defines precisely what is required for a state to be a state, namely: a) a permanent population; b) a defined territory; c) government; and d) capacity to enter into relations with the other states.

But the Convention goes on to use significant specific language. It is worth quoting Article 3 in full:

“The political existence of the state is independent of recognition by the other states. Even before recognition the state has the right to defend its integrity and independence, to provide for its conservation and prosperity, and consequently to organize itself as it sees fit, to legislate upon its interests, administer its services, and to define the jurisdiction and competence of its courts. The exercise of these rights has no other limitation than the exercise of the rights of other states according to international law.”

This is seriously explosive stuff. Re-read that as many times as it takes, if there is an issue with understanding it.

Now, this might be seen as a simple artifact of political maneuvering, except that when Yugoslavia disintegrated in 1991 – which created Slovenia from that state’s remains, among others – the United Nations formed the Badinter Arbitration Commission to determine the future of the region. And, in deciding that the components of the former Yugoslavia were in fact independent nations, the Commission – while not directly citing the Montevideo Convention, even though no state involved had attended or signed it, cited all of its core principles – thus confirmed the Convention as a valid component of international law.

This is the actual basis for the UN recognizing Palestine, because Palestine is as much a “breakaway” part of Israel as Somaliland is of Somalia.

Why Somalia Matters (And Doesn’t)

Somalia has been a failed state since 1991. Somaliland — the former British protectorate portion of the region — declared independence that same year and has maintained effective self-governance, relative stability, and functional institutions for the last 34 years. By any objective measure, including using Montevideo criteria, Somaliland is more of a “real state” than Somalia, itself, which can barely control its own capital.

But under the post-1945 system, Somalia’s non-existent territorial integrity trumps Somaliland’s actual effective and long-standing peaceful and successful governance. Why? Because the “international community” decided so, and because African nations fear that allowing ethnic self-determination will open a Pandora’s box. Nigeria’s strident condemnation of Israel’s move isn’t about solidarity with Somalia — it’s about Biafra and the nightmare that their own artificial borders might be questioned.

The Real Game: Netanyahu vs. The World

Benjamin Netanyahu isn’t stupid, and he’s not doing this for humanitarian reasons. Israel has spent decades being targeted by the UN system, the International Criminal Court, and the entire apparatus of “international law” being wielded as a weapon by nations that want to delegitimize the Jewish state’s existence. In a very real way, the only component missing is red white and black swastika armbands.

By recognizing Somaliland, Netanyahu is making a declarative statement, in effect:

Effective control and governance create legitimacy, not UN votes or ‘international consensus.’ We’re reverting to the Montevideo protocol, exclusively. Israel exists because we hold a defined territory and govern it effectively — in the same way as Somaliland. You don’t get to vote us out of existence.

This isn’t about Somaliland. It’s about destroying the gatekeeping power of international institutions that have become weapons against Israeli sovereignty. And Netanyahu is using the Trump administration’s transactional indifference to global norms as cover to reshape the fundamental rules.

Qaddafi Called It (And Paid For It)

In 2009, Libyan leader Muammar Qaddafi gave a rambling speech at the UN where he called the Security Council the “Terror Council,” tore up a page of the UN Charter, and accused the entire system of being neo-colonial power dressed up as international law. He was dismissed as a ranting dictator.

*Muammar Qaddafi, 2009. US Navy photo. Public Domain.*

Two years later, NATO — operating under a UN resolution — regime-changed him, turning Libya from Africa’s highest HDI state into a failed state with open-air slave markets. Qaddafi had correctly identified that the post-1945 system was “political feudalism” where five permanent Security Council members could do whatever they wanted while smaller nations faced “consequences” for trying the same actions.

Muammar Qaddafi was a vile individual…but he was not wrong. And they killed him for saying it out loud.

The Cascade Effect

If this precedent holds, the implications are explosive:

Catalonia’s independence movement gains legal ammunition against Spain and the EU
Taiwan’s status becomes purely about effective governance, not Beijing’s claims
Kurdistan becomes viable if they can maintain control and get recognition
Every artificial post-colonial border in Africa and the Middle East becomes reviseable
Texas…well, the Republic of Texas has serious historical precedent

The African Union, Egypt, Turkey, and Nigeria aren’t panicking because they care about Somalia’s feelings. They’re panicking because most of their borders are artificial lines drawn by European colonial powers that trapped rival ethnic groups together and split coherent peoples apart. Sykes-Picot and the 1884-1885 Berlin Conference created states, not nations. The post-1945 order then froze these arrangements and declared them permanent.

Netanyahu just said: No, they’re not.

Does This Actually Make Things Worse?

Ten years ago, I’d have predicted this would cause a global bloodbath. But would it really? Pre-1945 wars were generally frequent but bounded: limited objectives, clear territorial stakes. Post-1945, we’ve had continuous conflict: Korea, Vietnam, endless Middle East wars, proxy conflicts across Africa and Latin America, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Yemen, Libya. The UN system didn’t prevent wars; it just made them illegitimate, forcing them to become covert, proxy-based, or justified through elaborate legal fictions.

We traded occasional large wars for permanent medium-intensity conflict. That might actually be the worse deal.

If destroying the constitutive theory allows organic nations to form based on actual cultural and historical coherence rather than colonial mapmaking, the initial instability might be worth it for long-term viability.

The Bottom Line

Israel’s recognition of Somaliland isn’t about Red Sea access or Ethiopian port deals, although those certainly matter. It’s about one simple proposition: The post-World War II international order, as currently administered, is illegitimate and they’re not playing by those rules anymore.

And it’s the sole fault of the United Nations itself, as their 2012 recognition of the wholly non-existent and non-governed “state of Palestine” handed the United States and Israel all the excuse they needed to unilaterally recognize Somaliland.

Whether you think that’s catastrophic or overdue depends entirely on whether you believe the current system has been preventing conflict or perpetuating it (hint: it’s the latter). But either way, what happened on December 26th of 2025 in Jerusalem is going to reshape the world map in ways we’re only beginning to understand.

The post-1945 era might have just ended. Most people haven’t noticed yet.

But they will.

2025 – A Year In Review

Michael Cessna December 19, 2025

So. We have come to the end of 2025. To say the least, it’s been a wild ride.

In the United States

The year started off with a bang, with a pair of terror attacks: a truck-ramming assault in New Orleans, Louisiana, and the still-mysterious explosion of a Tesla Cyber Truck in the parking foyer of the Trump International Hotel in Las Vegas, NV, both on January 1st.

Then, beginning on January 7, a series of massive fires began in the Los Angeles Basin, that would eventually destroy the town of Pacific Palisades. In this case, while the main fires began on January 7, an initial fire was intentionally started on January 1; the perpetrator was swiftly arrested, and his fire was thought to have been contained, before it reignited. The scale of the destruction – around 58,000 acres in total – and controversies about poor fire fighting infrastructure continue to simmer as the year closes.

Then, on the heels of the Tutsi M23 rebel group seizing the city of Goma, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo on January 27, the aircraft world saw four major crashes in as many days (January 28 – 31), making for a total of twenty-six fatal accidents, as of December 18th, including a still bizarre collision of a US Army UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter with a Bombadier CRJ700 (operating as American Airlines Flight 5342, under the American Eagle brand) over the Potomac River, near the Kennedy Center. Questions remain, circling the exact chain of events.

Then – to cap off January – Asteroid 2024 YR4 became the first object to trigger planetary defense procedures on January 30, when it was initially determined to have a 1.3% chance of hitting the Earth in 2032. While it was later determined that the asteroid will not, in fact, hit the Earth, there remains a greater than zero percent chance (about 4%) of hittig the Moon in 2032. If this happens on the face of the Moon facing Earth, the debris blown towards us would very likely cause severe damage to the constellations of satellites in Low-Earth Orbit, that our communications and payment processing systems depend on. Any large-scale disruption to this network would effectively shut down commerce for months, at least.

Meanwhile, Trump’s tariff war, and his relentless drive to secure ceasefire or outright peace agreements in several conflicts seem to be working, although with the caution that the agreements seem focused on securing the flow of rare-earth materials, more than securing actual “peace”.

And – an end to the war in Ukraine still eludes Trump’s continued efforts to get the two countries to at least start talking.

External events

Internationally, wars continue to simmer. While the Assad Family’s near-50 year reign over Syria ended at the end of 2024, fighting has continued, with Israeli intervention in southern Syria, and one of the largest bombing campaigns in recent memory; eventually, three US personnel were killed in December at a meeting in the Syrian city of Palmyra.

The collapse of the Assad regime triggered a sudden and startling collapse of Iranian influence in the region, as Iranian proxy forces like Hezbollah saw their support infrastructure critically damaged as a part of the phase of their war against Israel in support of Hamas, that began on October of 2023.

That particularly brutal conflict – beginning with the Hamas raids of October 7, 2023 – also sparked the Red Sea Crisis with the Houthi religious faction in Yemen launching relentless attacks on any commercial vessel with even the faintest connection to Israel – effectively, all commercial shipping in the world. In addition, the Houthis began firing Iranian-supplied ballistic missiles at anyone and anything within range.

*Map of the of the 2023 Israel-Hamas War, 2023-present. 2023 image by Wikipedia Users Veggies and Ecrusized. CC0/4.0 International*

These attacks resulted in a somewhat lackluster allied naval campaign to try and escort commercial vessels through the Red Sea, and ultimately to the Trump Administration launching a series of massive airstrikes throughout the region – sometimes support by, or in support of, Israeli strikes against the radical Islamic regime in Iran.

As the year closes, the region seems to be taking a breather. That won’t last.

Elsewhere, the civil war in Sudan continues to rage, with continued massacres conducted by both sides. And in Nigeria, religious massacres by Muslims against Christians suddenly elevated to the point where the Trump Administration openly called for a designation of “genocide”, and even hinted at possible military intervention.

In southern Africa, the persistent Islamic State-aligned insurgency in Mozambique continues on, threatening to turn the country into another Somalia.

In Asia, the civil war in Burma/Myanmar grinds on, with the ruling junta banking on continued massive support from Communist China…which may be a bad bet, as the Chinese economy continues to falter.

And finally, the Trump Administration continues with its”saber-rattling” at Venezuela, in an effort to force long-time dictator Nicolas Maduro from power. Whether this turns into an actual shooting war or a stunt, remains to be seen.

The Wrap

Overall, 2025 has seen some remarkable swings in the world situation…but there remains little indication of a true end to many of the persistent conflicts that remain ongoing. Economies are still adjusting to the reality of heavy US tariffs being imposed for the first time in decades, and wars continue apace.

Here’s to hoping things improve in 2026.