The Iran War May Be the Best Argument Against Buying US Weapons | The Walrus

Millennium Challenge was the name of a $250 million (US) war game, perhaps the most expensive in history, organized in 2002 by United States Joint Forces Command. It was designed to evaluate the new generation of American military technology—weapons, sensors, battlefield systems—in which the United States fought against a Middle Eastern adversary, either Iran or Iraq.

Lieutenant General Paul K. Van Riper of the Marine Corps was given command of the enemy force. Riper, who, in later interviews, expressed his doubts about the over-reliance on technology, devised an unconventional strategy. This included using low-tech communication methods—like motorcycle couriers and lanterns for signalling—to evade electronic detection. Riper also used waves of cruise missiles to overwhelm the attacking force’s defences. The results were stunning. Riper’s unsophisticated tactics sank sixteen American warships, wiping out the invading fleet, and ending the war game nearly as soon as it started.

But perhaps most surprising was what happened next: Joint Forces Command ordered the game restarted, “refloated” the sunk warships, and placed considerable constraints on Riper’s enemy force. Riper stopped playing the game: he had already won, and the new constraints were, in his eyes, scripted to deliver an American victory.

History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes. As Donald Trump’s illegal war on Iran grinds into its third month, it’s become obvious few in the Trump administration have heard of Millennium Challenge. Perhaps defence secretary Pete Hegseth shouldn’t have fired all those generals.

That said, the deficiencies of the conflict aren’t limited to the lack of planning, strategy, or clearly articulated goals. Much like the Millennium Challenge demonstrated, advanced military technology doesn’t guarantee an easy victory. Bombastic rhetoric notwithstanding, Iran has proven to be a resilient and innovative adversary. Not only have they managed to close the Strait of Hormuz to most shipping, causing a global economic crisis, they’ve further managed to rain down drones, rockets, and missiles across the Middle East.

Most recently, the Iranians not only shot down several high-tech American combat aircraft, they further made the subsequent rescue operation exceptionally costly. And a recent investigation by the Washington Post reveals that the Iranians have managed to hit many more American bases in the region than the Trump administration has so far admitted: 228 structures or piece of equipment at fifteen different sites have been damaged or destroyed by Iranian counterattacks, killing seven and wounding more than 400.

How much longer Iran is able to continue defending itself is anyone’s guess. Trump promised to wipe Iran’s civilization off the face of the planet, and the Iranians—long oppressed by brutal US-backed dictators and sanctions—are unlikely to greet the Americans as liberators.

Though Canada is unlikely to participate in the conflict, how American weaponry performs is nonetheless of vital interest to us. Canada has long looked to the US as a convenient source of military hardware. This relationship has, over the years, facilitated Canada’s involvement in US-led military interventions and provided economic benefits to Canada’s defence sector. Estimates suggest more than 60 percent of Canada’s defence exports go to the United States, and the integrated nature of the North American military-industrial complex generates over $14 billion in annual revenue, or $9.6 billion of our gross domestic product.

Naturally enough, this has made Canada not only dependent on the US for hardware but has arguably led Canada to become increasingly aligned with American foreign policy, even as Washington shifted toward economic coercion and protectionism, pushing us to adopt a security posture that, in the words of one defence expert, assumes “America’s enemies must also be ours.” And while weapons don’t necessarily dictate policy, expenses often require justification.

As it happens, some of the more advanced US gear—equipment Canada may be considering for its own rearmament—is struggling in the conflict against Iran, a country whose military technology is generally considered obsolete, especially in comparison with that of the US.

There is little hope that the Trump administration will provide allies with an objective assessment of the performance of their combat systems. Depending on the president’s mood, he’s either already won, is about to unleash hell, is working toward a negotiated settlement, or thinks it’s everyone else’s problem to solve. This problem notwithstanding, the Mark Carney government should nonetheless seek to conduct its own internal performance review of American tactics, strategy, and equipment.

To begin with, an F-15E Strike Eagle and an A-10 Thunderbolt II were shot down by Iranian air defences, presumably by surface-to-air missiles. An F-35—the same model at the centre of Canada’s decade-long procurement debate—was also hit by a missile and forced to retreat. Losing aircraft in combat is hardly unprecedented. What is striking is that many of these systems were sold on the promise of overwhelming superiority. Yet again and again, they were all remarkably easy to neutralize with weapons that cost a fraction of the aircraft they destroyed. The Americans, let’s not forget, have marketed the stealthy F-35 as nearly invulnerable.

The F-35 may, in fact, be more vulnerable than initially believed. After all, an old Soviet surface-to-air missile took down an equally “invulnerable” stealth fighter over Serbia in 1999. Last year, footage showed a French Rafale locking onto and scoring a “kill” against a F-35A in a simulated dogfight—an eye-catching upset pitting a 4.5-generation jet against America’s premier stealth fighter.

Canada might be particularly concerned by the vulnerability of the F-35 to short-range infrared (IR) homing missiles, a weapon that can be carried and operated by just one person. Such weapons, called MANPADS, are comparatively inexpensive, with modern Russian versions retailing for about $250,000 (US)—compared to the roughly $100 million (US) for each F-35. In a cold weather environment, such as the Canadian Arctic, the heat signature of a combat aircraft’s engines could be easier for an IR missile to detect and track.

And while news media has largely focused on the successful rescue of a downed weapons systems officer over the Easter weekend, the cost of the mission—in time, hardware, and other resources—demonstrates that American technological supremacy can actually be a liability in its own right. Two MC-130J Commando II special operations aircraft were destroyed in the rescue, along with two AH-6 helicopters. While the Americans say this was to prevent the equipment from falling into Iranian hands, the fact remains that something prevented the aircraft from taking off in the first place. Canada might want to ask why: the workhorse of the Royal Canadian Air Force is the C-130J Hercules—a transport aircraft based on the MC-130J.

(As an aside, this isn’t the first time a military rescue mission in Iran resulted in the destruction of cutting-edge American aircraft: very nearly the exact same thing occurred during Operation Eagle Claw in 1980.)

Canadian officials should also take note that rescue helicopters similar to the type currently leased by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to patrol the border were forced to retreat after being damaged by ground fire. But more significantly, the cost of the rescue—in destroyed and damaged equipment alone—could easily be within range of $300 million (US).

This highlights another problem: the economics of the war are unsustainably lopsided. American losses are already in the billions of dollars. Nothing in Iran’s missile, rocket, or drone arsenals costs anywhere close to those figures. Iranian counterattacks, for instance, wiped out an E-3 Sentry airborne early warning aircraft valued at $300 million (US) and damaged five KC-135 Stratotankers, which cost about $120 million (US) to replace. These platforms provide the infrastructure that make air dominance possible. Without them, American fighters are at a considerable disadvantage.

While exact figures aren’t yet available, estimates suggest upwards of forty American aircraft have been damaged or obliterated, including types Canada has expressed an interest in acquiring, such as the Reaper drone. As of this writing, Iran has destroyed at least a dozen—in several cases, with surface-to-air missiles. Given that Canada plans to use the Reaper in Arctic sovereignty operations, should it not trouble us that—much like the F-35—it has a habit of getting knocked out of the sky by comparatively unsophisticated weapons?

In a war of attrition, victory often goes to the side that expends the least amount of resources. And while the US may have the fiscal capacity to absorb considerable losses, Canada doesn’t. Though the Canadian public might approve of rearmament in an era when our sovereignty has been threatened, spending will still need to be judicious. And this applies to new aircraft as much as the weapons and systems they use.

It’s for this reason that Canada should take a closer look at the friendly fire incident that took place at the beginning of the conflict. A Kuwaiti F-18—similar to those operated by Canada—shot down three American F-15E Strike Eagles. All of the aircraft, weapons, and systems involved in the incident—including the sensors that are supposed to identify friendly aircraft and warn pilots of incoming anti-aircraft missiles—are American made.

Performance issues aren’t limited to aerospace assets either. Despite having the world’s most powerful navy, the United States has not been able to clear the Strait of Hormuz (though they were able to sink an Iranian warship they knew was unarmed). While the threat of Iranian mines is certainly a concern, American warships may not be completely impervious to Iranian rocket, missile, and drone attacks. This is of particular concern to Canada, given most of the weapons and sensors intended for the future River-class destroyers are of American design. This includes the Aegis Combat System that was responsible for mistakenly shooting down an Iranian passenger jet with nearly 300 people on board in 1988. More recently, an Aegis-equipped US Navy cruiser shot down one of their own F-18s.

Israel’s Iron Dome air defence system has also struggled to perform during the conflict. Though no air defence system is perfect, Iron Dome appears to be easily overwhelmed by volley attacks—something that was noted before the conflict proved it to be true. This, too, concerns Canada, given the Carney government’s apparent interest in joining the US on a missile defence shield conceptually inspired by Israel’s example.

Ultimately, while none of these systems are failing outright, they’ve proven the US isn’t invincible. With the war already exceptionally unpopular and Trump demanding hundreds of billions in public money to fight it, it’s not inconceivable that the loss of a major American warship or airbase may lead to regime change in Washington, DC, well before such occurs in Tehran.

Canada’s government needs to carefully assess not just how American military technology is performing but if policy is leading procurement, or whether it’s the other way around. This isn’t a new issue: in 1957, the John Diefenbaker government cancelled the Avro Arrow in favour of American-designed (and controlled) air defence systems, a process that ultimately led Canada to begrudgingly accepting nuclear weapons. They were obsolete nearly as soon as they became operational, and Canada hasn’t designed a combat aircraft since. And even though several of the systems we acquired instead of the Arrow soon became obsolete, Canada had to keep them in front-line service for decades to justify their cost.

The Carney government may have recently reached the North Atlantic Treaty Organization’s “2 percent” spending guideline, but we shouldn’t forget it was Trump who complained the loudest about Canada getting a “free ride.” Now Trump’s sulkily threatening to leave NATO altogether.

Canada won’t follow Trump’s lead, but his threats give us another reason to re-evaluate our US-centric procurement strategy. Weapons don’t necessarily dictate policy, but the Americans do have a habit of building systems specifically designed to start wars we rarely support. When those wars fail, the Americans start designing the next generation of weapons and sell off their old equipment.

This is pretty much where we find ourselves right now: not designing weapons to defend ourselves against tomorrow’s threats but waiting in line to buy yesterday’s American technology. Call me a killjoy, but this might not be the best way to secure a country.

Taylor C. Noakes is an independent journalist and public historian from Montreal.