The USS Abraham Lincoln is somewhere in the Pacific right now, doing the Lord's work of projecting American power and terrifying foreign navies, when it isn't too busy having its plumbing explode.
This is the same ship that in 2020 spent 10 months at sea because of COVID, a deployment so cursed that the Navy literally sent it home after the crew started writing open letters like they were filing a Yelp review for a hostage situation.
For those unfamiliar, the Lincoln is a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier: 1,092 feet of nuclear-powered real estate, roughly 5,000 sailors aboard, and a flight deck that launches jets with the kind of force that makes your morning espresso machine look like a Fisher-Price toy.
It costs about $13 billion to build and operate over its lifetime, which is a lot of money to spend on a vessel whose toilets occasionally unionize.
In 2023, the Lincoln had a little incident involving its freshwater system that left sailors rationing water and showering in shifts, because nothing says global superpower quite like 5,000 people fighting over the last clean towel.
The Navy, in its infinite wisdom, described it as a "planned maintenance issue," which is military-speak for "we have no idea what happened and we'd rather not discuss it." The carrier's history reads like a reality show that keeps getting renewed despite terrible ratings.
It was christened in 1988, deployed to the Gulf War, helped with tsunami relief, and has been the backdrop for more deployment extensions than a Timeshare presentation.
Sailors aboard have reportedly described 12-hour shifts, broken air conditioning, and food that makes cafeteria mystery meat look like Michelin-star dining.
It's a floating small town, except everyone has a security clearance and nobody can leave.
And yet, the Lincoln remains one of the most strategically important assets in the U.S. arsenal.
When it pulls into a foreign port, diplomats suddenly become very interested in being your friend.
When it leaves, entire navies breathe a sigh of relief.
That's the paradox of American military power: a machine so expensive and so flawed that it's somehow indispensable.
Critics point out that the Navy keeps building these things while sailors deal with moldy berthing and equipment that breaks down at the worst possible moment.
Supporters say that's the price of keeping the seas free and the global order intact.
Both are probably right, which is the most American thing about the whole situation.
The closing opinion: The Lincoln is a perfect metaphor for the U.S. military — awe-inspiring from a distance, held together with duct tape and prayers up close, and absolutely essential to a world order that nobody else wants to pay for.
Final Thoughts
It's not a great ship, but it's our great ship, and that's apparently good enough.