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It is no longer WW2. The US' ecobomy in the 1940s was vertically integrated with a dense domestic machine-tool base. Foundries, heat-treaters, precision grinders, and tool-and-die shops sat near final assembly plants—from Detroit’s auto factories to the shipyards of the Delaware and San Francisco Bays. The War Production Board’s Controlled Materials Plan allocated steel, copper, and aluminum across programs with uniform specifications that pared duplication. An M4 Sherman’s engine block could be cast, milled, honed, and assembled within a single regional corridor linked by rail to an ordnance depot.
By contrast, the 2025 defense-industrial supply graph is transnational, multi-tiered, and opaque even to the Pentagon. A modern anti-ship missile seeker may pull indium phosphide wafers from Japan, cryocooled infrared detectors from France, and firmware compiled in Taiwan. The Defense Production Act cannot compel delivery from nodes the government cannot see; illuminating today’s chains often requires months of forensic mapping through layers of primes, subcontractors, and commercial-off-the-shelf integration.
Platforms themselves are far more intricate. In WWII, design-to-production cycles were measured in months, and changeovers could be achieved by retooling jigs, fixtures, and dies. Ford’s Willow Run went from breaking ground to producing a B-24 roughly every hour—about one every 63 minutes by March 1944—in just over two years. Today, an F-35 contains hundreds of thousands of parts, integrates ~8 million lines of onboard code, and draws on suppliers in well over a dozen countries. A mid-production configuration change can trigger months of systems-integration testing, cybersecurity validation, and airworthiness re-certification. This coupling—hardware to software, prime to subcontractor, design to regulator—turns wartime reconfiguration from weeks into fiscal years.
