The Littoral Combat Ship (LCS) began as a revolutionary new concept in an era when the U.S. Navy was attempting to reimagine itself. It was the early 2000s, and with the Cold War behind it, the Navy wasn’t thinking anymore about huge battles on the open seas. Rather, it was heading nearer to the coast, to shallower, coastal waters where the smaller, more unpredictable dangers of mines, diesel submarines, and shoals of high-speed attack boats were becoming an increasing concern.
To address this new reality, the Navy saw in its imagination an entirely new type of warship. It would be smaller, quicker, less expensive, and highly versatile—something that could be readily configured to the mission at hand. They dubbed it the Littoral Combat Ship. It was the ideal solution: a single ship, multiple missions.
By replacing mission modules, the same ship would change from a sub-hunter to a mine-clearer to an attacking enemy craft. Two variations were produced—Lockheed Martin’s steel-hulled Freedom-class and General Dynamics’ aluminum trimaran, the Independence-class. Both models promised to transform coastal naval combat.
The LCS didn’t deliver on that promise. The notion of operating these vessels with only 40 crew members had seemed efficient, but it did not pan out. The crews had to be almost doubled just to maintain business as usual. The interchange mission modules, the linchpin of the program, suffered from delays and technical issues. All too many never achieved full operational status. And then there were the failures. Some ships experienced such serious mechanical failures that they had to be towed back to port.
One of the big issues was with the propulsion system on the Freedom-class. A critical component known as the combining gear was constantly failing, stopping the ships from reaching their target speeds.
The Independence-class was no exception—these ships experienced hull cracking and other structural problems. In a 2022 Government Accountability Office report, it was made abundantly clear: the Navy did not have a sound plan to address these issues, and costs were escalating way out of control.
Nevertheless, the Navy continued. Vessels such as the USS Sioux City were sent out and gained real-world experience working alongside the Coast Guard, participating in joint maneuvers, and even seizing more than 10,000 kilograms of cocaine on one deployment. In less threatening contexts, the vessels proved they could still be effective. But their vulnerability in higher-risk situations, combined with their inability to serve in essential combat roles, towered above them.
In the end, there was frustration that boiled over in Congress. Legislators were sick of the runaway expense and lackluster performance. At one hearing, Rep. Jackie Speier testified with a graphic of the LCS fleet plastered with lemons, tagging the program as a huge disappointment. Critics also cited the influence of the defense industry, suggesting that political pressure and the desire to save shipyard jobs kept the program alive many years past when it should have died.
Things boiled down to a head when the Navy chose to retire some of the vessels—such as the Sioux City, Little Rock, and Detroit—after only a couple of years of service. These were the youngest ships in the fleet, with a 25-year design life, but already destined for the junkyard. The reason was straightforward: they cost too much to operate, were too dodgy to rely on in combat, and were longer worth the investment. The Navy decided to cut its losses and concentrate on more effective platforms.
It wasn’t all bad, however. In theaters such as South and Central America, where high-quality naval warfare isn’t the central issue, the LCS found its niche. They were useful for things such as counter-drug work and operations with partner countries. Some analysts feel that some ships might have been able to be kept in those capacities on a full-time basis instead of being retired so soon. But the larger point still stands: when you design a ship, it needs to be built for the world as it exists, not the one you’re thinking is going to exist.
The Littoral Combat Ship program is widely regarded now as a cautionary tale. It demonstrates what occurs when excellent-sounding concepts collide with the rough realities of engineering, strategy, and finances. It’s a testament that ambition must be supported by down-to-earth thinking, that innovation must be subjected to rigorous testing, and that wishful thinking has no place in the design of a warship. For the Navy projects of the future, the LCS saga is a hard-won lesson: remain earthy, remain truthful, and never permit politics to trump performance.