The Battle for Wake Island 2025: A Critical Assessment of Pacific Basing Strategy

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Construction on Wake Island had only just begun when the Japanese struck—mere hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor. The US military, hamstrung by financial constraints and logistical delays, had failed to build up the island’s defenses with any sense of urgency. As the Navy’s Island Commander, Commander Winfield Scott Cunningham confronted severe shortfalls in manpower, materiel, and infrastructure. But ultimately, it was the tyranny of distance—the inescapable challenge of conducting operations across the vast Pacific—that rendered his position untenable and forced his surrender.¹

The historic 1941 Battle for Wake Island, in many ways, foreshadows the island’s contemporary struggle. Operational decisions, sustainment difficulties, and resource misalignment continue to produce tactical-level vulnerabilities. US Indo-Pacific Command (USINDOPACOM) has rightly prioritized installations within the first and second island chains (see fig. 1), but this has come at a cost. More remote and austere locations—Wake Island foremost among them—have been left without the resources required to sustain strategic relevance.

Wake Island Airfield—tasked to “provide USINDOPACOM and Pacific Air Forces (PACAF) the ability to project US power across the Pacific, enabling the trans-Pacific air bridge, joint missile launch operations, and remote basing strategies to deter regional threats and secure the Indo-Pacific theater”—no longer aligns with the demands of great-power competition.² Strategic neglect threatens to replicate the very conditions that led to the 1941 defeat.

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Figure 1. Wake Island in relation to Pacific island chains. (Source: Frederick Cichon, “Learn from the Fall of the Philippines: Prepare the Third Island Chain,” Proceedings 150, no. 12 (December 2024), https://www.usni.org/.)

Since the Obama administration’s 2011 Pacific Pivot, the United States has expanded access to more than 66 sites across the Indo-Pacific. Yet improvements beyond the second island chain remain sparse.³ A 2023 Congressional Research Service report noted that basing posture “remains, at least in part, the product of decisions made decades previously . . . [constrained by] ongoing wars in the Middle East . . . priority weapons, and [the military services’] reticence to spend money on supporting infrastructure.”⁴ In 2020, then–Chief of Staff of the Air Force (CSAF) General C.Q. Brown called for “ruthless prioritization.” For remote sites west of the second island chain, that ruthlessness has meant abandonment.⁵ Of the USD 9.1 billion requested in the 2024 Pacific Deterrence Initiative (PDI) presidential budget, only one remote site received investment: US Army Garrison Kwajalein Atoll, Marshall Islands.⁶

Admiral John C. Aquilino, the former commander of USINDOPACOM, asserted that distributed combat power enhances survivability, lowers operational risk, and provides flexible military options to deter adversaries while reassuring allies and partners.⁷ General C.Q. Brown, then commander of PACAF, echoed this vision. He championed deeper regional engagement, more robust interoperability exercises, adoption of next-generation technologies, renewal of the Compacts of Free Association (COFA), and the operational integration of Joint All-Domain Operations (JADO) and Agile Combat Employment (ACE). His aim: to create a force that is lighter, leaner, and more agile—capable of deterring aggression or injecting chaos into enemy calculations should conflict erupt.⁸

Despite airpower advances since the 1970s that allow many aircraft to bypass Wake Island, the atoll retains strategic relevance. It hosts the largest airstrip for more than 3,000 miles in any direction and sits at the only intersection of the northern and southern Pacific air routes. This geography makes Wake an indispensable node in the Pacific air bridge, enabling smaller aircraft—or heavily loaded larger ones—to cross the ocean faster and with lower fuel requirements.⁹ Crucially, the island lies outside the effective range of most short- and medium-range ballistic missiles, yet it is significantly closer to the western Pacific than major logistics hubs east of the international date line. Wake thus remains of operational interest to US Navy forces, the Missile Defense Agency (MDA), and the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), which designates it as an emergency divert location.¹⁰

Though too small and remote to serve as a regional hub, Wake Island could anchor a broader network of dispersed sites offering operational flexibility. These sites would provide expeditionary training grounds, intermediate staging bases (ISB) for reconnaissance and counter-reconnaissance missions, missile defense platforms, and forward arming and refueling points to sustain combat aircraft in theater.¹¹ Wake’s strategic potential has not gone unnoticed. Since October 2021, the House Appropriations Committee has intensified its scrutiny, dispatching congressional and staff delegations, prompting senior leader visits, and convening the 2023 Wake Island Joint Stakeholder Summit. Interest has only grown. The Fiscal Year 2023 Veterans Affairs and Military Construction Appropriations bill explicitly requested Department of Defense plans and requirements for Wake and other remote sites. The question is no longer whether Wake matters—but how quickly Washington will act before another adversary tests our resolve.¹²

Yet the gap between future demands and current capabilities has only widened. Infrastructure deterioration has outpaced resourcing, even as operational demands on the site continue to grow. In 2023, members of Congress sent a stark message to the Secretary of the Air Force, urging immediate action to address Wake Island’s crumbling infrastructure.¹³ During an August 2023 Congressional Staff Delegation visit, the verdict was blunt. When comparing Wake to other struggling Pacific installations, the delegation declared it “the worst we’ve ever seen.” Their letter warned that, in its present condition, Wake “cannot be relied upon to serve its role in a time of crisis.”¹⁴

In 2024, General David W. Allvin, the current CSAF, laid out the Case for Change, arguing that “success in today’s strategic environment requires a force aligned and focused on the requirements and attributes that will keep us competitive.”¹⁵ On 12 February 2024, the Department of the Air Force announced 24 key decisions—one of the most sweeping recalibrations in recent memory. The reforms fall into four categories: Develop People, Generate Readiness, Project Power, and Develop Capabilities. For much of the force, ACE maneuvers, mission command, Mission Ready Airmen, and tailorable force packages represent unfamiliar territory. Implementing these concepts will require new training pipelines focused on wartime skills, coupled with large-scale exercises to generate true mission readiness. Restructuring operational wings and base commands to project power as integrated Units of Action will demand even more in the vast, logistically complex Pacific.¹⁶

This article uses Wake Island Airfield as a case study to illustrate the distinct challenges facing US operations beyond the second island chain. By establishing a historical baseline with the 1941 Battle for Wake Island and then pivoting to current supportability concerns, the analysis reveals what has changed—and what has not—in the intervening 84 years. The following section outlines a set of solution elements to realign strategy with operational reality: to make Wake supportable, expeditionary, joint, or allied—leveraging the full spectrum of Diplomatic, Informational, Military, and Economic (DIME) tools. The article concludes with a call to action directed at senior leaders, emphasizing urgency, clarity, and resolve.

Wake Island 1941

No one expected the Wake Island defenders to survive the initial assault. The island had been resourced too little, too late, to offer any realistic hope of military success. That outcome surprised no one. For nearly four centuries, explorers dismissed Wake as “too desolate” and “unfit for habitation,” a place “worthless except as a bird sanctuary” until Pan American Airways established a refueling station and modest hotel for its Pacific clippers in 1935.¹⁷

Just a few years later—and 7,500 miles away—President Franklin D. Roosevelt elevated Wake to national strategic significance. Along with Midway and Pearl Harbor, he designated it one of the top three Pacific priorities: an early-warning outpost to shield the US West Coast from a surprise attack. By the late 1930s, the island’s transformation had begun. A USD 20 million buildup launched the construction of a submarine base, a seaplane station, and a 5,000-foot runway to host Marine Corps aircraft—all built by civilian contractors.¹⁸

In October 1941, the island’s first military garrison arrived, led by Major James P.S. Devereux, USMC, of the 1st Defense Battalion. He found Wake “shockingly ill-equipped,” badly undermanned, and unlikely to improve. Higher command told him that, should hostilities break out, he and his Marines were simply “expected to do the best you could.”¹⁹ When Commander Cunningham arrived in November to assume overall command, little had changed.

By the time of the Japanese attack in December 1941, Wake held 524 joint-service personnel—mostly Marines—and 12 F4F-3 Wildcat fighters from Marine Fighter Attack Squadron (VMA) 211. Roughly a third of the island’s 1,200 civilian contractors volunteered to support the defense. Though lacking military training, they became lawful combatants.²⁰ Still, they remained outside Cunningham’s command. Many fled to the brush, expecting an imminent evacuation that never came. Coordination between military and contractor forces relied largely on mutual aid. But official wartime preparations focused solely on the garrison.²¹

Critical shortages plagued the defense. The Marines lacked essential equipment, spare parts, technical manuals, and maintenance training for their new fighter aircraft. Ammunition was scarce. The unit’s only bombs did not fit its only aircraft.²² Necessity became the mother of invention, and improvisation became the hallmark of Wake’s resistance—a makeshift ethos dubbed “the basic industry of Wake Island.”²³ Radar, which could have provided critical early warning, had been sitting on the docks at Pearl Harbor for months.

So, the exhausted men worked—one eye on the sky—fortifying positions between air raids. Two lookouts with binoculars manned the water tower around the clock. On the first day of attacks, seven of VMA-211’s 12 Wildcats were destroyed on the ground. Still, the remaining aircraft gave the defenders a fighting chance. Captain Henry “Hammering Hank” Elrod downed two Japanese bombers in the opening salvos and several more in the days that followed. But on December 21, their final aircraft went down, and with it, the last airborne hope of repelling the siege.²⁴

The Battle for Wake Island, fought from 8 to 23 December 1941, offered the American public a flicker of hope in the grim aftermath of Pearl Harbor. Against long odds, the island’s defenders scored a stunning and singular victory: on 11 December, US coastal artillery repelled an amphibious assault—the only time such a defense succeeded during the entirety of World War II. At point-blank range, 3- and 5-inch guns sank the first Japanese surface ship of the war. Meanwhile, Captain Henry Elrod’s aircrews delivered punishing blows, crippling the first full-size enemy submarine ever lost in the Pacific campaign.²⁵

The cost was steep. The United States lost 120 men and all 12 of its aircraft. But the price paid by the Japanese Imperial Navy was steeper still: more than 800 men killed in the failed assault on 11 December, another 600 in the second on 23 December, five ships sunk, and more than 20 aircraft lost.²⁶ Worse for the Japanese, fuel reserves ran low, and critical naval resources had already been diverted to mount a second, unplanned attack.²⁷

Still, the Japanese needed little time to regroup. Two US Navy task forces, originally dispatched with reinforcements, were recalled. After the Pearl Harbor catastrophe, American naval leadership chose to prioritize Midway and Hawaii, preserve key sea lanes, and avoid further losses to a diminished fleet and its aging, underperforming F2A-3 fighters.²⁸ Wake Island remained strategic—but not strategic enough to justify the risk.

For Japan, however, the calculus was different. In seizing Wake, Tokyo had already spent more fuel, materiel, ships, planes, and pilots than anticipated. In the late industrial era, Japan was a resource-starved rising power bent on regional hegemony. For the architects of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, war was about oil, access to China, and driving America out of the western Pacific.²⁹

Within that grand design, Wake stood out (see fig. 2). Isolated and defiant, it remained the lone American outpost deep inside Japanese-controlled territory. Politically and symbolically, the island could not be left in US hands. Yet after all it cost to take, the Japanese found little strategic use for Wake—and the troops stationed there suffered more than most in the long Pacific campaign.

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Figure 2. Allied offensive in the Pacific Theater of WWII. (Source: “Map of World War II in the Pacific,” NCPedia, 14 June 2024, https://www.ncpedia.org/.)

Lessons from 1941

The 1941 Battle for Wake Island underscores a timeless truth of war: strategic decisions made years in advance—or far from the front—can determine tactical outcomes on the battlefield. Wake stands as a case study in the high cost of inadequate preparation, poor resource allocation, and the dangers of strategic neglect in remote Pacific outposts. Three factors converged to render the island’s defense untenable: the failure to ensure remote sustainment, the absence of military readiness and modern technology, and a lack of command priority when it mattered most.

Remote Sustainment. Wake’s strategic value in 1941 was defined less by its size than by its location—isolated in the vastness of the Pacific. As historian Geoffrey Blainey would later describe, the “tyranny of distance” imposed operational constraints that shaped the choices of both American and Japanese commanders.³⁰ For Tokyo, Wake was a vulnerability, a potential American forward base within the perimeter of their newly expanding empire. Though the Japanese lacked the capacity to exploit the island themselves, they could not afford to let it remain in American hands. Wake’s position—within the arc of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere—posed too great a risk to Japan’s lines of communication and its resource supply chain, particularly oil and minerals essential to its war machine.³¹

For the United States, the island’s remoteness proved fatal. Located more than 1,000 miles from Hawaii, 700 miles from Marcus Island, and 600 miles from Kwajalein, Wake’s defenders were effectively on their own. When Rear Admiral William Pye, acting Pacific Fleet Commander after Pearl Harbor, weighed whether to send Task Force 14 to relieve the embattled garrison, geography shaped his decision. Any rescue force would need days to cross waters now contested by the Imperial Japanese Navy. The losses at Pearl Harbor had gutted American naval power in the Pacific; Pye calculated that further risk to critical capital ships in an uncertain operation could not be justified. He withdrew Task Force 14—sealing the fate of Wake and confirming that the Pacific’s distances were not just tactical obstacles but strategic realities.³²

Military Readiness and Technology. The prewar military posture at Wake Island mirrored a broader pattern of underpreparedness across the Pacific. Despite decades of intelligence assessments warning of a potential conflict with Japan, the United States entered the Pacific campaign with its primary naval base crippled, much of its fleet damaged or destroyed, and its forward positions in the Philippines, Guam, and Wake Island overrun.³³ Nowhere was the cost of complacency more evident than at Wake.

The island’s role as a Pacific Fleet early-warning outpost was rendered meaningless by the absence of basic detection systems. Wake lacked both radar and acoustic surveillance capabilities—technologies already in widespread military use. Defenders were forced to rely on human lookouts with binoculars and improvised signals. This vulnerability left the garrison blind to incoming threats and perpetually on the defensive. The initial Japanese air assault caught the island flat-footed; defenders had no meaningful warning, and no effective means of response.

Compounding the vulnerability was a staggering shortage of operational readiness. The Marine Defense Battalion faced critical deficits in essential equipment: limited ammunition, no spare parts, and no technical manuals for aircraft maintenance. In a telling example of the systemic failure, the bombs stocked on the island did not fit the racks of the only aircraft available.³⁴ These were not isolated mistakes—they reflected a systemic failure to equip and support the force.

Isolation magnified every deficiency. The tyranny of distance ensured that resupply and reinforcement were both unlikely and slow. Against a Japanese military already hardened by five years of sustained combat in China, Wake’s defenders were outmatched in both capability and readiness.³⁵

The consequences were swift and severe. When the Japanese struck, seven of the 12 F4F Wildcats from VMA-211 were destroyed on the ground—eliminated before they could take flight. This loss of airpower, a direct result of the island’s lack of early warning, decimated its already thin defensive posture. The battle had barely begun, but Wake’s fate was already sealed.

Command Priority. The fall of Wake Island in December 1941 underscores how tactical outcomes at remote Pacific outposts were shaped—and often doomed—by higher-level strategic priorities and a fragmented command structure. Four days after Pearl Harbor, Hitler declared war on the United States. President Roosevelt, under pressure from British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, committed to a “Germany First” strategy. That decision immediately relegated the Pacific theater to a secondary front, deprioritizing critical assets and reinforcing an already precarious mismatch of forces across the region. Wake Island paid the price.³⁶

Strategic deprioritization translated into decisive operational consequences. On 21–22 December, Acting Pacific Fleet Commander Rear Admiral Pye made the pivotal decision to recall Task Force 14, which had been dispatched to relieve Wake. He did so unilaterally, without waiting for Admiral Chester Nimitz, who was en route to assume command. That withdrawal sealed Wake’s fate. Though understandable in the context of Pearl Harbor’s fresh devastation, the decision symbolized a broader failure to support forward positions—positions whose vulnerability stemmed directly from years of strategic neglect.³⁷

The command crisis at Wake was further compounded by structural dysfunction. The US military entered World War II hamstrung by fractured command lines, overlapping authorities, and interservice rivalries. The resulting confusion violated the principle of unity of command, leaving tactical commanders like Commander Cunningham to operate with limited guidance and minimal support. These institutional shortcomings persisted throughout the war, but their early consequences were most acutely felt at outposts like Wake.³⁸

Yet, against this backdrop of strategic abandonment, the Wake defenders achieved remarkable results. With inadequate resources, limited personnel, and no prospect of reinforcement, they held off two carrier air groups and multiple destroyer squadrons for over two weeks. Their efforts resulted in the destruction of more than 30 enemy aircraft, two destroyers, two landing craft, and heavy damage to at least eight additional ships.³⁹ Tactically, the defense of Wake proved far more effective than its strategic planners had anticipated—or resourced.

Wake’s defense foreshadowed the adaptability and innovation that would come to define US success in the Pacific. The campaign would hinge on new forms of warfare: carrier-based aviation, joint amphibious operations, and integrated service commands. Over time, those innovations would turn the tide. But in 1941, the cost of failing to prioritize, equip, and command remote outposts was high—and immediate.⁴⁰

That lesson remains. As today’s planners revisit forward posture concepts like ACE, the experience of Wake demands attention. Resourcing, command unity, and strategic prioritization are not abstract concerns. They are the difference between deterrence and disaster.

Wake Island 2025

Wake Island presents a paradox at the heart of modern Indo-Pacific strategy: its strategic value has increased under the pressures of great-power competition, yet its operational capabilities have steadily eroded. Since the Obama administration’s 2011 Pacific Pivot, the United States has expanded its regional military footprint to more than 66 sites. However, installations positioned beyond the second island chain—such as Wake—have been neglected under what General Brown labeled a policy of “ruthless prioritization.” This growing gap between strategic importance and operational readiness echoes the fatal pattern of 1941, when deferred investments and logistical inertia left the island critically unprepared until it was too late

Today, Wake’s strategic utility remains rooted in its geographic position—an isolated but sovereign US territory deep in the Pacific, capable of supporting forward presence, surveillance, and rapid response operations. Alongside other forward-operating locations and cooperative security locations (CSL), Wake contributes to a broader deterrence architecture designed to counter the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) expanding regional influence. This architecture includes hardened sites in Guam, the revival of World War II-era airfields such as Sledge Airfield on Peleliu and North Field on Tinian, and a growing joint-service presence across Micronesia and the Marianas.⁴¹

Despite this buildup, the PRC has publicly downplayed its significance, insisting it does not view the Pacific as a “chessboard of geopolitical confrontation.”⁴² Reality suggests otherwise. The map (fig. 3) illustrates select US military sites in the Indo-Pacific where a sustained US presence has been documented in recent years. These locations collectively represent a forward-operating web designed not only to project power but to assure allies and partners of continued US commitment.

Yet Wake’s current condition—logistically challenged, minimally manned, and technologically outdated—stands in stark contrast to its strategic potential. Without serious investment in its infrastructure, sustainment, and operational integration, Wake risks becoming, once again, an outpost valued in concept but abandoned in practice. The lessons of 1941 are not distant history; they are a warning.

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Figure 3. Select US military presence in the Indo-Pacific. (Source: Luke A. Nicastro, U.S. Defense Infrastructure in the Indo-Pacific: Background and Issues for Congress [Washington: Congressional Research Service, 6 June 2023], 9, https://www.congress.gov/.)

The US military buildup across the Indo-Pacific has been shaped, in part, by the PRC’s expansive Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). Since its formal launch in 2013, 10 Pacific Island Countries have joined the BRI, integrating into Beijing’s Maritime Silk Road. The Congressional Research Service has noted that “national fragility” and a persistent demand for increased economic development have created fertile ground for PRC influence.⁴³ Among the early adopters were Fiji and Samoa, while Tonga stands out as one of the most heavily indebted nations to China. In some cases, these relationships have extended beyond infrastructure and into the security domain. The 2022 security agreement between the PRC and the Solomon Islands, for example, allows for the deployment of Chinese law enforcement and naval assets—an alarming precedent in the region’s evolving security architecture.⁴⁴

Amid this growing geopolitical competition, Wake Island remains conspicuously underutilized. Its ability to support critical operational concepts such as ACE is severely constrained by chronic underfunding and insufficient manpower. Infrastructure sustainment barely meets baseline operational needs, and ongoing personnel shortfalls further degrade the island’s utility. As the Department of the Air Force moves forward with its sweeping February 2024 force restructuring—described by senior leaders as “one of the most extensive recalibrations in recent history”—Wake Island’s strategic role demands urgent reevaluation. Without a clear mission definition and adequate investment, Wake risks again becoming a symbol of strategic neglect rather than a forward-operating asset.

Budgetary decisions for the FY 2025 PDI underscore this marginalization. Among the services and agencies submitting major PDI requests—Navy, Army, MDA, and Office of the Secretary of Defense—the Department of the Air Force trailed behind. Notably, the Air Force’s submission made no mention of Wake Island. The few location-specific requests it did make focused on Guam, Japan, Yap (Federated States of Micronesia), and Basa Air Base in the Philippines (table 1). This omission is more than bureaucratic oversight; it reflects a troubling misalignment between strategy and resource allocation.⁴⁵

Table 1. PDI funding by component. (Source: Pacific Deterrence Initiative, Department of Defense Budget Fiscal Year (FY) 2025, March 2024, https://comptroller.defense.gov/.)

Contemporary exercise scenarios routinely assume significant early damage to fixed installations within the first and second island chains, particularly on Guam and in Japan. These simulations anticipate a spectrum of threats—ranging from kinetic strikes, such as missile barrages, to nonkinetic disruptions, including cyberattacks—that would render logistics not only severely degraded, but contested. The operational consequences of such attacks would ripple across the region, further straining already complex supply networks.

Historical precedent reinforces the need for strategic depth. During World War II, Admiral Nimitz achieved campaign success in part by reinforcing air and missile defenses within the inner island chains while rapidly constructing resilient forward bases in the third island chain. These outposts provided essential staging grounds for sustained operations and proved pivotal in maintaining momentum across the vast Pacific battlespace.⁴⁶

Looking forward, any credible Indo-Pacific strategy must extend beyond the first and second island chains. Remote locations like Wake Island, often overlooked in current planning, may prove indispensable in the event of large-scale disruption. As the threat landscape evolves, so, too, must US basing strategy—favoring a distributed, resilient posture that accounts for the enduring value of seemingly peripheral outposts.

The Needs of 2025

Wake Island’s current challenges echo its historical vulnerabilities—updated for the modern era but no less consequential. Three interrelated issues define its present-day limitations: the enduring burden of remote sustainment, persistent gaps in military readiness and technology, and the familiar challenge of marginal command priority. These conditions mirror the island’s 1941 predicament, underscoring a dangerous continuity in strategic neglect. As great-power competition intensifies, these structural weaknesses must be addressed—or Wake risks once again becoming a cautionary tale.

Remote Sustainment. During the 1941 Battle for Wake Island, the tyranny of distance crippled US efforts to reinforce the garrison before the Japanese returned with overwhelming force. The island remained in enemy hands—and nearly 1,500 American prisoners of war remained in captivity—until the war’s end. Eight decades later, despite revolutionary advances in global logistics and technology, the tyranny of distance remains a defining constraint. While the modern version no longer entails the absence of creature comforts like Wi-Fi, fast food, or next-day shipping, it still imposes severe operational limitations on mobility, sustainment, and responsiveness.

The solution to distance is not theory but lift—agile, reliable, theater-ready airlift. Rapid Global Mobility remains a core Air Force function, but only if aircraft are available, in service, and positioned to respond. Indo-Pacific operations magnify the challenges of prepositioning, domain awareness, communications, and supply forecasting, all while navigating natural disasters, contested airspace, and geopolitical flashpoints.⁴⁷ As China expands its own global reach, including airlift and aerial refueling capabilities, logistics and rapid mobility have become top priorities under Admiral Samuel Paparo, the current commander of USINDOPACOM.⁴⁸

Yet at Wake Island today, operations depend on just two scheduled airlift missions. Both are managed through US Transportation Command. One is a biweekly passenger rotator; the other—a C-17 flight originally intended to support the US Army garrison at Kwajalein Atoll—is frequently diverted. The effect is stark. For any organization lacking its own aircraft, the options are binary: remain on island for 20 hours, or stay for two weeks. Seats are limited and competition is fierce, with more than 60 government and contractor organizations vying to meet operational, legal, or logistical obligations. When routine demand falls below system thresholds, supplemental lift must be requested by exception—typically through unreliable, last-minute opportune airlift.⁴⁹

This fragile system is not merely inconvenient—it is strategically brittle. Wake’s capacity to contribute to forward operations, sustain partner engagements, or support emergent missions is dictated not by intent, but by lift availability. And that is a constraint adversaries can—and will—exploit.

Military Readiness and Technology. Wake Island’s strategic relevance is undergoing a revival as the Department of Defense adjusts to the demands of great-power competition in the Indo-Pacific. The Secretary of the Air Force’s renewed emphasis on regional exercises has created fresh opportunities for the installation, positioning it as a potential hub for mobility operations and supply chain experimentation. In 2021, Wake hosted the 36th Contingency Response Group’s rapid deployment exercise and the 3d Marine Division’s Iron Sky, a test of expeditionary advanced base operations. These events demonstrated the island’s viability as a forward training platform for emerging operational concepts.⁵⁰

That potential was underscored in December 2024 when the newly activated 12th Littoral Anti-Air Battalion (LAAB) conducted its first major training operation on Wake. Comprised of approximately 300 Marines, the LAAB is designed to establish expeditionary air surveillance and communication capabilities under contested conditions. Wake provided the proving ground for the unit’s inaugural deployment, aligning with the Marine Corps’ evolving stand-in force concept—one that identifies China as the pacing challenge and emphasizes small, mobile units operating within range of enemy missiles to deny access to critical maritime terrain.⁵¹

Yet for all the modern rhetoric, many of Wake’s vulnerabilities mirror those of the past. In 1941, the absence of radar left the island blind to approaching threats. Today, despite the revolution in sensors and surveillance technologies, Wake Island still lacks an integrated air base defense capability. Its strategic function as a forward outpost and early-warning node for the Pacific theater remains compromised by these persistent technology gaps. This deficiency is especially concerning given the compressed timelines of modern conflict and the accelerating tempo of potential adversary operations. Sea-based radar platforms offer promise, with superior range, mobility, and survivability—but such systems are not yet part of Wake’s operational architecture.⁵²

Integrating new technologies on Wake requires a deliberate, phased approach grounded in operational realism. The island’s severe infrastructure limitations and harsh environmental conditions rule out immediate deployment of sophisticated systems. Instead, initial integration must focus on durable, low-power solutions that deliver core capabilities without overwhelming available support structures. Early investments should prioritize portable satellite communications, mobile radar units, and lightweight drone surveillance platforms—systems designed to operate with minimal logistical support and withstand corrosive maritime conditions.

To enhance situational awareness and basic force protection, simple automated weather monitoring tools, ruggedized tablets for field personnel, and reliable radio or point-to-point communication links should precede any attempt at wide-area networking. As these foundational systems prove reliable, more advanced options can follow: limited mesh networks for critical nodes, automated inventory tracking, and environmental monitoring platforms built on solar and battery power with weatherproof, corrosion-resistant components.

Throughout this process, the focus must remain on cost-effective, commercial off-the-shelf technologies that can be maintained under current contractor agreements. High-end solutions—such as artificial intelligence integration, full automation, or autonomous perimeter defense—should be deferred to future phases, contingent on verified performance and scalable infrastructure support. Anything more risks burdening the mission with complexity before the basics are secured.

In short, the lesson of 1941 still applies: technology without readiness is no substitute for preparedness. Wake’s transformation must be practical, not theoretical—incremental, not impulsive—if it is to serve as a meaningful node in the Pacific’s evolving security architecture.

Command Structure and Priority. The Department of the Air Force’s February 2024 force redesign introduced sweeping changes aimed at organizing operational wings into agile, mission-ready “Units of Action.”⁵³ Yet, amid this structural overhaul, the role of remote sites like Wake Island remains undefined. Lacking assigned aircraft, a wing staff, or a clearly articulated operational mandate, Wake occupies an ambiguous position within the Department’s evolving command architecture.

Since its return from Japanese control at the end of World War II, Wake Island has cycled through a series of custodians—first the Civil Aeronautics Administration, then the FAA, the US Army Space and Missile Defense Command, the Air Force’s 15th Wing at Hickam, and now, the 11th Air Force via the PACAF Regional Support Center (PRSC) headquartered at Joint Base Elmendorf–Richardson (JBER), Alaska.⁵⁴

Today, Wake Island is home to approximately 120 personnel, including contracted construction workers (as in 1941), base operations support (BOS) contractors, and a small US Air Force detachment. Critically, the detachment possesses neither assigned aircraft nor operational autonomy. It was not designed to generate independent combat capability but rather to serve as a local administrative presence. Operational authority, contracting mechanisms, and institutional support are centralized at PRSC headquarters in Alaska—a structure that mirrors the legacy model of “centralized control, decentralized execution.”⁵⁵

The PRSC itself is a group-level command responsible for over 40 austere and aging installations scattered across Alaska and the Aleutian Islands, including two glaciers. In recent years, its remit has expanded to encompass more mid-Pacific locations such as Johnston Atoll and Hawaii. However, the PRSC does not align cleanly with the Unit of Action construct. It lacks both a wing-level staff and the personnel bandwidth to provide organic oversight across its far-flung, environmentally diverse portfolio.⁵⁶ From Arctic permafrost to tropical atolls, each site presents a distinct set of cultural, environmental, and logistical challenges. The result is a command stretched thin—administratively responsible for locations it lacks the resources or staff to adequately support.

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Figure 4. Map of the PRSC area of responsibility. (Source: “Wake Island Joint Stakeholder Summit” (conference, Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam, 10–13 December 2023).

This structural misalignment is compounded by severe resourcing shortfalls. Military Construction (MILCON) and Facilities Sustainment, Restoration, and Modernization (FSRM) accounts are ill-suited to meet Wake Island’s needs. The site’s Area Cost Factors—among the highest in the Department of Defense—render it uncompetitive for centrally funded infrastructure programs. As illustrated in figure 5, regional construction benchmarks place Wake and its Pacific counterparts at the extreme end of cost and complexity. All sustainment efforts must be contracted or supported through long-distance military travel, the latter often constrained by the DOD’s USD 2,250 travel ceiling. Bulk construction materials require barge transport, with each voyage costing between USD 1.6 million and USD 4 million—before accounting for materials.⁵⁷

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Figure 5. DOD area cost factors (excerpt). (Source: US Army Corps of Engineers, “DOD AREA COST FACTORS (ACF)” PAX Newsletter No 3.2.1, TABLE 4-1, UFC 3-701-01, 29 March 2024, https://usace.contentdm.oclc.org/.)

Wake Island, therefore, finds itself in a fierce competition for scarce resources—not only within 11th Air Force and PACAF, but against higher-profile priorities such as Arctic modernization, early-warning systems, and homeland defense missions assigned to the Alaskan North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) Region. US Northern Command’s (USNORTHCOM) Arctic initiatives already rely heavily on USINDOPACOM’s cooperation, further limiting discretionary resources. Simultaneously, USINDOPACOM and PACAF continue to prioritize the first and second island chains, placing Wake on the periphery of strategic attention.

Despite having enduring requirements at Wake Island, neither the Department of the Navy nor the FAA contributes sustainment funding to the PRSC.⁵⁸ The result is a governance vacuum—an installation of rising strategic value without a champion, without dedicated funding, and without institutional clarity in the new force structure. Until Wake Island is deliberately integrated into the Unit of Action construct—or assigned a more appropriate command authority—it will remain a historical echo of the past: strategically located, tactically vulnerable, and structurally neglected.

Discussion and Recommendations for Strategic Alignment

Though the geopolitical landscape has evolved dramatically since 1941, the Pacific’s core operational challenges remain largely unchanged. Eight decades later, the tyranny of distance, contested logistics, and strategic ambiguity continue to shape US posture across the theater. Yet, investment in these enduring problem sets competes against a twenty-first–century decision-making calculus shaped by gray-zone competition, partnership-based deterrence, and a persistent bias toward near-term, high-visibility returns. In such an environment, US-owned remote sites—particularly those outside the second island chain—are often perceived as low priority and low reward.

As the Department of the Air Force restructures to meet the demands of great-power competition, now is the opportune moment to reassess and realign the role of legacy outposts like Wake Island. The imperative is not merely to preserve the island, but to deliberately shape it into a reliable and resilient capability in an increasingly uncertain Indo-Pacific theater.

With growing joint-service interest in the site, the notion of withdrawing the uniformed presence from Wake Island is both operationally imprudent and strategically unpopular. Equally problematic is the suggestion that the island be reduced to a contingency-only airfield. While modern doctrine emphasizes light, lean, and agile deployments unconstrained by fixed basing, operational partners remain hesitant to embrace this paradigm in practice. Moreover, Wake’s day-to-day requirements as a divert airfield, refueling node, and emergency support site necessitate a consistent, on-island presence—one that can respond in real time to emergent demands across the central Pacific.

Assuming the US military must deepen, not diminish, its footprint at Wake Island, the path forward involves four integrated solution vectors: make it supportable, make it expeditionary, make it joint, and make it allied. Each of these elements taps a different facet of the DIME construct—the four instruments of national power: Diplomatic, Information, Military, and Economic (as illustrated in fig. 6). Together, they offer a framework for transforming Wake Island from a vulnerable legacy asset into a strategically agile enabler of Pacific operations.

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Figure 6. DIME model. (Source: “SMART Books for the Military,” Lightning Press, 2025, https://www.thelightningpress.com/.)

1. Make It Supportable

To transform Wake Island into a sustainable strategic asset, supportability must be addressed across all four instruments of national power. This begins by aligning DIME levers to overcome institutional inertia and systemic barriers to readiness.

• Diplomatic: Requires enhanced coordination with regional partners to establish shared infrastructure agreements and cross-support mechanisms for maintenance, logistics, and contingency response.

• Information: Demands resilient, low-bandwidth communication platforms and interoperable data-sharing capabilities—tailored to Wake’s harsh environment and minimal infrastructure.

• Military: Necessitates increasing infrastructure sustainment funding from its current 0.7 percent to the recommended 2 percent of plant replacement value (PRV) to maintain baseline military utility and readiness.

• Economic: Calls for innovative cost-sharing models that include mission stakeholders such as the FAA, NOAA, and defense research entities—distributing the fiscal burden of remote site sustainment.⁵⁹

Given finite uniformed manpower and competing operational demands, Wake Island—like many isolated outposts—relies almost entirely on contracted support. A 2013 Congressional Research Service report recognized the value of operational contract support, citing its potential to free military forces for other missions and bring specialized expertise to bear.⁶⁰ Wake is currently supported by a firm-fixed price BOS contract awarded in 2020. While effective at the time of solicitation, the contract now lags behind evolving operational needs and lacks the flexibility required for surge or adaptive mission support.

Complicating matters further, the BOS contract is managed from Alaska due to statutory small business preferences that mandate awards to Alaska Native corporations.⁶¹ This legal framework—while well-intended—has driven up costs and slowed staffing timelines, especially when compared to the island’s prior administrative alignment under Hawaii-based authorities.⁶² Moreover, Wake remains under the jurisdiction of the State of Hawaii per the Wake Island Code, generating further friction between regulatory requirements and support execution. Corrosion control, a major challenge in Wake’s salt-laden environment, is managed by a headquarters located in the Arctic—a mismatch that strains both timelines and technical efficacy. Many supply items must follow an inefficient logistics route from the continental United States to Alaska, then back through Hawaii before finally reaching Wake Island.

A more effective structure would group remote sites with similar operational and environmental characteristics. The current PRSC—tasked with overseeing more than 40 remote installations across a wide spectrum of terrains and missions—could be re-scoped to focus exclusively on Arctic and Alaskan sites, with its own tailored planning factors and alignment under USNORTHCOM. In parallel, a sister organization could be established to support Oceania and mid-Pacific outposts like Wake Island, oriented toward tropical logistics, regional interagency coordination, and USINDOPACOM priorities.

While these may not constitute “wings” in the traditional sense, they align with the Air Force’s evolving concept of mission-ready “Units of Action.” Each entity would benefit from dedicated planning cells, installation command authority, and a minimal A-staff composed of subject-matter experts for base support, civil engineering, and BOS contract oversight. This targeted resourcing would address the chronic underfunding of the PRSC, which currently has only 45 percent of its validated manpower positions filled.

Such restructuring would necessitate re-competing BOS contracts using more flexible acquisition strategies. Rather than rigid firm-fixed price models, future contracts should incorporate scalable surge clauses, adaptive performance metrics, and modular tasking to meet dynamic operational needs. These efforts could be supported through interagency and joint cost-sharing arrangements (further discussed under Solution Element 3: Make It Joint), enabling more efficient and equitable sustainment of remote yet strategically vital installations.

2. Make It Expeditionary

To align Wake Island with the principles of ACE, an expeditionary posture is essential. Temporary, modular, and scalable solutions offer a path to resilient capability without the long-term burdens of traditional base infrastructure.

• Diplomatic: Enables flexible bilateral and multilateral engagements by facilitating rapidly deployable, minimal-footprint operations.

• Information: Requires simplified, ruggedized communications tailored for austere and environmentally degraded conditions.

• Military: Leverages containerized housing and expeditionary berthing—tent structures, tension-fabric shelters, and modular systems—to support surge operations without reliance on permanent facilities.

• Economic: Reduces capital investment through temporary and mobile construction, avoiding sunk costs in high-risk environments where infrastructure is expensive and difficult to maintain.⁶³

Pacific outposts are inherently costly to build and sustain, and Wake Island exemplifies the challenge. Construction, transportation, corrosion control, and preventative maintenance all drive up costs—compounded by the island’s exposure to constant salt spray and extreme weather.⁶⁴ With one of the highest area cost factors in the Department of Defense, building on Wake costs nearly twice as much as in Hawaii. Structures must endure what are widely recognized as some of the harshest environmental conditions in the world.⁶⁵ Complicating matters further, most of Wake’s infrastructure dates back to the 1950s and 1960s—built with now-outdated materials and poor construction practices, rendering repair, reconstruction, or demolition disproportionately expensive.⁶⁶ The island’s brief deactivation in the 1990s left it in a state of strategic dormancy, with limited new construction since—primarily for storm recovery or MDA needs.⁶⁷

Historical context underscores the scale of today’s challenge. The initial buildup in the 1930s cost USD 20 million⁶⁸—equivalent to roughly USD 369 million in today’s dollars. Yet current proposals for Wake exceed USD 1.85 billion, with the vast majority still unfunded. Funded projects include airfield and maritime upgrades under the Asia-Pacific Stability Initiative (2018), the Indo-Pacific Stability Initiative (2020), and the PDI (2021).⁶⁹ However, many of the unfunded projects center on basic life-support and mission-essential infrastructure. Despite a recommended 2 percent infrastructure investment strategy threshold for PRV, PRSC sites remain funded at just 0.7 percent.⁷⁰

The Air Force remains tethered to a main base mind-set, even while acknowledging the unsustainability of that model. Wake Island is neither Hickam, Guam, nor Kadena—and it should not try to be. Permanent construction is prohibitively expensive, environmentally vulnerable, and strategically inflexible. Instead, classifying Wake as a contingency forward-operating site would allow for the use of alternative construction standards and expeditionary solutions.⁷¹ The island needs functional lodging and support facilities—without termite damage, mold, spalling concrete, or corroded rebar. Expeditionary housing options, such as containerized living units and modular shelters, have proven successful in US Central Command and should be authorized for use in INDOPACOM.

Changes in policy are required to permit temporary or semipermanent construction, raise repair-by-replacement thresholds, and enable mission owners to choose cost-effective solutions appropriate to the site. The ACE framework calls for agility, prepositioning, and flexible employment concepts. As then-COMPACAF Gen. C.Q. Brown noted, PACAF’s strategy is moving away from “big main bases and War Reserve Materiel (WRM)” toward distributed operations supported by regional base cluster prepositioning (RBCP).⁷² These RBCP kits, whether used for exercises or real-world contingencies, enable lighter and faster deployment profiles by leveraging forward stockpiles.⁷³

Yet prepositioning is only part of the solution. Maintaining material in harsh tropical environments presents logistical and sustainment challenges—especially when the location offers no off-base options, long lead times for resupply, and little margin for error. Tent-style or tension-fabric shelters can house both equipment and personnel with far lower infrastructure costs and maintenance requirements. Such shelters have already demonstrated over a decade of durability at Wake, with minimal upkeep beyond standard corrosion control protocols.⁷⁴

Furthermore, if site development remains a strategic priority, it should harness uniformed military capability while sharpening expeditionary construction skill sets. The deactivation of the Expeditionary Civil Engineer Group (ECEG) at Al Udeid Air Base, Qatar, and the activation of a new ECEG at Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, marked a deliberate shift—one designed to posture the theater for PDI and ACE operations.⁷⁵ In addition to the Air Force’s ECEG and Rapid Engineer Deployable Heavy Operational Repair Squadron Engineer (RED HORSE) units, the Navy’s Seabees bring deep experience operating in austere, unsupported environments.

The greatest return lies in the experience gained from executing a troop training portfolio on a truly remote island—one devoid of main base support or local purchasing options. These projects would not only develop essential skill sets but also test unit self-sufficiency in real-world conditions. Guard and Reserve components, often underutilized in peacetime construction efforts, could play a pivotal role. Their involvement would expand total force readiness and ensure broader familiarity with the unique demands of remote Pacific operations.

3. Make It Joint

The operational dynamics at Wake Island require a joint approach to effectively integrate capabilities across multiple branches. The current management structure, led primarily by the Air Force, has resulted in significant challenges in meeting the full scope of infrastructure, staffing, and operational needs. While PACAF plays a central role in daily operations, the lack of consistent and coordinated support from other services has led to a strained, inefficient allocation of resources. Given the critical role Wake Island plays in the Pacific theater, it is essential that a joint framework is established to ensure long-term sustainability and operational flexibility. By redistributing responsibilities and fostering interservice cooperation, the site’s capabilities can be better aligned to meet both current and future demands.

• Diplomatic: Strengthens interservice relationships through shared operational responsibilities and a unified command structure.

• Information: Establishes integrated communication protocols across service branches despite limited infrastructure.

• Military: Increases funded manpower positions at headquarters beyond the current 45% level through shared service responsibilities.

• Economic: Distributes costs across military branches—especially the Department of the Navy—for shared requirements and capabilities.⁷⁶

The Air Force manages daily operations and project programming for Wake Island. Despite alignment with the PDI and other regional initiatives, sustainment has failed to gain substantial support at higher levels. While the Navy and the Defense Logistics Agency have successfully advocated for large-scale fuel system upgrades and PACAF has programmed airfield projects, support for infrastructure and sustainment remains critically lacking. Consequently, when teams arrive for exercises or operations, they often lack basic services, lodging, vehicles, and equipment to execute their missions. In such remote locations, a secondary option for base support is often nonexistent when primary support cannot meet requirements.

Historically, PACAF has not supported Wake Island's mission, as the operational responsibility falls outside its scope. The primary user of the airfield is the Department of the Navy, which accounted for 89 percent of all Wake Island flight operations in Fiscal Year 2023. The MDA, though a secondary user, has millions in real property and equipment on-site to support periodic launches. The FAA also maintains an interest in Wake Island as a divert airfield for civilian aircraft.⁷⁷ However, none of these agencies has a permanent presence on the island, and all support services are contracted, managed, and funded solely by the Air Force.

The Department of the Air Force’s (DAF) organizational changes will drive many shifts in the Pacific theater, but those with the largest stake in operations should also have a stake in installation support and staffing. Without improved sponsorship for installation support services and infrastructure projects, the site will not effectively support the full range of stakeholder needs, leading to friction between services and agencies. Ultimately, the joint nature of routine and contingency operations on Wake Island is not reflected in its daily manpower, operations, or funding. Establishing a Joint Task Force for Pacific Outposts could provide the necessary command authorities for base operating support as well as organize, train, and equip functions, improving coordination of services and supporting great-power competition in the Pacific theater.

In a senior leader perspective for the Journal of Indo-Pacific Affairs, Lt Gen Jon Thomas, then-deputy commander of PACAF, added insight into what is required of the joint force and partners to execute JADO. While the DAF is new to ACE maneuvers, the joint community is not; much can be learned from sister services.⁷⁸ ISBs are mature concepts within the joint community. The Department of the Navy, for example, has been practicing distributed maritime operations and the Marine Corps’ expeditionary advanced base operations, in one form or another, for over a century.⁷⁹ With their lead, resident expertise, or strategic push for resources, remote Pacific sites could take on a new shape, positively impacting regional deterrence efforts and setting the theater for desired end states.

4. Make It Allied

The evolving security landscape in the Pacific necessitates a strategic shift toward deeper alliances and cooperative agreements with regional partners. As the United States seeks to reinforce its presence in the region, allied partnerships become increasingly vital in navigating the complexities of foreign basing and remote site operations. The 2022 National Defense Strategy emphasizes the importance of regional collaboration to bolster a resilient security architecture, ensuring that US military commitments to allies are not only credible but also sustainable.⁸⁰ To meet the demands of great-power competition, the United States must integrate more closely with its partners and establish frameworks that enable shared responsibilities and capabilities, even in austere and contested environments.

• Diplomatic: Creates formal agreements similar to other remote/regional arrangements for shared access and responsibilities.

• Information: Develops integrated communication networks with allied partners within existing infrastructure limitations.

• Military: Establishes clear protocols for allied use of facilities during contingencies despite austere conditions.

• Economic: Implements cost-sharing arrangements with regional partners and key stakeholders for infrastructure sustainment and improvements.⁸¹

In testimony before the Senate, the commander of USINDOPACOM, described how the landscape is changing, with China pushing illegal maritime claims, security and economic actions, and forward-deploying missiles and jammers as part of a broader strategy “to threaten and intimidate other nations into actions beneficial to the PRC.”⁸² However, US support to allies is only credible if the United States maintains a consistent, engaged presence in the region. Without this presence, the United States risks losing access to foreign bases or being left with shallow, transaction-based partnerships that undermine defense security cooperation efforts.⁸³

The US military’s recent efforts have enhanced interoperability and strengthened regional partnerships, particularly with Japan, Australia, and the Philippines. Remote outposts like Wake Island can serve as training sites for interoperability engagements or as forward locations for combined missions, including maritime patrols or intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance operations.

Ownership and access questions are a pervasive problem throughout the Pacific, and Wake Island, like many other Pacific Islands, has been subject to territorial disputes. The Marshall Islands’ claim from 1973, based on oral legend, has not been recognized by the United States, but could provide a mutually-beneficial solution to divest America of the territory and establish a CSL with the Marshall Islands under favorable conditions.⁸⁴ The United States has historically enjoyed privileged access to British territories throughout the Indian and Pacific Oceans, including joint UK–US bases at Ascension, Kwajalein, and Diego Garcia, and favorable agreements with the Philippines.⁸⁵ The COFA with the United States was renewed in March 2024, overcoming funding challenges under continuing resolution.⁸⁶ Fractional use agreements for the joint use of foreign civilian assets—such as airports, supply chains, and warehouses—hold promise, with blockchain applications yet to be fully explored.

Conclusion

Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.

—Sun Tzu

Study of history’s lessons offers invaluable insight into contemporary challenges, particularly in adapting today’s fighting force to meet the demands of great-power competition. The Wake Island of 1941 was, by all accounts, ill-equipped, underfunded, and undermanned, lacking even the basic necessities required for war. Construction efforts were underway to establish the US territory as a proper Pacific outpost, but time was against them. Though much has changed in the more than 80 years since, these same factors continue to undermine US Pacific outposts today, providing a stark warning of what lies ahead in the Pacific if immediate action is not taken.

In the Battle for Wake Island 2025, there are no Marines and no 1,200-strong team of resident construction workers to take up arms. Instead, a small contingent of US Air Force personnel and a team of service contractors—many without prior military experience—find themselves fighting an uphill battle against the elements and bureaucratic inertia, trying to live and operate with outdated infrastructure from the 1960s. This is not how we will win the future fight. Remote US sites in the Pacific have the potential to make a significant statement in support of US priorities, but only if operational decisions are made that enhance, rather than undermine, their effectiveness.

Strategic realignment to address the demands of great-power competition requires a thorough examination of Pacific priorities, evolving joint requirements, funding, manpower, and organizational structures. The recommendations summarized in table 2, spanning the DIME instruments of national power, outline key actions to rectify current deficiencies at remote Pacific sites.

Table 2. Summary of Recommendations

The Department of the Air Force can no longer rely solely on uncontested main base support, particularly in the remote Pacific, where assistance is often thousands of miles away. When confronted with exceptional economic, logistical, and support challenges, difficult decisions must be made. The case for change is clear: operational needs in great-power competition demand the development of strong alliances and a diverse range of basing options. To that end, US remote sites must play a central role, providing a forward presence in the Pacific today, as competitors are unlikely to allow time for the construction and posturing required tomorrow.

These solutions offer critical insights for better alignment and capability: Make it supportable. Make it expeditionary. Make it joint. Make it allied. But above all, I urge the leadership of USINDOPACOM and PACAF to make decisive choices regarding the future of these sites. If we fail to learn from history, we risk repeating its mistakes. ♦

Maj Kalyn Howard, PhD, USAF

Major Howard is a Logistics Readiness Officer, currently serving as Assistant Professor of Management at the US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, Colorado. After commissioning in 2013, she served in several base-level positions before earning a Doctorate in Logistics from the Air Force Institute of Technology in 2020. Her research explored performance management and humanitarian operations, and Maj Howard went on to lead award-winning teams, addressing complex problem sets in DAF supply chains, humanitarian response, and most recently as Commander, Pacific Air Forces Regional Support Center Detachment 1, Wake Island Airfield.