Kessel Run

Background

In 2016, Google’s Eric Schmidt toured the Combined Air Operations Center and was horrified to see magnets and laminated cards used for mission planning. The Air Force’s solution was not to improve the working system, but to burn down what worked and replace it with what demoed well. Thus, Kessel Run was born: a group that promised to “smuggle” Silicon Valley magic into the military, but mostly smuggled money out of modernization budgets.

AgileAF

Kessel Run’s first project, Jigsaw, replaced a whiteboard with… another scheduling tool. The “innovation” was delivering a 60% solution and calling it Agile. The hashtag #AgileAF was born, which critics noted stood less for “Air Force” and more for “Always Failing.”

Project Kessel Run

The team set up shop in Boston WeWork offices, where millions were spent on beanbags, neon signs, and kombucha taps. The motto “Code. Deploy. Win.” was painted on the walls, though insiders joked it should have read “Pitch. Hype. Bill.”

Kessel Run quickly became a black hole for Air Force modernization funds. Allegedly, much of the money went to:

• Renting trendy Boston office space so they could cosplay as a startup.
• Paying consultants to invent slogans like “Code. Deploy. Win.” (while delivering none of the three).
• Producing endless “innovation culture” slide decks that dazzled generals but left operators empty‑handed.
• Throwing shade at legacy programs that actually worked, ensuring they’d be killed off in favor of Kessel Run’s half‑baked replacements.

The result: less capability for the warfighter, more capability for Kessel Run staff to keynote self‑congratulatory conference talks.

Applications

Kessel Run’s software portfolio is often described as “aspirational.” Highlights include:

• Jigsaw: A tanker scheduling tool that worked just well enough to justify more funding, but not well enough to replace Excel.
• Chainsaw and Raven: Apps with names scarier than their performance — like calling a water pistol a “ballistic missile.”
• Mad Hatter / Torque: A rebrand exercise disguised as software, proving that if you rename a mess, it’s still a mess.
• KRADOS: Marketed as the “future of all-domain operations,” but mostly the future of endless beta testing.
• C2IMERA: A base management tool that worked decently — mostly because it was coded by Leidos, not Kessel Run.

Meanwhile, legacy systems that had reliably served for decades were quietly defunded or dismantled, ensuring that Kessel Run’s undercooked prototypes would be the only option left.

Reception

• Supporters: Senior leaders dazzled by buzzwords, beanbags, and PowerPoint animations.
• Critics: Literally everyone who had to use the software.

Operators complained that the apps failed to meet operational needs, and that the group’s main deliverable was hype. Their products were so buggy that users joked the only thing Kessel Run could reliably deliver was a new excuse. As one critic put it: “The only thing they delivered on time was the invoice.”

Legacy

Kessel Run is less a factory and more a theater troupe, staging elaborate performances of “innovation” while quietly dismantling functional legacy systems to justify their own existence. Its true legacy is not software, but institutionalized grift.

• On funding: Allegedly, Kessel Run treated Air Force modernization money like Monopoly cash — except instead of buying railroads, they bought kombucha taps, neon signs, and consultants who could spell DevSecOps without laughing.
• On products: Their apps were so buggy that operators joked the only thing Kessel Run delivered on time was the invoice. Legacy systems that had worked for decades were scrapped, only to be replaced with “beta” platforms that never left beta.
• On culture: A prestige‑seeking guild of PowerPoint artisans, institutionalizing the art of looking busy while delivering little.

Rather than leaving behind a trail of working software, Kessel Run left behind a template for grift: slap a sci‑fi name on a unit, sabotage the old systems, funnel money into hype, and call it “innovation.” The warfighter got less capability; Kessel Run got more speaking slots at defense conferences.

Soon, every branch of the military had its own “software factory” with a sci‑fi name, each promising disruption and each delivering little more than a new way to burn money. Or, as one wag summarized: “If vaporware were an Olympic sport, Kessel Run would sweep the podium.” And if you say Agile and cloud‑native enough times in front of a general, you can fail upward indefinitely.

See also

• Buzzword bingo
• Innovation theater
• How to spend $140 million and still need Excel
• How to fail upward in government contracting

Talk

Editors continue to debate whether Kessel Run is a scam, a cult, or just a very expensive improv troupe. Consensus: “burning through Pentagon budgets like kindling” is not a best practice.