Once upon a sunny day in the corridors of the Marine Corps Systems Command, some high-ranking officer perhaps well past his prime, probably shaking off a hefty hangover, had a lightbulb moment. "What if," he slurred, "we merged the inspirational audacity of a submarine with the brutish brawn of an armored vehicle?" And just like that, the Amphibious Combat Vehicle (ACV) program was conceived. A glorious, aquatic lovechild of raw military might and the audacity of Dr. Nemo’s whims. Many a million later, the program has transformed beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, or in this case, wildest hallucinations. The ambitious high-water-speed vessel of their fantasies was decapitated by budget analysts faster than a playboy married to a mobster's daughter. The ACV project, once envisioned to traverse bodies of water with the grace of a dolphin and land with the ferocity of a rhino, was suddenly stuck in the mud – quite literally – of 'feasibility studies' and 'spending reviews.' But we're not here to rue over spilled taxpayer dollars. Oh no. We have something better to speak of: The birth of the eight-wheeled, amphibious wonder—Iveco SuperAV. A hybrid creature, that would make Dr. Moreau green with envy. Following a flurry of PowerPoint battles and bureaucratic wrangling, two giants, BAE Systems and Iveco, emerged victorious. A team-up as surprising as a cat and a dog opening a joint account, but embarking they were on ‘Project Armoured Sea Slug.’ However, the unveiling didn’t quite get the thunderous applause they were expecting. Skeptics wondered if it were more of a James Bond escape pod than a formidable people mover. Critics squinted hard at the eight-wheel spectacle, suspicious that somewhere their tax return contributions were hidden in those bulky, Michelin re-treads. But who's to blame them? With its beefy body and monstrous wheels, the eight-wheeled wonder does look more like a float for the Rose Parade than weaponry affirming our global supremacy. Soldier testimonials have been flooding in, with comparisons ranging from “it’s like driving an elephant” to “Ever tried parallel parking a cruise ship?” Marvel as it attempts a u-turn, the sheer grace of a sumo wrestler on ice. You'll hardly be able to contain your excitement as it roars to an intimidating top speed of a Tour de France cyclist—on sedatives. And let's not forget the generous delivery timeline! Because when has the USMC ever been in a hurry? We have our first morsel of 36 machines in 2020, and for the next years, an annual entree of 80 more. A gourmandizing feast of metallic beasts. It's funny, now that you think about it, that the ACV project, initially aimed at replacing the AAV (Alligators, if you wish), seems to now resemble nothing more than an alligator itself. Loitering just beneath the surface of the water, slowly and steadily inching forward, more a product of evolution—forced or otherwise—than a grand vision gone awry. An undeniable epitome of the Marine Corp's assault vehicle midlife crisis. So here we are, from submarine dreams to 8-wheel wonders, where prototypes have traded sea legs for truckloads of pragmatism. Lost to the annals of military legend remains the romanticized amphibious assault vehicle, replaced by the SuperAV: less about speed and more about getting there and back without sinking. How's that for lowered expectations? So what’s next, I dare say? A hovercraft? Or perhaps a marine mech suit? Regardless, rest assured, as long as there are dreams to be built and budgets to be axed, our beloved Marine Corps will always have a midlife crisis on their hands. Such are the woes of modern, aquatic warfare.