Anduril’s Real War Is With Itself

The incident occurred at Anduril’s nascent missile motor factory near the Gulf Coast of Mississippi, a facility that appeared to be struggling to meet its ambitious timeline. Approximately a year ago, a young engineer, whose prior professional experience was with an outdoor gear company, suffered severe burns to his hand. The injury took place while he was assembling one of Anduril’s initial electrical igniters, colloquially termed a "white hot" within the factory. This small yet vital component was designed to ignite test samples of Anduril’s proprietary rubbery propellant, intended to power a diverse range of missiles for the US and its allies.

The circumstances surrounding the engineer’s injury highlighted significant safety oversights. His team had not conducted a job safety analysis, nor had they mandated the use of a safety shield for the operation. The employee was wearing rubber gloves that offered no protection against fire. When the igniter unexpectedly misfired, emitting a blinding flash of white light, his right hand was scorched. In the immediate aftermath, local emergency services were not contacted. Instead, his supervisor personally drove him to a hospital, according to one source. A photograph later posted by his partner on Facebook showed him resting with his hand wrapped in gauze, and she appealed for donations, explaining that the family would lose its sole income source during his recovery and subsequent checkups in Alabama.

This igniter incident is not isolated; it stands as one of several safety concerns and operational hurdles at Anduril’s manufacturing sites, details of which are being revealed for the first time by this investigation. The findings are based on extensive interviews with 37 former and current employees and contractors, over 20 of whom possess direct knowledge of Anduril’s production lines. These individuals spoke on condition of anonymity, citing fears of retribution from Anduril or their current employers, and existing nondisclosure agreements.

When approached for comment, Shannon Prior, an Anduril spokesperson, stated that responding to WIRED’s specific questions about the incidents and details would not be productive. She issued a statement claiming that a review of the fact-check questions revealed "inaccurate or misleading claims," suggesting the reporting relied too heavily on former employees and excluded the company’s perspective. Prior concluded by asserting that if WIRED chose to publish "inaccurate or misleading" claims, Anduril would publicly correct the record.

Anduril’s leadership, much like Elon Musk’s SpaceX in rocketry, aims to revolutionize military technology by designing, assembling, and selling weapons faster, cheaper, and more efficiently than established defense giants such as Lockheed Martin and Boeing. However, several sources describe parts of Anduril’s operations as experiencing significant "process dysfunction, management turnover, and deadline pressure," exceeding what they consider typical for either defense or tech companies. Conversely, others characterize these issues as standard growing pains inherent to a rapidly expanding startup. Regardless of interpretation, these firsthand accounts shed light on the formidable obstacles Anduril faces in its pursuit of a modern paradigm for military hardware production.

Unlike traditional defense companies that often await precise customer specifications before commencing production, Anduril has adopted a proactive strategy. The company has developed approximately a dozen prototype products and acquired the startups behind an additional dozen, often without a guaranteed market for them. This ambitious approach is underpinned by substantial backing from venture capitalists, including Peter Thiel’s Founders Fund and Josh Kushner’s Thrive Capital, totaling over $6 billion to date, with an additional $4 billion reportedly on the horizon. Anduril’s annual research and development expenditure, estimated at $2 billion last year by Paul Kwan, a managing director at General Catalyst and an observer on Anduril’s board, is remarkably on par with Lockheed Martin’s. While executives anticipate unprofitability for several years due to this upfront investment, the company is targeting a valuation of $60 billion, which would place it alongside industry heavyweights like L3Harris, a top 10 US defense contractor with ten times Anduril’s annual revenue.

Nearly a decade into its mission to disrupt the military-industrial complex, Anduril, with its workforce exceeding 7,500, has already delivered notable products. These include at least four Dive uncrewed submarines, several hundred Sentry border surveillance towers, hundreds of Roadrunner missiles designed to neutralize airborne threats, and thousands of drones compact enough to be transported in a pickup truck, alongside its software systems and classified orders. The company’s operational footprint is extensive, encompassing 10 factories, half a dozen test sites, and approximately 30 offices spread across at least 18 US states and territories, and eight international countries. Anticipating a surge in future orders, Anduril is undergoing significant expansion, with a billion-dollar R&D facility planned near its Southern California headquarters and a billion-dollar multipurpose factory, Arsenal-1, under construction near Columbus, Ohio. This Ohio facility is projected to create 4,000 jobs by 2035, a record for the state, which has resulted in nearly $800 million in grants and tax credits from state and economic development groups. Anduril has explicitly stated its preference for human-centric operations, deliberately avoiding the high costs, time, and inflexibility associated with production automation.

Palmer Luckey, the virtual reality pioneer who founded Anduril in 2017, has articulated a vision of agility, aiming to deliver cutting-edge software and products precisely when militaries require them, while simultaneously offering taxpayers cost savings through innovative design and production methods. This philosophy resonates with Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth’s recent address to Anduril employees at their Rhode Island factory, where he stressed that an "85 percent, 90 percent solution tomorrow in the hands of a war fighter is far better than a 100 percent, exquisite solution five years from now." The ongoing conflict between the US and Israel against Iran, marked by inexpensive Iranian drones targeting critical infrastructure and military assets, and the reported depletion of costly, slow-to-produce US weapons stockpiles, has starkly underscored Luckey’s pitch.

With President Donald Trump proposing the largest increase in defense spending since the Korean War, and the Pentagon demanding improved value from its suppliers, this period presents a prime opportunity for "neoprime" contractors like Anduril to ramp up production. However, scaling to the "flexible assembly line" envisioned by Anduril executives for the Ohio facility will be an unprecedented undertaking. Descriptions from its existing factories in McHenry, Mississippi; Atlanta, Georgia; and Morrisville, North Carolina, suggest that the company faces considerable challenges in realizing this goal.

Before venturing into the solid rocket motor business, Anduril initially sought to procure one off the shelf. According to CEO Brian Schimpf, a "traditional" supplier quoted a 24-month backlog and ultimately declined the business. Consequently, in mid-2023, Anduril acquired Adranos, a startup spun out of Purdue University research. Adranos possessed a patented lithium-laced propellant formula, which it claimed offered a more efficient and less toxic burn. To commercialize this research, Adranos had established operations at a decommissioned post-9/11 armor plant on the outskirts of McHenry, a county of approximately 20,000 residents known for its timber industry. Viewing the venture as potentially highly profitable, Anduril reportedly paid a substantial sum for Adranos, leading one of its cofounders to acquire multiple luxury cars, including a white Ferrari, seen at work. (The Adranos cofounder declined to comment.) Following the acquisition, Anduril invested tens of millions of dollars into expanding the McHenry site, clearing trees for new construction.

In contrast to larger competitors like Northrop Grumman and L3Harris, which separate their propellant production steps across multiple buildings, Anduril planned to integrate unique machinery and processes to produce the material within a single facility, named Roberto. While this approach promised faster motor production, it also carried inherent risks. As one former employee noted, "one incident could take out the entire operation," a vulnerability highlighted by Northrop’s claim that a factory explosion last year in Utah did not disrupt its operations. While construction on Roberto proceeded, sample motors for the US Navy and other clients continued to be produced from an existing building on campus, known as Geisler.

Employees at Anduril enjoyed attractive benefits, including free health insurance, complimentary lunches, unlimited vacation, and regular team outings—often with open bar tabs and family invitations—to local attractions such as a Biloxi Shuckers minor-league baseball game and a screening of Top Gun: Maverick. The company’s presence also boosted local businesses, with tens of thousands of dollars spent at McDaniel’s General Merchandise for tools instead of online purchases. Catered lunches for the nearly 100 workers came from local eateries like PB’s Twisted "Q," and real estate agents saw increased sales to new hires. Neil Thurgood, a retired Army lieutenant general and senior vice president for the McHenry team, actively lobbied Anduril to support the Stone County School District. The district sought up to $2 million to replace a nearly 70-year-old campus and construct its first athletics stadium, offering Anduril signage, "defense" themed cheers, and customized classes to create a potential talent pipeline. The company reportedly desired a "good relationship" with the local community. Donald Blasko, a retiree living near the factory, observed increased traffic but viewed it as "progress," despite the growing noise.

Concurrently, a few hundred miles away at Anduril’s drone design and assembly facility in Atlanta, a significant leadership and strategy shift was under way. An engineer who joined that year recalled being informed during his welcome tour that the cafeteria did not serve dinner because "you’re not supposed to be there that late." However, it soon became evident to this engineer and others that substantial effort would be required to achieve Anduril’s ambitious business objectives. The Atlanta factory, acquired in 2021 from a startup called Area-I, was dedicated to producing Altius drones—compact aircraft designed to "fit in a 6-inch tube like a missile and come out like a plane." These drones had recently debuted on the battlefields of Ukraine, funded by a US deal, but faced challenges due to difficult terrain and Russian GPS jamming, necessitating continuous technological adaptation by Anduril executives.

While the Atlanta facility had the capacity to produce up to 50 Altius-600 drones per month in early 2024, actual production and sales averaged less than that. When customers requested design modifications requiring different parts, such as a newer communications radio, component delivery could take months. As a relatively minor player in the defense-industrial landscape, Anduril struggled to bypass queues or attract top-tier suppliers. Some plastic parts were sourced from vendors typically supplying toy manufacturers of remote-controlled vehicles. To ensure quality, the Altius team manually inspected and tested every individual system. By late 2024, the Atlanta operation employed hundreds of workers. As the factory prepared to fulfill its largest order to date—an estimated $300 million deal for nearly 300 drones for Taiwan—reinforcements were brought in, and assembly stations proliferated into every available space within the Atlanta office. Burhan Muzaffar, a former Uber executive based in California, was promoted to oversee both the drone and, eventually, rocket motor businesses. Employees in both McHenry and Atlanta reported a shift in factory morale, describing a phase where it became "difficult to provide management with negative feedback without fear of retaliation."

Muzaffar’s directive in Atlanta was to "shake the tree," a former employee recounted. Shortly after his arrival, dozens of employees, including several key engineering leaders, departed the company. One former Atlanta employee expressed considering resignation and repaying their signing bonus, stating, "The stress and pressure was intense, to the point I was getting sick." By early 2025, managers in Atlanta allegedly began pressuring employees to work longer hours, with "definitely comments" made about insufficient time commitment. Anduril executives have previously claimed that employees voluntarily stay late due to the life-or-death nature of their work, and that they are not coerced into "insane hours." However, two Atlanta workers claimed they felt pressured to log 45 hours on their timesheets regardless of actual work. Another person noted that simply demanding more work does not equate to increased efficiency, acknowledging the difficulty of leadership’s role in pursuing new business, describing the Altius as a "jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none product" that was "a victim of its own success." This made it appealing but challenging to produce.

Pressure also escalated in Morrisville, North Carolina, where Anduril manufactures composite parts for the uncrewed Fury fighter jet and the Dive-LD, a small unstaffed submarine, both currently in prototype stages. (Final assembly for Fury occurs at Anduril’s California HQ, and Dive-LD at its new Rhode Island facility.) Morrisville managers eliminated the four 10-hour workday schedule, mandating five-day workweeks and longer factory hours. When temperatures rose, one factory employee reportedly complained about the lack of air-conditioning. The company responded by providing Gatorade and popsicles and allowing more frequent breaks. Both this person and another described morale at the Morrisville site as particularly low last year compared to other Anduril locations. Anduril itself has acknowledged that "stress" at Morrisville was "astronomically high."

In McHenry, 2025 brought increasing concerns. As samples shipped and Anduril gained more insight into the business, projected annual profit margins plummeted from initial expectations to around 3 percent. Throughout the year, the rocket motor team faced intensified scrutiny from headquarters regarding escalating costs and sluggish progress. Compounding the confusion of long hours, miscommunications, and urgent deadlines were several alleged issues. A 30,000-pound lead door, designed to shield X-rays, began digging into the uneven concrete floor and required extensive rework. Crews also discovered a radiation leak emanating from the X-ray room’s roof. Further incidents included a robotic sprayer built to incorrect specifications and a motor coating booth that proved entirely superfluous. Later, Anduril abruptly paused its pursuit of a permit to burn explosive waste to revise its plans, a move that frustrated environmental regulators already accustomed to the startup’s "history of delays," as noted by a state official in an email obtained by WIRED.

Shortly after the test engineer’s hand was burned a year ago, investigators informed employees that schedule pressures may have contributed to the incident, according to three individuals familiar with the findings, though one disputed its significance. "Everyone has faults when they are trying something new," the latter person commented, adding, "But you’re not going to get any better doing the same thing you’ve done for the past 50 years." Anduril subsequently implemented safety improvements, including more fire-safe gloves. The injured worker returned after approximately six weeks, and recent photos on his Facebook profile show a seemingly well-healed hand. (The test engineer did not respond to a request for comment.)

In late March of last year, weeks after the igniter accident, manufacturing leaders held a team call with Neil Thurgood, the former Army officer overseeing McHenry. They discussed a goal of completing Roberto’s first testable motor by roughly August, coinciding with Thurgood’s birthday. However, as Thurgood delved into the plans with his team, significant gaps emerged. Crucially, no time had been allocated for commissioning machines and ensuring consistent output. One individual familiar with the building’s status indicated that genuine mass production was more realistically anticipated for March 2026.

A critical lesson regarding equipment management arrived within months. A recently hired maintenance technician, attempting to clean a relatively new machine, disconnected a part before powering it off—a clear breach of established protocol, according to two sources. This resulted in aluminum powder blowing onto people’s hair and coats. While no one was physically injured, more substantial inhalation could have led to respiratory problems. Not long after, another significant moment turned sour. On July 1, construction crews formally handed over the keys to Roberto, the intended mass production hub for McHenry’s rocket motors. A small group of site leaders celebrated this milestone with dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings that evening. However, there was underlying unease about the path ahead. Producing a solid rocket motor in Roberto was projected to take 28 days, yet Anduril was expected to deliver its first inert (non-explosive) motors from Roberto just three days later.

The very next morning, on July 2, the head of production was dismissed and escorted out of the McHenry complex. Minutes later, a senior manager on the same team resigned, leaving his phone and badge with the security officer. Executives, including Keith Flynn, a former Tesla manager and Anduril’s senior vice president of manufacturing, brought in a new management regime, but problems persisted. In late July, machines from the supplier Coperion, intended to automate the chemical dosing process for the propellant, began oozing. When emergency stop buttons failed to function, an inert hardening chemical spread across the floor. No injuries occurred, but the machines were rendered inoperable until safety and quality could be assured. Anduril and Coperion representatives engaged in daily, sometimes contentious, Zoom calls for weeks to resolve the issues. Coperion had reportedly long cautioned that its machines were not designed for this specific application, with one former Anduril employee remarking that they "don’t know anybody who would want to use" that type of machine for "energetics," noting, "I understand they make good dog food." Coperion declined to comment for this story.

Anduril president and chief strategy officer Christian Brose has publicly stated that the startup prioritizes products capable of reliable assembly in large volumes. However, in Atlanta, three individuals reported that components such as the Altius’s wing sometimes emerged from assembly misaligned or malfunctioning due to complex designs. At least two workers expressed frustration with the company’s preference for 3D printing and carbon fiber over conventional, more reliable materials and techniques. One person characterized the company’s "mentality" as believing "it knows better than its predecessors."

In at least four separate military tests last year, Anduril systems, including two Altius drones, failed to perform as anticipated, according to reports by The Wall Street Journal and Reuters. At the time, executives maintained that the purpose of testing was to identify issues, aligning with Anduril’s guiding philosophy of "fail fast." Yet, some Atlanta workers offered mixed views on the company’s testing processes as of last year. For instance, the constant pressure to test Altius in a makeshift factory room, on a Georgia farm, and in the Chihuahuan Desert in Texas often meant that data from a previous experiment had not been processed by the time the next one commenced, a former worker stated. "You’ve got all these incredible engineers firing on all cylinders, and they’re getting frustrated because they can’t even learn from the test or take a breath," the person lamented.

Last August, Anduril dispatched its inaugural batch of drones to Taiwan, a rapid turnaround attributed by the company to assembling some units before finalizing the contract. Palmer Luckey himself traveled for the delivery. While there, he addressed students at National Taiwan University, discussing how "mass-producible missiles" could deter future Chinese aggression against the island. However, at Anduril’s own facility intended for mass-producing missile motors, the company was keeping its internal challenges literally under wraps.

Hours after Luckey’s speech, at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for McHenry’s Roberto building, Neil Thurgood shared the stage with US Senator Roger Wicker and other dignitaries. Black curtains strategically obscured another scene entirely: many tools and parts remained in crates, and only about half of the necessary equipment was installed and functional. "We had no way of dispensing chemicals into the bucket to mix them," a former employee revealed. "No way to make casts or manufacture and install nozzles or igniters for the motors. We had a grand dog and pony show." At the time, Anduril publicly highlighted its achievement of test-firing over 700 motors and securing customers like the US Army and defense contractor Saab. However, all these motors had originated from Geisler, the prototyping lab at McHenry, where top engineers provided intensive oversight to perfect them. Notably, no California-based executives attended the McHenry ribbon-cutting ceremony. Anduril cofounder and executive chairman Trae Stephens marked the occasion with an interview on CNBC, apparently from a San Francisco studio. This absence left workers feeling "unimportant," according to an employee in McHenry at the time.

In the months following the ribbon-cutting, as President Trump issued an executive order renaming the Department of Defense the Department of War and Secretary Hegseth pledged to reverse "decades of decay" in the military, the Pentagon’s support for Anduril intensified. On October 2, the company was awarded an additional $43.7 million, building on an earlier grant, to further develop the McHenry facility under the Defense Production Act Title III. The very next day, Anduril missed a new deadline to deliver six inert motors. The first motor containing full propellant, initially slated for early 2026, also faced delays. "Building a rocket motor is not the same as building a car," a former employee commented. "Tesla doesn’t kill everybody on the assembly line if it has a bad day."

As issues accumulated, Anduril Chief Operating Officer Matt Grimm visited McHenry. A former employee recalled Grimm repeatedly referencing "paranoia" about safety at the facility, though without specifying his concerns. The underlying message, however, was clear: Headquarters demanded that Roberto begin operations and was prepared to provide necessary resources. After reportedly scolding several leaders, Grimm expressed his dissatisfaction with the chicken wings and departed after lunch. (In a recent post on X, Grimm stated, "I don’t recall eating wings, or anything specific about the alleged wings in question on this day at our rocket factory in Mississippi.")

Around that time, Anduril reassigned Thurgood to a special projects team, just days before he was scheduled to speak to students at the local school district’s Career and Technical Center. He subsequently canceled the talk, and preliminary discussions with the district regarding an Anduril donation have not progressed. Workers also learned that one of the Adranos cofounders and the chief inventor of its experimental chemical formula would be taking an extended leave. A couple of weeks later, Muzaffar conducted his first inspection of McHenry, highlighting frustrations and foreshadowing changes. A second wave of management departures followed in late 2025, including the new head of production, who had been in the role for only a few months. "There’s no clear direction, and it’s difficult to steer the ship when you’re offing the captain," an ex-worker stated.

By the end of last year, staff at McHenry had yet to finalize standard operating procedures across the mass production line. Basic safety measures remained outstanding: workers on the 470-acre campus communicated emergencies via Slack messages or phone calls, despite thick blast walls in Roberto rendering mobile service non-existent. One individual noted that a central alarm system was prioritized for installation only once Roberto began working with explosive propellant. Employees were also required to physically enter production facilities to retrieve protective gear. A goal to deliver inert motors for ground-launched bombs to Swedish aerospace company Saab by the end of this month was postponed due to anticipated delays and evolving specifications, although Saab spokesperson Mattias Rådström affirmed that their partnership is progressing as planned.

Donald Blasko, Anduril’s retired neighbor in McHenry, now regularly experiences noise from the facility, which he likens to