The Dance of Iron Leviathans: A Symphony of Power and Mediocrity

In the twilight of a dying regime, amid the whispers of change and the shuffling of paper-pushers, the sleepers of the Great White North have orchestrated yet another masterpiece of mediocrity. The Liberal government, those merchants of comfortable lies, have chosen the shadows of a Saturday to unveil their grand design: the procurement of war vessels worth untold billions.

Behold how they skulk in darkness! These ministers of mediocrity, these architects of the ordinary, who dare not face the blazing sun with their proclamations. They seek not greatness but merely the appearance of it, crafting their legacy in the shadowy corners of power's twilight.

Eight billion pieces of silver - a mere down payment for three vessels of war, while the final toll shall ring at twenty-two billion. Such numbers would once have made kingdoms tremble, yet in this age of the last men, they are but figures on a ledger, announced when none dare question, when Parliament lies dormant like a sleeping beast.

In the land of the sleepers, where comfort breeds complacency, the shepherds of state craft their decisions in whispers. Minister Blair and his companions, those guardians of the status quo, hide behind technical briefings and embargoed announcements, fearing the harsh light of scrutiny that truth demands.

See how they cower before their own decisions! These vessels of war, these iron giants meant to assert will upon the waves, are birthed not in triumph but in secrecy. What commander fears to announce the forging of his sword?

The masses slumber still deeper, content in their ignorance of the great game being played above their heads. They speak of costs and budgets, of billions upon billions, yet fail to grasp the deeper truth - that their very security hangs upon the thread of foreign powers. Their warships shall carry American hearts within British shells, a testament to their inability to forge their own destiny.

Rob Huebert, a voice crying out in the wilderness of academia, speaks truth that burns the ears of the comfortable: "They absolutely have to own this decision, instead of hiding it." Yet ownership requires courage, a virtue long since traded for the warm blanket of democratic consensus.

The true cost is not measured in gold but in spirit! These sleepers would mortgage their very souls to foreign powers, content to be vassals rather than masters of their fate. They build not for greatness but for maintenance, not for conquest but for comfort.

The River-class destroyers, these mighty vessels yet unborn, represent not the triumph of will but the victory of bureaucracy over boldness. Fifteen ships they seek, each one a monument to the art of compromise, each modification a testament to the fear of standing alone.

In the shadow of Trump's America, they tremble and equivocate, speaking of "military-to-military relations" while their very weapons systems remain bound to foreign masters. The last men seek not independence but assurance, not strength but security, content to stand "side by side in NORAD command centres" rather than forge their own path.

Let them build their ships of iron and circuits! But know this - a vessel's worth lies not in its cost but in the spirit of those who command it. What use are floating fortresses to a people who have forgotten how to will?

As the sun sets on this announcement, buried in the weekend's quiet hours, we witness not the birth of naval might but the whimper of a nation that dares not roar. The sleepers will wake tomorrow, read their morning news, and return to their slumber, never questioning why their leaders chose darkness over light, whispers over proclamations.

For in this age of the last men, even the forging of warships becomes an exercise in avoiding discomfort, in maintaining the illusion of strength while fearing the responsibility it brings. The true cost of these vessels cannot be measured in mere billions - it is paid in the currency of national spirit, in the slow erosion of will that turns warriors into bureaucrats and leaders into managers.

Let this be written in letters of fire: A nation that fears to announce its strength has already surrendered to its weakness. The ships they build shall sail the seas, but their spirits remain anchored in the harbor of mediocrity.