From Hexagons to Dragons: Coin Design Honoring the Chemical Weapons Stockpile

Until Mission Completion: Honoring the Chemical Weapons Stockpile

We kept pinning the same phrase to the corkboard, circling it, underlining it like mad people: Until Mission Completion. It’s short. Simple. Almost bureaucratic. But when you sit with it, when you let those words echo in the room with the weight of history behind them, it stops sounding like a motto and starts sounding like a vow. A contract. A pulse that carried the Pueblo Chemical Depot through more than eighty years of waiting.

Because that’s the job Pueblo was given in 1942—not glamorous, not headline-grabbing, but essential: hold America’s chemical weapons stockpile until the world was ready to destroy it. Not release it, not relocate it. Hold it. Decades of mustard-filled munitions stacked in bunkers, guarded and maintained, while treaties were signed and destruction technologies tested. And every single day of those decades, the mission remained incomplete. Until July 7, 2023. On that date, the Department of Defense announced the last declared chemical weapon in the United States had been destroyed, marking the U.S. chemical weapons destruction July 2023 milestone.【DoD press release, July 2023】. For Pueblo, it wasn’t just an announcement. It was exhale. A shadow finally lifted.

Dragon Emblem of the Army Chemical Corps

Let’s talk about the dragon. It’s theatrical, sure—wings spread, fire curling—but it’s also brutally literal. The Chemical Corps emblem, adopted in 1918, emerged from the trenches of WWI, when gas attacks turned the air itself into enemy territory. The dragon embodied danger: unpredictable, lethal, hard to tame. And the retorts crossed beneath its jaws? They were the counterweight. Science. Chemistry as both tool and shield.

Here’s the detail that floors us every time: after WWII, the Army nearly shut the Corps down, deeming it obsolete. But the Cold War stockpiles dragged it back into necessity, keeping the dragon alive. That survival, that refusal to fade, mirrors Pueblo’s story. The depot didn’t choose its mission—it inherited it, endured it, carried it until the finish line. Today, the dragon is more than a crest. It’s a reminder that chemical warfare doesn’t politely stay in the past—it keeps resurfacing, from Syria to North Korea, from treaty negotiations to breaking news headlines. And Pueblo’s people lived daily with that reality. If the dragon embodied the danger, the hexagon represented the discipline that kept it contained.

Pueblo Chemical Depot Hexagon Coin Symbolism

Now picture a hexagon. Six clean sides. At first glance, it feels almost decorative, like a designer’s flourish. But in chemistry, it’s everything. The benzene ring—six carbon atoms locked in symmetry—is the backbone of modern chemistry. Entire families of compounds start there. Engineers obsess over hexagons too, because they distribute stress evenly—bees know it, bridge builders know it, militaries know it.

At Pueblo, the hexagon feels like prophecy. Those munitions bunkers weren’t built with guesswork. They were engineered with geometric precision, layer upon layer, redundancy on redundancy Pueblo fact sheets】. A single mistake wasn’t an option. Safety wasn’t a slogan—it was architecture. Which means the hexagon doesn’t sit there as an abstract symbol; it’s lived protocol. It’s Pueblo’s way of saying: precision is survival. And here’s the twist: in today’s world, where conversations about chemical safety pop up after industrial accidents in Ohio or global treaty debates in Vienna【OSCE CWC compliance updates】, that six-sided shape keeps showing up. It whispers a truth we sometimes forget: containment is design. And design saves lives.

NATO Ordnance Colors: Green, White, and Warnings

Then there are the bands. Green and white. If you’ve ever studied NATO ordnance codes, you know they aren’t arbitrary. Green = chemical fill. White = inert. Simple, stark, unforgettable - PCAPP site. Pueblo once housed over 780,000 mustard-agent munitions with those markings, one of the largest chemical stockpiles in the nation. Imagine walking a bunker lined with them—row after row of green-striped danger. For the people of Pueblo, that paint wasn’t symbolic. It was lived reality.

But here’s the turn that makes our hearts hammer: in 2023, every one of those green-coded shells was gone. Neutralized. Destroyed. Rendered harmless by the science and grit of the depot’s teams. Which flips the meaning of those colors completely. They’re not warnings anymore. They’re history. They’re memory. They stand for a danger overcome, a chapter closed, a global victory for disarmament. To the people who served at Pueblo, those stripes carry as much emotion as medals. Proof that service sometimes looks like holding steady until the whole world catches up.

Sitting in the Weight

So here’s where we are in the studio: coffee mugs cold, papers scattered, voices overlapping about dragons and hexagons and color bands. Each element is more than design fodder—it’s a character. Pueblo itself is a character: patient, steady, enduring. The dragon? Danger embodied. The hexagon? Containment made visible. The stripes? Warnings transformed into victory.

Before we sketch anything—before we argue fonts or enamel shades—we have to sit in this weight. Because this isn’t decoration. It’s survival. Discipline. Promise fulfilled. Pueblo’s mission carried until the very last day, and that is the story that shapes everything that comes next.

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Pueblo Chemical Department Challenge Coin

SILVER THAT DEMANDS ATTENTION

The first thing you notice? That shine. This coin is high-polish silver that practically winks at you from across the table. Not flashy for the sake of flashy—no, this is command-metal. Authority in the palm of your hand. We framed it with a bold blue and gold ring spelling it out clear as day: Pueblo Chemical Depot – Chemical Materials Activity. That outer text? It’s not decoration. It’s accountability. It anchors the coin to its mission—part of the U.S. Army’s long, hard, careful march to eliminate the nation’s chemical weapons stockpile. You read it and immediately feel the weight of responsibility baked into every inch of this design.

And then—curveball. The center is cut away into a half-hexagon window. Clean. Geometric. Intentional. That negative space is doing more than just looking cool—it’s reminding you of the chemistry and engineering backbone behind this mission. A nod to molecules, to containment systems, to the math-and-science discipline that makes the work possible. It’s a cutout with meaning, not a gimmick.

HISTORY, HAZARD, AND HERITAGE

Step inside that shield-like core and it’s storytelling in metal. At the top, an eagle crouching—polished silver, perched above the code G-100, echoing the eagle crouching Pueblo chemical coin design choice. It feels secretive, doesn’t it? Like coordinates only the insiders know. The middle panel stares you down with three munitions: two shells, one missile. They’re painted in stark military greens and whites—the actual color codes for chemical ordnance. That choice matters. It’s a subtle way of saying: yes, these weapons were here, yes, they were dangerous, and yes, they’ve been safely dealt with. A history acknowledged, not erased.

Look left and you’ve got the Chemical Corps insignia—the crossed retorts with that fierce dragon breathing fire. Blue background, the number “840th” stamped there like a unit tattoo. It’s history and hazard in one emblem, reminding you that chemical warfare has always been a shadow worth guarding against. On the right, a black eagle perched over crossed sabers—the patch of the Army Materiel Command. It’s the higher command structure, the umbrella authority. Underneath it, a tri-point red/white/blue shield. Safety, unity, national pride—we argued in the studio whether it was regional or symbolic, and honestly? It can be both. Sometimes design is about leaving space for layered interpretation.

At the very bottom, a ribbon unfurls in regal purple and silver: FOR EXCELLENCE – PRESENTED BY THE COMMANDER. And that’s where the coin goes from “commemorative” to “personal.” This isn’t just metal stamped with symbols—it’s a commander’s handshake. A recognition coin. An honor meant for you.

FROM 1942 UNTIL THE JOB IS DONE

Flip it over and the whole story zooms out. The blue enamel ring pops with yellow text declaring, “ESTABLISHED 1942” at the top and “UNTIL MISSION COMPLETION” at the bottom. A start and an end. A timeline and a vow. Because the work at Pueblo Chemical Depot was never about glamour—it was about patience, precision, and carrying a mission through all the way to the last chemical round destroyed. That phrase wasn't a tagline—it’s a promise, and everyone who touched this project lived inside it.

Inside the ring sits another hexagon, beveled edges catching the light. Hexagons are nature’s strongest shape—bees know it, engineers know it, chemists know it. Here, it doubles as both a nod to chemistry and the fortified structure of storage bunkers. Deep navy enamel fills it out, giving the stage for the insignia at the core.

PCD IN LIVING COLOR

And there it is: the Pueblo Chemical Depot insignia. Blue and gold crest. Two bright yellow projectiles—chemical munitions again, but symbolic now. A central hexagon, echoing a chemical compound or benzene ring, tying the whole mission back to science and containment. Banners top and bottom leave no doubt: U.S. Army Chemical Materials Activity and Pueblo Chemical Depot. At the bottom, bold and unapologetic, the acronym: PCD.

Every line is mission-driven. Every enamel fill is deliberate. The coin doesn’t just look good—it teaches. It tells the story of a depot that existed for one reason: to finish the dangerous, thankless work of eliminating a stockpile the world couldn’t afford to forget.

HONOR IN METAL, LEGACY IN HAND

So what’s the vibe when you hold it? It feels… heavy. Not just in ounces, but in purpose. This coin isn’t the kind you toss in a drawer. It’s the one you show your kids when they ask what you did in the service. It’s history condensed into silver and enamel—the eagle, the missiles, the mottos, the dates. It’s legacy without bragging. It’s respect without polish for polish’s sake.

And YES—we obsessed over every Pantone swatch of blue, every line weight in the cutout, every shade of green on those munitions. Because this coin had to carry a mission that spanned decades, lives, and literal national safety. It had to feel like the Commander himself was placing it in your palm.

Mission complete—in coin form. A Pueblo chemical arsenal disarmament completion coin that tells the story of endurance, safety, and legacy. And honestly? That’s as humbling as it gets.

This coin marked the completion of a mission. The next coin honored the 80 years it took to get there

Pueblo Chemicals Depot 80th Anniversary Challenge coin

80 YEARS CAST IN GOLD

First impression? This thing shines. A custom-cut hexagon, polished gold, catching the light like it knows it’s carrying eight decades of history. The outer border does all the announcing: across the top three sides, bold text spelling out Pueblo Chemical Depot. Across the bottom three, the line that made us pause in the studio: 80 Years of Excellence. Not “service.” Not “history.” Excellence. And that single word feels earned—because if you know anything about Pueblo, you know their entire mission was about doing the hardest job, the right way, until the very end.

Inside, a deep blue border cradles the core design. The bottom half is pure symbolism: a white star, bright against a gold field, a Pueblo depot commander recognition excellence coin detail that ties leadership to legacy. The number 80 locked above in Navy blue enamel. It’s almost medal-like, and that was intentional—we wanted it to feel celebratory without losing its seriousness. The top half? Three missile warheads stand centered, flanked by “1942” on the left and “2022” on the right. A start date and an end date. The full arc of a mission in six digits flat. When you hold this side, it doesn’t just look good—it feels like closure, like the exhale after 80 years of vigilance.

THE LAND + THE LEGACY

Flip it, and suddenly you’re standing in southern Colorado. The relief landscape is so textured you can almost smell the sagebrush. Right there in the foreground sits one of Pueblo’s famous earth-covered bunkers—the igloos. These squat, grass-topped storage shelters held some of the most dangerous stockpiles in U.S. history. Their inclusion here isn’t a flourish—it’s reverence. A nod to the literal ground that carried this mission for decades. And in the distance? The Sangre de Cristo Mountains stretch across the horizon, rooting this coin to place. It’s not just “the Depot.” It’s Colorado soil. It’s Pueblo grit.

At the base of this scene rests the Depot’s crest, and trust me, this little shield is PACKED. At the top, Pike’s Peak rises—unmistakably local, unmistakably proud. Below it, the sun sets behind the mountains. But this isn’t just scenery; it’s symbolism. The sun setting on an era. The quiet close of one of the nation’s most sensitive chapters. Across the middle, a hawk soars—wildlife on one wing, Cold War missile systems on the other. Dual meaning, layered history, one bird in flight.

In the heart of the crest stands a Pershing missile, tall and unmistakable. A reminder of the Depot’s 1980s role in deterrence and missile maintenance. To its left, the dragon of the Chemical Corps, breathing fire over crossed retorts—marking Pueblo’s final mission and ultimate identity. To the right, the flaming bomb of the Ordnance Corps, Pueblo’s World War II-era beginning as an ammunition hub. It’s the whole journey, flank to flank. And anchoring the bottom? Three words stamped in certainty: SAFETY. 1942. SERVICE. That’s not just a motto. That’s the entire Pueblo story.

PROMISE KEPT

This coin feels…finished. Like a book with its last chapter written, like a mission carried all the way through. The hexagon shape gives it structure, stability—chemistry and engineering baked right into the geometry. The gold gleam makes it celebratory, but the details make it solemn. It’s a coin that says: we did the work, we did it safely, and we did it until the end.

When you hold it, you’re not just holding metal. You’re holding 80 years of vigilance, science, sweat, and service. You’re holding the weight of every civilian, every soldier, every commander who ever walked those igloo fields. And YES—we obsessed over every missile angle, every enamel fill, every mountain silhouette. Because this one had to feel like the Commander himself was handing it to you, saying: Mission complete. Job done. Excellence, all the way through.

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