This is the final deployment for the 14th Fighter Squadron based at Misawa, Japan, as it prepares to retire its F-16s and transfer them to other units, including the 480th Fighter Squadron and the 77th Fighter Squadron.

—Babak Taghvaee - The Crisis Watch

Before we get started with this week’s newsletter, a quick note: I’ve been publishing this newsletter for 151 consecutive weeks (dating back to March 2023) and in that time the newsletter has come out every Tuesday morning. Not this week. As some of you may know, YouTube had demonetized my channel for “mass-produced” “inauthentic” content - this was clearly in error and I (along with my amazing viewers) fought the decision. We won. I am very thankful that it was overturned, and again - my incredible viewers (and readers) rose to the occasion and made a storm on X (Twitter) that got the attention of human reviewers. YouTube has been mass banning channels that are AI generated (a much needed task in my opinion) but it appears they were a little overzealous with their bans. Again, I am very happy to be reinstated, and the reason I am writing this here is because as you can imagine, my whole world and workflows were disrupted. I’m getting back into the routines, so rest assured that moving forward we will resume our regular posting schedule. Thanks for reading this and for reading this newsletter. Now you know.

-Tog

And now, onto this week’s newsletter:

Mission Briefing

Just four weeks after Epic Fury roared into action, the tempo in the skies and seas is only building. You’ve got F-16Cs slicing through the stratosphere, EA-18Gs and E-2Ds joining the fray, engines humming as they head for the heart of the Middle East. Out at sea, the USS Boxer Amphibious Ready Group cuts a determined wake, steel and resolve pushing through blue water. And on the ground, the rumor mill is alive: word is, the 82nd Airborne Division might be prepping for the call. The whole scene feels like the opening frames of a high-stakes reel, machines, men, and rumors all converging, the story unfolding with every passing hour.

More Assets are Deploying

Over the past few days, the air above us has gotten a whole lot busier. F-16CM Block 50 Fighting Falcons—what we call Vipers—have been streaking through the sky, joined by the Navy’s EA-18 Growlers and E-2D Hawkeyes.

Each one brings its own brand of power and purpose. Out at sea, the USS Boxer’s Amphibious Ready Group is pushing toward the Middle East, soon to rendezvous with the USS Tripoli’s group, which shipped out just last week.

You can feel the tension building—rumors swirl that the 82nd Airborne Division might be on alert, boots laced and gear packed, ready to move at a moment’s notice. The government hasn’t ruled out sending troops into Iran, but no green light yet.

The F-16s are coming in from all directions. Some launched out of Aviano and Spangdahlem in Europe, others from Shaw and McEntire back on the East Coast, and now, even Misawa Air Base in Japan has joined the dance. Those Misawa Vipers are on what could be their last overseas run; soon that base will switch over to the F-35 Lightning II.

Tanker issues delayed the Atlantic crossing, but nothing stops a determined aircrew; now, up to 24 jets are converging at Spangdahlem, arriving in waves. Some of those Vipers are already peeling off, bound for undisclosed airfields in the Middle East. Nobody’s saying exactly where, but you can bet they’ll be right where they’re needed most.

Meanwhile, six more Growlers lifted off from Oceana, Virginia, touched down in the Azores to refuel, then pressed on toward the fight, some loaded with state-of-the-art jamming pods. The whole operation feels like the opening act of a high-stakes air campaign; steel birds, restless seas, and every pilot waiting for the next call.

Fighter Jets are Not the Only Birds

Fighter jets might steal the spotlight, but they’re not the only birds heading into the fray for Operation Epic Fury. Back on March 16, while the first Growlers took to the air, five E-2D Hawkeye early warning aircraft touched down at Lajes, their radomes gleaming against the Atlantic sky.

A few days later, the Hawkeyes lifted off again, bound for Aviano Air Base in Italy, before pressing on toward the Middle East. Their final destination? That’s still a bit of a mystery. Maybe they’ll join one of the Carrier Air Wings out at sea, or perhaps they’ll settle in with a land-based squadron.

These E-2Ds aren’t your average spotters. They come armed with cutting-edge AESA radar, the kind that can sniff out even the sneakiest threats—low-flying drones and cruise missiles that hug the earth to avoid detection.

Once in theater, the Hawkeyes will work alongside the Air Force’s E-3 Sentry AWACS, and just recently, the Royal Australian Air Force sent an E-7A Wedgetail to the mix. It’s a real gathering of airborne sentinels, each playing their part in the unfolding drama.

Let me share with you what’s under the hood of the Hawkeye

Overall Length: 57 ft. 8.75 in
Wing Area: 80 ft. 7 in
Weight (Empty): 40,484 lbs
Speed: 300+ kts
Ceiling: 37,000 ft.
Power Plant: Two Rolls-Royce T56-A-427A Turboprop engines (5100 shp each)
Sensors: Fully integrated open architecture system
Crew: five; two pilots, three mission systems operators with the option for the co-pilot to act as fourth mission systems operator.
Prime Contractor: Northrop Grumman

Holding the Line, Building the Strike Package

Four weeks into Operation Epic Fury, the tempo is still building. Every new wave of jets and warships heading out signals something loud and clear: this isn’t just a single punch thrown in the dark. Washington’s making it clear: this is a campaign built to last, with layers of protection and the muscle to ramp things up if the situation demands.

I’ve seen reports of more F-16Cs, EA-18G Growlers, and E-2D Hawkeyes streaming toward the Middle East, with the USS Boxer Amphibious Ready Group riding the waves nearby. For the U.S., these moves aren’t just about keeping the engines hot; they’re about flexibility, about having options.

The F-16s bring sheer numbers and quick reaction across scattered airfields; the Growlers are the ghosts in the electronic ether, jamming and hunting enemy radars; and the E-2Ds, perched high above, scan for threats that try to slip under the radar.

This isn’t only for America’s benefit. The buildup is a message to allies: the U.S. is all-in, not just with fighters and ships, but with the brains and tech that guide modern warfare. Australia’s already sent in an E-7A Wedgetail, showing it’s a team effort in the skies.

Operation Epic Fury isn’t just about hitting targets; it’s about keeping friends close, sending a warning to would-be troublemakers, and shaping the chessboard for whatever comes next. Whether these reinforcements stay as a shield or turn into a spear, they’ll set the tone for the next act in this unfolding drama.

This Week in Aviation History

April 1917: folks were already calling it the Great War, and with good reason. The fields of France and Russia were packed with millions of soldiers, locked in a deadly standoff where thousands fell every single day; even when no one was charging forward. Then came April 6th, when the United States stepped into the fray, throwing its lot in with France, Britain, Russia, and the rest of the Allies. They faced a formidable lineup: Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, and Bulgaria. All bracing for what would become a truly global fight.

Why did the US join the War?

President Woodrow Wilson had just been sworn in for his second term, having won over the American people with the promise, “He Kept Us Out of War.” Folks thought Wilson was a man too proud to send young Americans into the meat grinder that was Europe.

In fact, diplomats across the Atlantic called the United States “The Great Neutral,” and for a while, that title fit. American envoys worked tirelessly, hoping to broker peace as the trenches filled and the casualties mounted. But even a president can’t outrun the winds of war forever.

The first sign that the storm was coming was a note, hand-delivered by the German ambassador on January 31. “Unrestricted submarine warfare,” it read. No more warnings, no more safe passage—any ship, friend or foe, near Britain, France, Italy, or the Eastern Mediterranean was fair game for German U-boats.

Now, to us today, that might sound like just another piece of military strategy, but back then, it sent shockwaves through the American public. It was a move born of desperation. Germany needed to cut off Britain to win before their own resources ran dry. But to Americans, it was yet another sign of German aggression, the war machine grinding on, civilians and soldiers alike in its path.

Wilson was stunned. The very next day, he cut diplomatic ties with Germany, though he still held back from war. Then came the Zimmermann Telegram—a real cloak-and-dagger moment.

British intelligence intercepted a secret message from Germany’s foreign minister to its ambassador in Mexico, offering Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico in exchange for Mexico turning on the U.S. The news broke on February 28, and you could feel the mood shift. Americans were furious; the idea of foreign powers carving up their land was too much to bear. Wilson ordered American merchant ships to arm themselves.

March rolled in, and German U-boats made good on their threats, sending three U.S.-flagged ships to the bottom of the sea. The pressure mounted, and Wilson finally called Congress to a special session on April 2.

When he stepped up to the podium, he wasn’t the reluctant leader anymore. He was a man with purpose. “The world must be made safe for democracy,” he declared, pledging that America wasn’t after land, riches, or power. The fight was for liberty and the rights of mankind.

Four days later, Congress gave its answer. The declaration of war was signed, and the United States stepped into the storm, determined to tilt the balance in the name of freedom.

The Nation’s Defense Potential

At the dawn of the twentieth century, America was a sleeping giant; an industrial powerhouse ready to change the course of history. Picture this: by 1900, U.S. Steel alone was turning out more steel than the whole of Great Britain.

Henry Ford was cranking out Model Ts on assembly lines, making horse-and-buggy transportation look ancient overnight. Farms were getting machines, freeing up hands for the factories. America’s cities buzzed with a growing, literate workforce, mass production was in full swing, and railroads stitched the nation together; change was in the air, and the future looked unstoppable.

But when war erupted across the ocean, the United States military was still caught in another era. The Great War was industrialized carnage—millions in the trenches, millions more behind the lines, and factories churning out weapons day and night.

The U.S. Army, though, was tiny: just over 120,000 enlisted men and fewer than 6,000 officers, scattered from the Wild West to outposts in the Philippines and the Caribbean. Equipment was scarce—hardly any machine guns, no tanks, not much artillery, and barely any planes.

The National Guard was even more uneven, with old gear and patchy training. The Army hadn’t fought in big divisions since the Civil War, and few officers knew how to move or command massive units. The Navy, with 300 ships and 60,000 sailors, was respectable; but nothing like Britain’s Royal Navy.

So when war was declared in April 1917, no one really knew what role America would play. Yet the declaration itself marked something big: the moment America stepped onto the world stage, unprepared but determined. It would take time for U.S. military power to grow up. But when it did, it would help turn the tide of the war.

How World War I Changed Aviation

In 1914, flying meant braving the elements in open cockpits, clutching a paper map, and trusting your gut more than your gauges. But war has a way of speeding up progress. Soon, those flimsy scout planes evolved into fighters, bombers, and the first true air warriors. The big ideas of airpower—scouting, moving fast, hitting hard, and ruling the skies—were all born in that crucible.

For the United States, joining the fight in April 1917 was a leap into the unknown. With few planes and even fewer trained pilots, America was far from ready, but the moment marked a turning point.

The country learned fast, grew stronger, and began to project its power across oceans. World War I left two legacies: it transformed aviation from a daring experiment into a battlefield necessity, and it pushed America to the center of world affairs. Even today, when conflict flares, airpower and American resolve are still the keys to shaping war and forging peace.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like. If you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

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– Tog

“The United States is conducting an operation to eliminate the threat of Iran’s short-range ballistic missiles and the threat posed by their navy… That is the clear objective of this mission.”

—Secretary of State Marco Rubio

Mission Briefing

In the dark, early hours of 28 February 2026, U.S. Central Command launched a major campaign at the president’s command. CENTCOM made its intent unmistakable: to dismantle the Iranian regime’s security backbone by targeting sites deemed an imminent threat. The opening strikes fell on the Revolutionary Guards’ command centers, missile and drone launch sites, air defenses, and military airfields—linchpins of Iran’s military might. From the very beginning, this was no mere warning shot, but a calculated campaign to disrupt and unseat the adversary’s power.

What is Operation Epic Fury?

From the very beginning, this was no fleeting demonstration of might. The campaign’s intention was deep disruption—an operation designed to shake the adversary’s foundations.

Yet, as the first sorties thundered across the night sky, the political objectives began to shift beneath them. According to Reuters, the White House and Pentagon soon layered new aims atop the original mission: destroy Iran’s offensive missiles, cripple its navy, neutralize its support for regional proxies, and ensure Tehran never acquires nuclear weapons.

Each new goal added a dimension of strategic coercion, but also a layer of fragility; because, as any seasoned aviator knows, the more reasons you fight, the harder it is to recognize when you’ve truly won.

General Dan Caine’s early reports set the stage for a classic air campaign, but on a scale rarely seen in modern warfare. On February 27, before the world even knew the fight had begun, U.S. Cyber and Space Commands moved first; working to blind and disrupt Iranian detection and communications.

Then, in the darkest hours of February 28, over a hundred aircraft launched from airstrips and carrier decks, joined by Tomahawk missiles and precision rockets. The first wave struck with synchronized fury, hammering more than a thousand targets in just one day. The message was unmistakable: seize the tempo, deny the enemy a chance to regroup.

In the days that followed, command centers, intelligence nodes, missile batteries, air defenses, and naval assets came under relentless attack. The idea was simple—”stun and disorient” the adversary, as Reuters put it, while U.S. forces established air superiority overhead. This wasn’t a campaign to occupy ground, but to dominate every domain; air, sea, command, missiles, communications, and logistics.

CENTCOM’s official reports, released after ten and then thirteen days, read like a roll call of American airpower. B-1s, B-2s, and B-52s thundered overhead; F-15s, F-16s, F-18s, F-22s, and F-35s patrolled the skies; electronic warfare aircraft jammed signals; advanced early warning planes and reconnaissance platforms swept the horizon; MQ-9 Reapers hunted from above.

Missile defense systems, carrier strike groups, refueling tankers, and LUCAS drones completed the picture. CENTCOM hinted at “special capabilities”—the sort aviators only speak of in hushed tones.

This arsenal wasn’t assembled for show. It represented a fully integrated architecture for strike, intelligence, command, missile defense, and logistics—sustaining a campaign meant to endure ballistic salvos, drone swarms, naval skirmishes, and regional ripples. As Reuters aptly put it, this was the largest U.S. operation since the 2003 invasion of Iraq; a testament to both the challenge at hand and the scale of America’s commitment.

Targets, Tactics, and Tempo

CENTCOM’s latest briefings pull back the curtain on a campaign that has evolved far beyond its opening salvos. Thirteen days in, the target list had grown: not just launch sites and command centers, but weapons factories, surface-to-air missile installations, and the full arc of Iran’s naval mine-laying capability; from warships to the factories and warehouses that keep them supplied.

The March 12 report tallies the cost: nearly 6,000 targets struck, with over ninety Iranian vessels hit or destroyed; more than sixty ships and thirty mine-layers among them.

This marks a clear shift; from neutralizing an immediate threat to systematically degrading Iran’s ability to project power. It’s a move any seasoned strategist would recognize. Iran’s playbook has always been layered; missiles and drones, scattered logistics, denial of the seas through mines and small boats.

Hitting launchers without shutting down the assembly lines would buy only a brief calm. Sinking warships without dismantling the mining infrastructure would leave vital oil lanes in peril. Operation Epic Fury is designed to break this cycle, dismantling the machinery that lets Tehran strike from afar. In military terms, it’s sound doctrine. Politically, it’s a heavier lift, for every new target brings new complexities.

Washington, meanwhile, points to rapid momentum. By March 2, Reuters reported that U.S. air superiority was secure, enabling deeper and broader strikes. The Pentagon announced a sharp drop in Iranian missile and drone launches as stockpiles and launch sites fell. On the tactical map, Epic Fury was doing what it set out to do: disrupt the enemy’s tempo and coordination, forcing Iran onto the defensive.

Yet, every victory comes at a price. CENTCOM’s daily bulletins tell that story, too. By March 1, three American lives had been lost; the toll climbed to seven by March 8, after a soldier wounded in Saudi Arabia succumbed.

Reuters revealed that about 140 service members were wounded in the campaign’s first ten days, most able to return to duty, but eight remained gravely injured. This is no costless exercise. It is paid for in sweat, blood, and sacrifice.

As mid-March arrives, the word from the White House is “relentless.” Ceasefire is off the table; the operation presses on, intensifying with U.S. strikes on Kharg Island—the linchpin of Iran’s oil exports.

Kharg moves nearly 90% of Iran’s oil, around 1.55 million barrels a day. The message is clear: America can strike at the heart of Iran’s economic might, signaling serious intent while holding back—at least for now—from directly crippling the oil infrastructure itself.

Operation Epic Fury and the Weight of Alliance

For America and its allies, Operation Epic Fury was more than a thunderous display of arms. It was a signal flare in the night, declaring intent to restore order in a region slipping toward chaos.

From the cockpit’s view, Epic Fury struck at the very arteries of Iran’s military machine: command centers, missile batteries, air defenses, naval forces, drone workshops, and logistics lines all came under fire. The aim was clear: paralyze Iran’s ability to threaten bases, ships, air routes, and global trade lanes, giving the U.S. and its partners time to seize back the initiative before Tehran could regroup.

For allies, especially those who rely on Gulf security and the free flow of commerce, Epic Fury was a reassurance mission as much as an offensive one. The sheer might on display—heavy bombers, stealth fighters, carriers, destroyers, missile shields, and surveillance networks—showed that the United States would shoulder risk and stand guard, wielding enough force to blunt missile barrages and keep the coalition safe.

Yet, tactical victory does not guarantee strategic control. Even as thousands of targets burned and Iran’s naval reach was curtailed, the bigger question loomed: could these battlefield gains be translated into lasting stability and a safer future for the region?

Epic Fury, then, was as much about present protection as it was about the uncertain road ahead. This campaign shielded allies today, while leaving the work of true security for tomorrow.

This Week in Aviation History

01 April 1945—a date etched into the annals of aviation and military history. On that morning, U.S. ground forces launched the Battle of Okinawa, the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific theater. For those of us who cherish the legends of the air, this was more than just another campaign; Okinawa was the last great barrier before Imperial Japan itself.

With the island secured, the stage would be set for America’s air power to reach its full, unbridled potential—strategic bombers poised to strike the Japanese mainland, supply lines strangled, and forward bases prepared for Operation Olympic, the planned final invasion set for later that year.

The Battle of Okinawa

On 15 March 1945, as Marines declared the end of organized resistance on Iwo Jima, Admiral Raymond Spruance—commander of the Fifth Fleet—was already charting a course into the unknown. Aboard his flagship, the USS Indianapolis, Spruance sailed toward the Ryukyu Islands, accompanied by Admiral Marc Mitscher’s formidable Fast Carrier Task Force 58.

In the days ahead, the Pacific would bear witness to a gathering of might that defied imagination: over 1,600 ships and 350,000 naval personnel converging under Spruance’s command to form the largest amphibious assault force in the history of warfare. Their mission: seize Okinawa, the last sentinel before the heartland of Imperial Japan.

With Iwo Jima and soon Okinawa in Allied hands, the strategic equation shifted. The U.S. could now unleash its full arsenal—long-range bombers, relentless blockades, and newly established forward bases—preparing the ground for Operation Olympic, the final invasion of Japan set for autumn. But before that could happen, a storm of steel and sacrifice awaited.

A grim preview came on March 19, as Task Force 58 struck at Honshū and Kobe Harbor. The USS Franklin, one of America’s proud carriers, was struck by two bombs from a Japanese dive bomber. Her crew’s valor saved the ship, but the cost was staggering: over 800 sailors lost in a single morning; a stark reminder that the enemy, though diminished, was far from beaten.

Navy planners knew the closer they sailed to Japan, the fiercer the resistance would become. The enemy’s arsenal now included a new and terrifying weapon: the kamikaze. These weren’t conventional sorties; these were pilots willing to become the weapon itself. At Leyte Gulf and Iwo Jima, such attacks had been a menace, but now, within reach of the Japanese homeland, the threat loomed larger.

Estimates warned of thousands of enemy aircraft poised for suicide missions. Those estimates, grimly, would prove true. On March 31, Spruance himself felt the sting when a kamikaze struck the Indianapolis. The damage sent the flagship limping back to San Francisco, placing her on a path to her own tragic destiny.

Despite the fury from above, the invasion of Okinawa began with precision and purpose. Minesweepers cleared safe passage, warships unleashed thunderous bombardments, and carrier-based aircraft flew relentless sorties.

On April 1^st (Easter Sunday) Lieutenant General Simon Bolivar Buckner Jr.’s Tenth Army landed unopposed on Okinawa’s western shores, their sights set on two vital airstrips. Astonishingly, both fell without resistance.

The ground campaign split in two: Marines pressed north, securing the lightly defended territory, while Army troops turned south toward the fortress-like Shuri Line. By mid-April, the Marines had swept their sector, but the Army’s advance slowed, grinding against entrenched defenders.

As the weeks dragged on, the lines blurred; Marines and soldiers alike locked in brutal combat, inching forward at staggering cost. By June’s end, the butcher’s bill was sobering: 49,151 American casualties, more than 12,500 killed or missing. Okinawa had become not just a stepping stone, but a crucible; proving the resolve, sacrifice, and unbreakable spirit of those who flew and fought beneath the Pacific sky.

The Importance of Real-Time Adaptation and Allied Partnership

Every day at Okinawa, the cost in lives and steel climbed higher, forcing the Navy to adapt its ways in the face of a threat few had truly anticipated. The kamikaze was unlike anything naval commanders had seen before. Pilots turning their planes into living weapons, undeterred by odds or firepower.

To meet this new reality, the Navy became a crucible of innovation: radar pickets were refined, combat air patrols adjusted, strikes against enemy airfields intensified, and small islands were seized to anchor early warning radars. In the process, sailors caught a fleeting glimpse of the future; a time when war at sea would be decided not just by bombs or torpedoes, but by guided missiles streaking in from beyond the horizon.

The radar pickets, small ships stationed far from the main fleet, became the sentinels and sacrificial shields of the armada. Their job was to spot incoming threats and sound the alarm, buying precious minutes for the larger ships to prepare. But in doing so, these pickets became the kamikazes’ first targets.

As the tempo of attacks escalated, the picket line was pushed out—from 40 miles to 60—stretching the fleet’s defenses thin, but granting more time to react. Ideally, each radar picket team would have included four to six destroyers and half a dozen supporting craft, all matched in speed and maneuverability.

In reality, losses forced the Navy to improvise, mixing ship types and requiring each group to adapt its tactics on the fly when the sky darkened with enemy aircraft.

Admiral Spruance, ever the tactician, ordered the capture of small offshore islands to extend the Navy’s reach. These outposts became hubs for fighter direction and early warning, giving the fleet a new edge in the deadly chess match over Okinawa.

After the battle, one flotilla commander would say, “Never in the annals of our glorious naval history have naval forces done so much with so little against such odds for so long a period.” Such praise became a refrain for the picket crews—stretched to the limit, yet unbroken.

The crucible of Okinawa demanded more than tactical brilliance; it required true teamwork. The operation was a patchwork of commands and services—the overall strategy set by Admiral Nimitz, the assault led by Spruance, and the ground war waged by a joint Army-Marine Corps force under Buckner.

The complexity was staggering. Smooth cooperation meant drawing clear lines of authority, especially as the campaign shifted from sea to shore. Spruance held the power to decide when amphibious gave way to ground fighting, but even then, rivalries had to be set aside. And set aside they were, as Army, Navy, and Marine forces melded into a single, unstoppable team; proving that, even amid chaos, unity could carry the day.

The Battle of Okinawa’s Enduring Legacy

The Battle of Okinawa’s legacy is etched not just in its staggering scale, but in the truths it revealed about modern warfare’s true cost. From April to June 1945, Operation Iceberg became the Pacific’s largest, bloodiest crucible: Army, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, and allies, all locked in a brutal campaign that demanded everything from everyone.

Victory didn’t come with the first wave ashore. Japanese defenders melted into caves and strongholds, refusing open battle and turning Okinawa into a grinding trial of endurance. Over 12,000 Americans fell. Japanese forces were nearly annihilated, and the toll on Okinawan civilians was devastating.

There were lessons, paid for in blood. Okinawa proved that winning the Pacific required more than firepower. It demanded flawless joint cooperation, mastery of amphibious landings, logistical genius, and the grit to face an enemy fighting from the shadows, willing to die rather than yield.

Kamikaze attacks, relentless and desperate, sank 26 Allied ships and damaged 168 more, a stark reminder that even the strongest fleet can be threatened by unconventional tactics.

But the deepest legacy is human. It lives in the stories of sacrifice—soldiers, sailors, Marines, correspondents, and civilians—and in acts of courage like Desmond Doss at Hacksaw Ridge. Okinawa stands as both a warning and a guide: in war, technology alone is never enough. Victory belongs to those who endure, who unite, and who find strength in the darkest hours.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like. If you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

Like what you’re reading? Stay in the loop by signing up below—it’s quick, easy, and always free.
This newsletter will always be free for everyone, but if you want to go further, support the mission, and unlock bonus content like the Midweek Sortie, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Your support keeps this flight crew flying—and I couldn’t do it without you.

– Tog

A-10s have routinely been equipped with Sidewinders as a last layer of self defence against hostile aircraft, but with the increased use of small uncrewed aerial vehicles (UAVs) like the Shahed 136 as attack munitions, the A-10 can now use them in a more offensive role

—U.S. Central Command

Mission Briefing

The A-10 Warthogs, those rugged workhorses of the U.S. Air Force, have shifted gears in Operation Epic Fury. According to General Dan Caine’s briefing from the Pentagon on March 19, 2026, these jets are now prowling the southern flank, eyes locked on the fast attack boats darting through the Strait of Hormuz. The mission: hunt down threats on the waves with the same relentless precision they’ve always shown on land.

Warthogs are Hunting the Iranian Fast Attack Craft in the Strait of Hormuz

From the very start of Operation Epic Fury, there was no mystery about the A-10 Thunderbolt II’s involvement; CENTCOM made it official within the first 48 hours. But the story deepened when U.S. Central Command released new images: the unmistakable silhouette of the Warthog, bristling with both anti-air and anti-surface weaponry.

Outfitted with a LITENING targeting pod, a pair of Maverick missiles, Sidewinders, a centerline fuel tank for extra range and loiter time, and an APKWS rocket pod, these jets looked ready for any mission the battle demanded. Until now, though, the A-10 had never been confirmed flying missions over Iran itself.

Traditionally, the Hogs had been deployed to Muwaffaq Salti Air Base in Jordan, where their reputation was forged in the classic role of close air support; providing cover for ground troops and hammering Iran-backed Popular Mobilization Forces in Iraq.

But with the escalation of Epic Fury, the A-10s made a leap from the familiar desert theater to a new domain: the open waters and contested straits of the Persian Gulf.

It’s a transition that makes perfect sense to those who know the type. Over the past decade and a half, the A-10 has quietly expanded its resume beyond tank-busting and battlefield support.

In 2011, during Operation Unified Protector, a Warthog teamed up with a P-3 Orion to take out a patrol boat and several small attack craft in Misrata, Libya—a harbinger of things to come.

More recently, faced with escalating asymmetric threats in the Red Sea and the Black Sea; where swarms of unmanned surface vehicles (USVs) and small boats have challenged even the most advanced navies. The Warthog has become a familiar sight at maritime exercises, training to counter these fast, elusive foes.

By the 2020s, the A-10 was a regular participant in Maritime Surface Warfare drills, including a notable 2023 exercise where two Hogs joined the USS Stethem in the Gulf of Oman to engage simulated surface threats.

The logic is clear: with high-value warships and tankers vulnerable to massed attacks by USVs, the ability to loiter low and slow, deliver precise, flexible firepower, and operate in tight quarters is more valuable than ever.

The A-10’s legendary maneuverability, robust payload, and unflappable accuracy make it a nightmare for fast-moving targets; on land and now, increasingly, at sea.

So, as Epic Fury unfolds, the Warthog writes a new chapter in its storied legacy, proving that an old warrior with the right tools and the right crew can adapt to any battlefield—from the dust of Iraq to the blue of the Persian Gulf—wherever the mission calls.

Anatomy of the Warthog

The A-10 Thunderbolt II is a pilot’s dream when it comes to low and slow maneuvering; hugging the terrain with uncanny precision and delivering its arsenal with unrivaled accuracy.

Built to linger over the battlefield, the Warthog can take off from short, rough strips close to the front, operate in lousy weather or low visibility, and keep watch for hours, ready to strike at a moment’s notice; even in the dead of night, thanks to night vision goggles and NVIS-compatible cockpits.

The all-around bubble canopy offers panoramic views, while titanium armor cradles the pilot and vital systems, letting the jet shrug off hits that would down lesser aircraft.

Redundant controls, self-sealing fuel cells, and manual backups mean the A-10 can keep flying even when wounded, surviving direct fire up to 23mm and still bringing its pilot home. In the chaos of close air support, the Warthog is more than a machine—it’s a steadfast guardian, engineered to endure the toughest fight and turn the tide for those on the ground.

General characteristics
Primary function: close air support, airborne forward air control, combat search and rescue
Contractor: Fairchild Republic Co.
Power plant: two General Electric TF34-GE-100 turbofans
Thrust: 9,065 pounds each engine
Wingspan: 57 feet, 6 inches (17.42 meters)
Length: 53 feet, 4 inches (16.16 meters)
Height: 14 feet, 8 inches (4.42 meters)
Weight: 29,000 pounds (13,154 kilograms) Maximum Takeoff Weight: 51,000 pounds (22,950 kilograms) Fuel Capacity: 11,000 pounds (7,257 kilograms)
Payload: 16,000 pounds (7,257 kilograms)
Speed: 450 nautical miles per hour (Mach 0.75)
Range: 2580 miles (2240 nautical miles)
Ceiling: 45,000 feet (13,636 meters)
Armament: one 30 mm GAU-8/A seven-barrel Gatling gun; up to 16,000 pounds (7,200 kilograms) of mixed ordnance on eight under-wing and three under-fuselage pylon stations, including 500 pound (225 kilograms) Mk-82 and 2,000 pounds (900 kilograms) Mk-84 series low/high drag bombs, incendiary cluster bombs, combined effects munitions, mine dispensing munitions, AGM-65 Maverick missiles and laser-guided/electro-optically guided bombs; infrared countermeasure flares; electronic countermeasure chaff; jammer pods; 2.75-inch (6.99 centimeters) rockets; illumination flares and AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles.

Warthogs on Watch: Guardians of the US and Allies

When the United States unleashed its A-10 Thunderbolt IIs against Iranian fast attack craft in the Strait of Hormuz, it was more than just a change in tactics. It was a declaration that this critical maritime artery would be defended with every tool in the arsenal.

In Operation Epic Fury, the Warthogs left their traditional close air support roles behind, taking to the skies over one of the world’s most volatile chokepoints to hunt the nimble boats that could threaten warships, tankers, and global commerce alike.

The Strait of Hormuz is no ordinary waterway; it’s a flashpoint where a handful of small boats, if left unchecked, could have global consequences.

For America’s allies—especially those with stakes in Gulf stability—the sight of A-10s loaded for both air and surface threats brought reassurance. These jets, equipped for drones and fast craft alike, can loiter for hours, maneuver at low altitudes, and strike with surgical precision, bringing a new layer of deterrence beyond what surface ships alone could offer.

Perhaps most striking, the mission underscored why the A-10 still matters, even as retirement looms. The Warthog’s adaptability for modern, networked, and maritime missions proves that legacy aircraft can still find new purpose.

As the Gulf’s battlespace evolves, the A-10 shows that old legends don’t fade quietly. They simply find new horizons to defend.

This Week in Aviation History

The first A3D-1s rolled off the production line and joined the fleet on 31 March 1956, arriving not long after the Navy welcomed the jet-age carrier USS Forrestal. Almost from day one, these new birds proved their mettle, showcasing what the future of carrier aviation could truly be.

Skywarrior Rising: The Navy’s Atomic Age Answer

The world and the future of warfare changed in an instant when atomic bombs fell over Japan in August 1945. Naval aviators, fresh from the triumphs of World War II, knew the aircraft carrier’s mobility had been the key to victory in the vast Pacific, allowing swift, devastating strikes across a scattered theater.

But in the postwar years, as the smoke cleared, a fierce debate ignited within the ranks of America’s military visionaries. The Army Air Forces, soon to become the independent U.S. Air Force, argued that nuclear-armed heavy bombers would render both sprawling armies and mighty fleets obsolete; air power alone, they claimed, would decide the next great conflict, and thus, all strategic air should be under the control of the new Air Force.

The Navy, unwilling to surrender the oceans or the skies above them, answered with conviction and innovation. Their answer was the A3D Skywarrior, an aircraft that would become synonymous with versatility and endurance at sea.

In 1947, the Navy issued a challenge: design a jet-powered bomber capable of delivering a 10,000-pound atomic weapon over 2,000 nautical miles, launched from the decks of the planned super carrier United States. Douglas Aircraft, led by the legendary Ed Heinemann, took up the call.

Heinemann’s team engineered an aircraft with an impressive gross weight of 68,000 pounds (significantly lighter than rival proposals), powered by twin jet engines tucked into nacelles beneath high-mounted wings, leaving ample space for a cavernous internal bomb bay.

Though the super carrier United States was abruptly canceled just weeks after Douglas received the contract for two prototypes, the Skywarrior project pressed on. In its final form, the A3D boasted a pair of Pratt & Whitney J57-P-6 engines, each producing 9,700 pounds of static thrust and pushing the bomber to speeds exceeding 600 miles per hour.

Heinemann’s relentless focus on weight reduction meant the Skywarrior could launch from modified Essex-class carriers, relics of World War II reworked for the jet age. But the quest for lighter flight came with a price: no ejection seats. Instead, the crew relied on an escape chute—a risky prospect that led to the aircraft’s unforgettable nickname among aviators: “All Three Dead.”

31 March 1956 marked a new era as the first production A3D-1s joined the fleet, just months after the USS Forrestal, the Navy’s first jet carrier, was commissioned. The Skywarrior wasted no time proving its worth. On July 31, 1956, one of these bombers flew nonstop from Hawaii to New Mexico; a staggering 3,200 miles in just 5 hours and 40 minutes, without a single refueling.

The following year, a pair of A3Ds made history with a carrier-to-carrier transcontinental flight, launching from the Bon Homme Richard off California and landing on the Saratoga steaming off Florida, cementing the Skywarrior’s place in the legend of naval aviation.

Under the Hood of the Skywarrior

Dimensions: Length: 74 ft, 5 in.; Height: 22 ft., 8 in.; Wingspan: 72 ft., 5 in.

Weights: Empty: 35,999 lb.; Gross: 70,000 lb.

Power Plant: Two 9,700 lb. static thrust Pratt & Whitney J57-P-6 turbojets

Performance: Maximum Speed: 621 M.P.H.; Service Ceiling: 39,000 ft.; Range: 2,990 miles

Armament: Two 20mm cannon in tail and provision for 8,700 lb. of ordnance, including nuclear weapons

Crew: Pilot, bombardier/navigator, gunner (attack configuration)

Skywarrior: An Enduring Callsign

The Douglas A-3 Skywarrior redefined what a naval aircraft could be. Conceived in the tense dawn of the Cold War, it gave the U.S. Navy a jet bomber capable of hauling big payloads over long distances. All from the moving deck of an aircraft carrier. For its day, that was an engineering marvel, the result of Ed Heinemann’s team stripping away every ounce they could, creating the heaviest bird to ever launch regularly from a carrier.

But the Skywarrior’s legacy soared well beyond dropping bombs. As strategy shifted and new threats emerged, the Whale adapted. It became a tanker, a reconnaissance platform, an electronic warfare workhorse, and a testbed for the Navy’s changing technology.

The National Naval Aviation Museum pays special tribute to the KA-3B’s vital refueling missions and credits later EA-3B and NEA-3B variants with keeping the Skywarrior relevant deep into the late Cold War.

That kind of adaptability is rare. The Skywarrior wasn’t just a bomber; it was a bridge from the Navy’s early nuclear ambitions to the modern age of versatile, multi-role carrier aviation.

Even after its attack days were over, the A-3 found new missions; proving that the greatest warplanes aren’t just built for one fight, but for every challenge that follows as the world and the mission change.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

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Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

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U.S. Central Command is aware of the loss of a U.S. KC-135 refueling aircraft. The incident occurred in friendly airspace during Operation Epic Fury, and rescue efforts are ongoing. Two aircraft were involved in the incident. One of the aircraft went down in western Iraq, and the second landed safely.

This was not due to hostile fire or friendly fire.

—US Central Command

Mission Briefing

They say the KC-135 met its fate not in hostile skies, but after a fateful encounter with another bird in friendly airspace. While the second aircraft made it home without a scratch, the tanker did not. It was during Operation Epic Fury—the news came down from U.S. Central Command on 12 March 2026—a reminder that even familiar skies can hold dangers of their own.

The Stratotanker Went Down in Western Iraq During the Epic Fury

Operation Epic Fury has summoned the services of many KC-135 Stratotankers. Those steadfast giants of the sky that keep our fighting force fueled and ready. In recent days, several of these tankers have been spotted weaving their way through Israeli airspace, some flashing the emergency squawk code 7700; a distress beacon every aviator knows well.

For those watching the digital trails from afar, questions immediately began to swirl: were any of these tankers in distress tied to the grim incident that soon followed off the Israeli coast? The fog of war, as always, makes details elusive.

This loss marks the first time in nearly thirteen years that a Stratotanker has failed to return home. The last time tragedy struck was on May 3, 2013, when KC-135R 63-8877 of the 22nd Air Refueling Wing left McConnell Air Force Base for the skies over Kyrgyzstan, only to meet disaster near the village of Chaldovar, a hundred miles from its point of departure. The echoes of that loss still linger in the minds of those who have worn the uniform.

This time, according to reports, it was another KC-135 that found itself entangled in the incident; a midair encounter that ended in catastrophe. Official statements have ruled out enemy or friendly fire, but the rumor mill, stoked by social media, has been quick to suggest otherwise.

As speculation spread, U.S. Central Command issued steady updates, confirming what every aviator dreads: all six crew members aboard the tanker perished. Their names now join the honored roll: Maj. John A. Klinner, Capt. Ariana G. Savino, Tech. Sgt. Ashley B. Pruitt, Capt. Seth R. Koval, Capt. Curtis J. Angst, and Tech. Sgt. Tyler H. Simmons—a team drawn from the 6th Air Refueling Wing at MacDill and the 121st at Rickenbacker, united in service and sacrifice.

Their loss brings the toll of U.S. lives claimed since the conflict with Iran ignited to thirteen: six in an Iranian strike on Kuwait, one in Saudi Arabia, and now these six souls lost in the skies. The investigation is ongoing, but officials believe a midair collision may be at the heart of the tragedy.

On the ground, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s words cut through the uncertainty: “War is hell, war is chaos, and as we saw yesterday with the tragic crash of our KC-135 tanker, bad things can happen. American heroes, all of them.”

Even as details trickle out—confirmation that a second KC-135 returned safely after sustaining damage, that another tanker declared an emergency before landing in Tel Aviv. The loss is keenly felt. In the world of aviation, every scar in the sky tells a story. This one will be remembered.

The Tanker’s Anatomy

The KC-135 Stratotanker is the quiet powerhouse of the U.S. Air Force. It is the legend that has faithfully fueled America’s global reach for more than six decades. If you picture the heart of an aerial fleet, think of the KC-135: its silhouette cutting across the sky, wings swept back at a sharp 35 degrees, four turbofans rumbling as it hauls up to 322,500 pounds into the blue.

This is no ordinary aircraft. It’s the lifeline that keeps fighters and bombers on station, that stretches the boundaries of possibility for the Air Force, Navy, Marine Corps, and even allied squadrons around the world.

But the KC-135 is more than a tanker. Its cargo deck can be pressed into service for passengers or freight. When the mission calls for it, the Stratotanker transforms into a flying hospital, ferrying wounded warriors to safety with patient support pallets strapped securely in place.

At the heart of its refueling magic is the flying boom: a marvel of midair engineering, controlled by a dedicated boom operator lying prone at the rear, guiding the fuel-laden probe into thirsty receivers.

Some KC-135s are fitted with a drogue for probe-equipped aircraft, and a few can even refuel two aircraft at once with their wingtip pods. In the world of aviation, the KC-135 is the unsung hero—steady, reliable, and always ready to answer the call.

General Characteristics

Primary Function: Aerial refueling and airlift

Prime Contractor: The Boeing Company

Power Plant: CFM International CFM-56 turbofan engines

Thrust: 21,634 pounds each engine

Wingspan: 130 feet, 10 inches (39.88 meters)

Length: 136 feet, 3 inches (41.53 meters)

Height: 41 feet, 8 inches (12.7 meters)

Speed: 530 miles per hour at 30,000 feet (9,144 meters)

Ceiling: 50,000 feet (15,240 meters)

Range: 1,500 miles (2,419 kilometers) with 150,000 pounds (68,039 kilograms) of transfer fuel; ferry mission, up to 11,015 miles (17,766 kilometers)

Maximum Takeoff Weight: 322,500 pounds (146,285 kilograms)

Maximum Transfer Fuel Load: 200,000 pounds (90,719 kilograms)

Maximum Cargo Capability: 83,000 pounds (37,648 kilograms), 37 passengers

Pallet Positions: 6

Crew: Three: pilot, co-pilot and boom operator. Some KC-135 missions require the addition of a navigator. The Air Force has a limited number of navigator suites that can be installed for unique missions.

Aeromedical Evacuation Crew: A basic crew of five (two flight nurses and three medical technicians) is added for aeromedical evacuation missions. Medical crew may be altered as required by the needs of patients.

Unit Cost: $39.6 million (fiscal 98 constant dollars)

Date Deployed: August 1956

When the Tanker Falls, the Mission Trembles

For the United States and its allies, the loss of a KC-135 in western Iraq is a sobering reminder: modern air campaigns soar not just on the wings of fighters and bombers, but on the backs of the support fleet that keeps the whole machine in motion. The reports are clear: a combat mission, two tankers in the air, and a tragedy unfolding over friendly territory, untouched by hostile fire.

Strategically, the stakes are immense. A KC-135 isn’t just a number in the inventory; it’s the lifeline that extends the reach of airpower, lets strike packages linger, and sustains the relentless tempo demanded by coalition operations.

Its loss doesn’t just echo through squadrons. It sends a signal from Washington to NATO to Gulf allies: even outside the shadow of enemy missiles, the logistics lifeblood of air war is vulnerable to chaos, chance, and the fog of conflict.

Then, there’s the human toll. All six crew members lost, raising the war’s toll and reminding us that behind every sortie is a cost measured in lives, not just flight hours. For every ally, the lesson is crystal clear: winning the skies isn’t just about sharp fighters, but about resilient command and support. The next crisis may hinge not on the flashiest jet, but on the quiet giants that keep them aloft.

This Week in Aviation History

26 March 1967: Colonel Robert Ray Scott led twenty F-105 Thunderchiefs from Takhli, Thailand, on a daring strike near Hanoi. Flying his F-105D, call sign “Leech 01,” Scott wasn’t just guiding the attack; he became part of the legend. As bombs fell and flak blossomed, he spotted a MiG-17 closing in. With a cool hand and the roar of his 20mm Vulcan cannon, Scott downed the enemy fighter, etching his name into the annals of air combat and proving once more the mettle of America’s aviators.

Colonel Robert Ray Shot Down a MiG using F-105

The 355th Tactical Fighter Wing, led by Colonel Robert Ray Scott, staked its claim in the skies over North Vietnam. The mission was routine at first: a strike near Hoa Lac airfield, F-105 Thunderchiefs thundering into enemy territory. But as any aviator knows, routine can turn legendary in a flash.

Colonel Scott caught sight of a MiG-17 launching from Hoa Loc airfield. With the instincts of a seasoned hunter, he banked left, ready to pursue. Three more MiGs soon revealed themselves, circling the airfield in single-ship trail; silver flashes marked with the unmistakable red star.

Scott fixed his gaze on the closest, pressed the attack, and closed the distance as the MiG tried to shake him. He fired, watching rounds tear into the left wing, debris spinning away. The MiG rolled into a desperate, low escape, but Scott pulled away, having done what few could claim: he’d bested a MiG in its own backyard. The pilot, Second Lieutenant Vũ Huy Lượng of the 923rd Fighter Regiment, did not survive.

This victory was more than a tally mark. For Scott, it was a bridge across eras. He’d flown the Northrop P-61 Black Widow in World War II, hunting in the dark skies over India and China. He’d already claimed two victories back then, and now, decades later, he joined the rarest company; becoming only the second U.S. Air Force pilot, after the renowned Colonel Robin Olds, to score kills in both World War II and Vietnam.

Scott’s own story began in Des Moines, Iowa, in 1920, the son of a railroad worker. He found his wings early, trading college for the cockpit when he enlisted as an Aviation Cadet just before America entered World War II. By the war’s end, he’d earned both the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal, his courage proven in combat.

After WWII, Scott returned home, finished his degree, and didn’t stop learning, earning two master’s degrees before returning to the sky. In 1952, he graduated from the Air Force’s test pilot school at Edwards, flying the cutting-edge North American F-86D.

But combat was never far, and Scott would eventually fly 305 missions across three wars—a career marked by valor, with four Silver Stars, three Legions of Merit, six Distinguished Flying Crosses, and sixteen Air Medals. He passed away in California in 2006, his legacy resting among heroes at Arlington.

Even the machines that carried these men found their fate in the crucible of war. Scott’s F-105D, serial number 59-1772, would claim one more victory; a month after Scott’s triumph, Major Harry E. Higgins downed another MiG-17 with its cannon. But by 1970, the Thunderchief itself was lost to anti-aircraft fire over Laos; the pilot, a testament to the skill and luck that defines aviators, was rescued.

Some stories in aviation are written in contrails and thunder, in moments where history and heroism meet. Colonel Scott’s was one of them, a reminder that every sortie has the potential to become legend.

What Made the Thud stand out?

Back in 1951, Republic Aviation set out to craft a supersonic tactical fighter-bomber that would outpace the aging F-84F. Their answer was the F-105 Thunderchief—known to those who flew her as the “Thud.”

The first prototype, the YF-105A, took to the skies in October 1955, but it wasn’t until June 1959 that the F-105D made its debut. Over the years, 833 Thunderchiefs would roll off the line, with 610 of them built as the D-model, each bearing the ambition of Republic’s engineers and the hopes of every young pilot who strapped in.

When the Gulf of Tonkin incident thrust Southeast Asia into the world’s spotlight in 1964, the Air Force called upon the F-105 for its speed and muscle. The Thud played a starring role in Operation Rolling Thunder, delivering more than 12,000 pounds of conventional bombs per mission; a payload that even eclipsed the legendary B-17 of World War II.

Though born for nuclear strike, the Thunderchief proved itself a brawler in the jungles and skies of Vietnam, flying hard and hitting harder. Eventually, the F-4 Phantom took over the Thunderchief’s mantle, and by July 1980, the last F-105D had flown its final Air Force sortie.

One of these storied birds now sits on display, painted as she looked with the 357th Tactical Fighter Squadron at Takhli Royal Thai Air Base. Her name, Memphis Belle II, pays homage to the iconic B-17F and those two red stars beneath the cockpit?

They mark the MiGs she brought down in combat over Southeast Asia, a quiet testament to her legacy before she landed for good at the museum in April 1990.

TECHNICAL NOTES:
Armament: One M61 Vulcan 20mm cannon and more than 12,000 lbs. of ordnance
Engine: One Pratt & Whitney J75-P-19W of 24,500 lbs thrust
Maximum speed: 1,390 mph
Cruising speed: 778 mph
Range: 2,206 miles
Ceiling: 51,000 ft.
Span: 34 ft. 11 in.
Length: 64 ft. 5 in.
Height: 19 ft. 8 in.
Weight: 52,838 lbs. maximum

The Thud: A Call Sign That Endures

The F-105 Thunderchief—known to every pilot and crew chief as the “Thud”—earned its legend in the crucible of speed, power, and sacrifice. Born in 1951 to outrun and outgun the aging F-84F, the Thunderchief grew into much more than its designers ever imagined.

It became the workhorse of the early air war over North Vietnam, the Cold War’s answer to an urgent call for reach and muscle. Though conceived as a nuclear strike jet, the Thud carried over 12,000 pounds of bombs—more than the famed B-17s of World War II—and bore the brunt of Rolling Thunder when the conflict in Southeast Asia erupted in 1964.

But the Thud’s real story is written in the nerves of those who flew it. Take March 26, 1967: Colonel Robert Ray Scott, leading a flight of 20 Thunderchiefs from Takhli, carved a piece of history near Hanoi.

Coming off the target, he tangled with a MiG-17, downing it with the F-105’s Vulcan cannon; a weapon never meant for dogfights, but fearsome in the right hands. The Thud would notch 27 MiG kills during the war, most with the Vulcan, a fighter-bomber forced to fight as a warrior in the most contested skies of the era.

Yet every legend bears a cost. Of 833 Thunderchiefs built, a staggering 395 were lost in Vietnam; a somber testament to the danger faced by their crews.

Today, as airpower evolves into new shapes and technologies, the Thud’s story endures: in the end, range, speed, payload, and the courage of those at the controls are still what get a mission in, and hopefully, bring it home.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like. If you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

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I believe I captured a “first” today.

—Jarold Hamilton, Director of Photography CALLSIGN Magazine

Mission Briefing

10 March 2026—high over the rugged stretches of Eastern California, the future of American airpower slipped into view. The Northrop Grumman B-21 Raider, still more rumor than routine, was seen tucked in behind a KC-135 Stratotanker, dancing through a five-and-a-half-hour aerial refueling mission.

For those lucky enough to be watching and quick enough with a camera, this was history in the making: the first Raider prototype, ghostly and poised, trailing the specially outfitted tanker from Edwards Air Force Base. Each frame captured by those photographers is more than a photo; it’s a glimpse of tomorrow’s legend, as the next generation of long-range strike quietly proves its mettle against the endless California sky.

Stealth Meets the Boom

Early spring over the Mojave Desert, and the horizon is alive with the drama of flight testing. In a moment that will linger in the memory of aviation enthusiasts, photographers caught the Northrop Grumman B-21 Raider refueling from a KC-135. Each frame a glimpse into the future of American airpower.

Among those behind the lens were Jarod Hamilton and Ian Recchio, their images capturing not just the legendary B-21, but the full tapestry of the mission: the ever-present F-16 chase plane, and a rare sight: a modified Douglas NC9D business jet, callsign N879AD, used by Raytheon as a testbed, weaving its own story into the day’s events.

The photos, taken at altitude over the Mojave, reveal striking details. Even with the compression of long lenses, the B-21’s size stands out alongside the tanker, hinting that this stealth bomber may be more imposing than earlier estimates suggested.

The KC-135, serial number #61-0320, wore the special NKC-135 designation—equipped for unique test support, and trackable online throughout the mission. Public data confirmed the refueling took place at FL230, or 23,000 feet, a stage set for over five hours of formation flying and fuel transfer.

This flight is more than a test. It’s a signal of rapid progress. The Air Force and Northrop Grumman are accelerating B-21 production, with Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota preparing to welcome its first Raiders in 2027.

Construction crews are busy at Ellsworth, expanding runways and building the infrastructure that will support a new era of stealth. The work is so extensive, the base’s B-1B Lancers have temporarily relocated to Grand Forks.

Final assembly of the B-21 takes place in Palmdale, California, where its predecessor, the B-2 Spirit, first took shape. Multiple airframes are in production, and the program’s second prototype arrived at Edwards AFB in September 2025; stripped of the distinctive air data probe and trailing cone used on the first.

That orange-tipped probe is visible in the images from Hamilton and Recchio, confirming that the aircraft refueling over the Mojave was indeed the very first prototype, still wearing the tools of a test article.

For those watching the skies, these images are more than snapshots. They are a front-row seat to history in motion. A new stealth legend taking shape, one flight, one test, one refueling at a time.

What is the B-21 Raider?

Step into the future of American airpower, and you’ll find the B-21 Raider waiting at the vanguard. This isn’t just another stealth bomber. It’s a dual-capable, penetrating strike aircraft, designed to slip through the world’s most sophisticated defenses and deliver either conventional or nuclear munitions.

When tomorrow’s threat environment demands the impossible, the Raider will answer, forming the backbone of an Air Force bomber fleet built on the enduring partnership of B-21s and B-52s.

But the B-21 is more than a bomber. It’s the centerpiece of a new family of long-range strike systems, seamlessly integrating intelligence, surveillance, electronic warfare, and advanced communications into its mission set.

Built to adapt, the Raider will accommodate both manned and unmanned operations, and wield a formidable arsenal of stand-off and direct-attack munitions.

At its core, the Raider is engineered for evolution. Its open systems architecture means future upgrades can be integrated with less risk; ensuring this aircraft will keep pace as adversaries adapt and the nature of conflict changes.

Guided by the Air Force Rapid Capabilities Office and developed by Northrop Grumman and a team of industry partners, the B-21’s journey began with the award of its engineering and manufacturing contract in October 2015.

Names like Pratt & Whitney, Collins Aerospace, and BAE Systems have all played a part in forging this next-generation bomber.

Ellsworth Air Force Base, South Dakota, will be the first to greet the Raider, its runways and training facilities already being prepared for the arrival of the fleet. The name itself is a tribute; an echo of the legendary Doolittle Raiders, who launched a daring strike against Japan in 1942, shifting the course of history and lifting Allied morale.

The B-21 carries that legacy forward as the first bomber of the 21st century, ready to write the next chapter in airpower’s story.

General Characteristics
Primary Function: Nuclear-capable, penetrating strike stealth bomber
Lead Command: Air Force Global Strike Command
Inventory: Minimum of 100 aircraft
Average Unit Procurement Cost (APUC): $550 million (base year 2010 dollars) / $639 million (base year 2019 dollars) / $692 million (base year 2022 dollars)
*APUC is the total costs of all procurement funding to include, aircraft flyaway costs, support equipment, training, spares, and engineering change orders divided by a minimum of 100 aircraft.
*Former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates directed B-21 Average Procurement Unit Cost as a key performance parameter as the best means to control costs.
Munitions: Nuclear and conventional
Operational: Mid-2020s

Beyond the Horizon: The B-21’s Refueled Promise

Aerial refueling is what transforms the B-21 from a promising stealth platform into a true strategic game-changer. On March 10, the Raider proved its mettle, taking on fuel from a specially modified KC-135 over California during a marathon five-and-a-half-hour sortie.

But this was more than just a technical milestone. The Air Force and Northrop Grumman are racing to deliver the first operational B-21 to Ellsworth AFB by 2027, signaling that the U.S. isn’t just fielding a new bomber, but is building the support network to let that bomber fly farther, loiter longer, and arrive with a menu of options.

For America, this is a message of credible reach. Each successful refueling brings the next-generation bomber force closer to true operational range.

For allies, it’s reassurance: American long-range strike is still anchored in survivability, robust logistics, and the power to project force across oceans and into the world’s toughest neighborhoods. A proven refueling envelope means missions can launch from safer distances, holding adversaries at risk even when the forward edge is under threat.

With conflict spreading in the Middle East—war with Iran, attacks on shipping, and worries over energy and trade; the symbolism of a refuelable B-21 grows sharper. It doesn’t mean escalation, but it does mean America has credible options, even if bases, ports, or sea lanes are pinched. That’s a signal allies in Europe, the Gulf, and Asia need as instability ripples through oil markets and alliance planning.

The deeper truth is this: the bombers that matter most will be the ones with range, stealth, and endurance woven together. In a world where crises leap borders, the aircraft that can launch from afar, survive, and keep allied reach alive. Those are the tools that shape tomorrow’s battlespace.

This Week in Aviation History

22 March 1979—a date when the cold expanse above the ocean welcomed a new sentinel. That day, the Lockheed CP-140 Aurora soared into the sky for the first time, charting a course that would define decades of maritime patrol excellence.

Born from the proven bones of the P-3 Orion yet outfitted with cutting-edge electronics, the Aurora quickly earned its reputation as a watchful guardian. With a reach of 5,000 nautical miles and a belly ready for a broad arsenal, this aircraft became the long-range eyes and striking arm of maritime operations, patrolling distant waters with quiet confidence and relentless purpose.

Aurora’s Maiden Flight

The CP-140 Aurora stands as a mainstay of the Royal Canadian Air Force’s maritime patrol fleet, a close cousin to the famed Lockheed P-3 Orion that has long served American squadrons.

Though their frames are nearly twins, the Aurora’s soul is different. Its nerves and senses drawn from the S-3 Viking, an aircraft whose advanced electronics suite gave it an edge in the hunt, long after the Viking’s own retirement from U.S. Navy and NASA service.

Beneath its wings and inside its belly, the Aurora carries more than just promise. Its internal weapons bay can host up to eight weapons, maxing out at a hefty 4,800 pounds, while ten wing-mounted hardpoints add another 2,450 pounds of punch.

The Aurora is as comfortable dropping Mk 46 Mod V torpedoes as it is unleashing conventional bombs, and with a minor tweak, it can even fire air-to-surface rockets. Add in flares, smoke markers, and signal chargers, and you’ve got an aircraft ready for any twist the mission throws its way.

Born for the Cold War, the Aurora was Canada’s answer to prowling Soviet submarines; an eye in the sky with teeth to match. Decades later, even as sleeker, jet-powered patrol planes join the world’s fleets, the Aurora keeps flying, loyal and effective.

When its watch finally ends, the CP-140 will be remembered for dogged reliability and the quiet confidence it brought to every patrol over restless seas.

Under the Hood of the Aurora

Step onto the flight line at Greenwood or Comox and you’ll meet a machine built for long-haul vigilance: the CP-140 Aurora. Crewed by two pilots, a flight engineer, and a team of up to ten mission specialists, the Aurora is purpose-built for the demands of extended patrol.

Its long fuselage stretches 116 feet, nearly 100 feet of wingspan reaching out to the horizon, every angle and twist of its NACA airfoils tuned for stability and endurance. This bird’s no lightweight: empty, she tips the scales at over 61,000 pounds, and when fully loaded for a mission, she can reach a mighty 142,000 pounds.

Power comes from four Allison T56-A-14 turboprops, each churning out over 4,500 horsepower and spinning broad, four-bladed Hamilton-Standard propellers.

These engines, a symphony of compressors and turbines, keep the Aurora flying at up to 395 knots, with a ceiling above 35,000 feet. With 9,200 gallons of fuel in her tanks, the Aurora can stretch her legs across 5,100 nautical miles; enough range to cross continents or patrol the remotest seas. Stationed 1,000 nautical miles from base, she can keep watch for more than eight hours at a time, a tireless sentinel above the waves.

Beneath that long fuselage, the Aurora carries eight Mark 46 Mod V torpedoes in her weapons bay, with ten underwing hardpoints for extra punch. Sonobuoys spill from her belly, hunting for hidden submarines, while the MAD boom on her tail sniffs out magnetic signatures lurking below.

Decades of upgrades, from the AIMP modernization to the ASLEP structural overhaul, have kept the Aurora sharp and ready, with service assured into the next decade.

From her first flight to her enduring watch, the Aurora remains a testament to Canadian ingenuity and aerial endurance; a cold warrior turned timeless guardian.

Aurora’s Legacy

The legacy of the CP-140 Aurora isn’t just measured in flight hours or decades of service. It’s the story of an aircraft that became the backbone of Canada’s airborne watch. First taking wing in 1979, the Aurora arrived as a Cold War sentinel, tasked with guarding the vast maritime approaches and asserting Canadian sovereignty from the Arctic to the Pacific.

But the Aurora’s true mark came from its ability to evolve. No longer just a sub hunter, it grew into Canada’s primary airborne intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance platform, supporting missions at sea, along the coasts, and deep inland—both at home and far abroad.

Through incremental modernization and structural renewal, the Aurora gained cutting-edge sensors, communications, and avionics, extending its relevance well into the 21st century.

This transformation allowed the Aurora to step far beyond its original brief, flying ISR missions over the Middle East and supporting international coalitions, while still keeping a vigilant eye on Canada’s own frontiers. In the end, the Aurora’s legacy is one of resilience and adaptation—a Cold War patrol aircraft reborn as a modern sentinel, bridging eras and missions with quiet confidence and enduring Canadian resolve.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

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“At 3:38 pm, on Friday February 27, the United States Central Command, through the Secretary of War, received the final go order from President Trump.”

—Dan Caine, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff

Mission Briefing

Confirmation didn’t come with fanfare. Just a ripple among those who know what to look for. Enthusiasts, eyes on the quiet dance of flight paths and transponder blips, were the first to sense the extraordinary: USAF B-1B Lancer bombers, lifting off from the plains of South Dakota, had been called into the fray, bound for Iranian military targets.

In a moment thick with history, General Dan Caine, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, addressed the nation. Operation Epic Fury, he revealed, was underway. The B-1B Lancers—swept-wing titans of American airpower—had struck deep into territory holding Iranian ballistic missile sites and command centers, their thunder unmistakable even to those far from the fight.

B1B Lancers Direct from Ellsworth AFB

The mission itself unfolded like a scene from a new chapter in aviation’s great drama. Just a day after B-2 Spirit bombers had carved silent paths through the night, the B-1s departed Ellsworth Air Force Base. Their route carried them from the heartland, across the Atlantic’s vast expanse, and through the Mediterranean’s storied skies. Overhead, aerial tankers kept the Lancers fueled and ready, a lifeline stretched taut across continents, ensuring these bombers could reach their distant objective and return to tell the tale.

As enthusiasts tracked the telltale signatures of B-1B bombers along the U.S. East Coast, word arrived from across the Atlantic: the United Kingdom would now open its bases—RAF Fairford and Diego Garcia included—to U.S. missions of a certain character. This subtle shift set the aviation world abuzz with speculation. Would the Lancers pause at Fairford, or strike Iran before pressing onward to the distant outpost in the Indian Ocean?

In the end, the B-1s mirrored their B-2 Spirit counterparts, tracing a round-trip arc from Ellsworth and back, their mission precise and fleeting. Yet, the newfound access to Fairford and Diego Garcia promises greater flexibility for planners charting future sorties: an ever-widening canvas for American airpower.

For all its swept-wing grace and reduced radar signature, the B-1B is no ghost; it lacks the true stealth of the B-2. The specifics of the Lancers’ payload on this mission remain cloaked, but with a quiver full of long-range stand-off weapons, the B-1 can strike from afar, keeping clear of the enemy’s most dangerous reach. The B-2, by contrast, carried 2,000-pound guided bombs, necessitating a closer approach to hardened targets.

The skies over Iran have grown hazardous for defenders. U.S. and Israeli aircraft, wielding both kinetic and electronic force, have steadily eroded Iranian air defenses. Even medium-altitude drones like the Hermes 900 now prowl deep into Iranian territory, though as ever, risk is part of the mission: one such drone was ultimately brought down by a well-placed missile.

What Makes These Lancers Stand Out?

Take a moment to look upon the B-1B Lancer; not just as a machine, but as a symphony of engineering designed to thrive in the unforgiving theater of modern conflict. Its sleek, blended wing and body, those shifting, variable-geometry wings, and the pulse of its afterburning turbofan engines aren’t just for show.

They deliver a rare combination of range, agility, and raw speed, giving the Lancer the ability to outmaneuver and outpace threats, whatever the altitude or mission profile demands. Watch as its wings sweep forward for gentle landings, air refueling, or high-altitude weapon employment; then snap aft, the Lancer’s main combat stance, to slice through the air at high subsonic or supersonic speeds.

This flexibility, paired with an impressive payload and sharp radar targeting, makes the B-1B an invaluable player in any strike force, seamlessly weaving into mixed formations with the confidence of a seasoned aviator.

Step inside, and you’ll find a cockpit wired for versatility. The B-1B’s synthetic aperture radar peers through weather and darkness, tracking moving vehicles and locking onto targets with surgical precision. Its GPS-aided Inertial Navigation System frees crews from the tether of ground-based aids, enabling pinpoint strikes wherever the mission calls. Add to that a data link—Link-16—feeding real-time information from command centers, and you’ve got a warbird that can pivot on a moment’s notice, striking emerging threats with the speed of thought.

Survivability isn’t left to chance. The B-1B guards itself with a robust array of defenses: electronic jammers, radar warning receivers, chaff and flares, and even a towed decoy. It is an integrated shield that complements its already modest radar signature. The ALQ-161 system stands as a silent sentinel, detecting enemy threats and unleashing tailored jamming responses, sometimes even before the crew senses danger.

The story doesn’t stop there. Today’s B-1Bs are evolving, with upgrades to radar, cockpit systems, and communications ensuring these aircraft remain relevant on the fast-paced battlefields of tomorrow.

As older components are replaced and new capabilities come online, the B-1B continues to embody the spirit of adaptability; ready to write the next chapter whenever it’s called to fly.

B-1B Epic Fury: Long-Range Thunder, Alliance Lift—And the Middle East Network War Ahead

The appearance of the B-1B in Operation Epic Fury is no accident. It’s a clear signal that, when the stakes are high and the timeline tight, Washington turns to what the alliance trusts most: a bomber that marries range, payload, and adaptability in one formidable airframe.

These Lancers, launched from Ellsworth and fueled by an intricate ballet of aerial tankers, crossed continents to strike Iranian missile sites and command centers—no lengthy build-up or forward staging required.

For American strategists, this is about demonstrating reach and tempo, reminding the world that the U.S. can deliver decisive blows to time-sensitive targets—like missile batteries and command nodes—without waiting for the slow machinery of deployment to grind into gear. The B-1B’s relevance endures because it carries the Air Force’s heaviest conventional load and fits seamlessly into joint strike formations, always ready to be retasked as the situation evolves.

For the broader alliance, the story is bigger than the bomber. It’s about the invisible scaffolding: permissions, partnerships, and infrastructure. With the UK opening bases like RAF Fairford and Diego Garcia, the alliance turns theoretical range into operational pressure.

Yet, as each sortie launches amid escalating Middle East tensions, the challenge grows. Not just in striking targets, but in defending the vital networks of bases, tankers, and radars that make these missions possible.

The next chapter won’t be written by bombers alone, but by how alliances reinforce the web of support that makes airpower credible under fire.

This Week in Aviation History

Operation STRANGLE officially took flight on 19 March 1944; a date that marked the beginning of a relentless Allied effort to suffocate German supply lines in Italy. For nearly two months, aircrews flew mission after mission, weaving a tightening net across critical roads and railways, determined to cut off the enemy’s lifeline.

The curtain on STRANGLE officially fell on May 11, the day Allied forces surged forward with a ground offensive of massive scale against the German lines. Yet, the air campaign didn’t simply stop. It evolved. As troops pressed on, the mission continued under a new banner: Operation DIADEM, named for the ground offensive itself. In the end, STRANGLE was more than a campaign; it was the crucial overture to a broader symphony of Allied power, setting the tempo for the battles that would follow.

The Airman’s First Act in the Italian Campaign

Operation STRANGLE stands as one of the most instructive chapters in the tale of airpower. It is a case study in both its promise and its limits during the Italian Campaign.

The Allies, buoyed by earlier air successes and eager to break a grinding stalemate on the ground, hatched a plan as bold as it was straightforward: sever the German lifeline by bombing roads and rails into submission. The vision was simple—choke the enemy’s supplies, and the German war machine would shrink, forced to yield or retreat.

Yet, as any seasoned aviator will tell you, the sky is never as simple as the briefing room. STRANGLE’s challenge was never in the will or the sorties flown, but in the assumptions guiding them. Allied planners believed relentless bombing could cripple German logistics.

But the Luftwaffe-era dream of starving the enemy out ran headlong into a reality of German resilience. Locomotives rolled off factories with surprising speed, and rolling stock filled Europe’s rail yards. Even more critically, the Germans required far less supply than Allied intelligence estimated.

Where planners expected the enemy to need 4,500 tons per day, the real number—thanks to static defensive lines—was closer to a third of that. The brutal math meant that starving the German army was a taller task than anyone realized.

Still, STRANGLE wasn’t wasted effort. In its first week, Allied bombers slashed rail capacity from 80,000 to just 4,000 tons per day. But the shock didn’t cause an immediate collapse.

Instead, it denied the Germans the chance to stockpile fuel and ammunition for the looming Allied spring offensive—Operation DIADEM. STRANGLE’s true impact was less about triggering surrender and more about quietly undermining readiness, making it harder for German forces to mount a powerful defense when DIADEM began.

The pressure STRANGLE exerted changed German behavior. By early April, under relentless Allied air attacks, German supply convoys became nocturnal, moving only after dark, losing the efficiency of daytime round trips and the predictability vital to military logistics.

Kesselring’s staff would later admit that Allied airpower made it impossible to accurately calculate travel times. It is an invisible but decisive erosion of German command and control.

STRANGLE’s last and perhaps greatest lesson was jointness. Without coordinated pressure from Allied ground forces, airpower alone could not force a decisive break. General Ira Eaker lamented that the air campaign needed the Army to push harder, faster—to make the Germans burn through reserves and feel the full sting of interdiction.

As Air Marshal Slessor would later conclude, air strikes alone might not make the Germans withdraw, but they could make it impossible for them to resist a determined ground assault. In the end, STRANGLE set the table for DIADEM, showing that air and ground, working in concert, turn disrupted supply into battlefield victory.

The Marauder and Operation STRANGLE

Spring 1944: the Italian peninsula is a crossroads of war, and the Martin B-26 Marauder is a familiar silhouette in the cloud-dappled sky. In Operation STRANGLE, the B-26 wasn’t chasing glory with headline-grabbing city raids.

It was flying the daily, determined grind to choke off the German army’s lifeline to the Gustav Line. This wasn’t about dropping bombs on city centers; it was about precision, about smashing bridges, marshalling yards, and rail chokepoints over and over until the enemy’s timetable was in tatters.

The Marauder’s logbook from those months is a testament to relentless purpose. Day after day, Twelfth Air Force B-26 crews were tasked with striking railway bridges near Sarzana and Viareggio, hammering tracks, and coordinating with other Allied bombers to hit critical marshalling yards. STRANGLE’s mission for the Marauder was clear: keep the arteries of enemy supply constricted, force German forces to push their supplies onto roads—routes slower, riskier, and easier for fighter-bombers to target.

Official records from this period read like a litany of bridge-breaking sorties: formations of B-26s pounding the Ligurian coastline, targeting the northern approaches to Rome, and, as noted in April 1944, repeatedly assaulting rail bridges near La Spezia. These weren’t one-and-done missions. The Marauder’s value lay in persistence, coming back again and again, “re-breaking” repaired bridges, turning every patch job into another setback for German logistics.

Operationally, the B-26 Marauder was the right tool for the job: able to deliver daylight, medium-altitude bombing with accuracy and enough punch to keep the German supply web frayed. It was not glamorous work.

The Marauder didn’t chase tanks or strafe the front lines. But as the campaign wore on, it was the unglamorous, persistent hammering of rail lines that turned Germany’s streamlined supply system into a nightly test of endurance.

Every train forced into detours, every convoy made slower and more vulnerable under the watchful eyes of Allied airmen. In Operation STRANGLE, the Marauder flew not for spectacle but for victory—one bridge, one yard, one timetable at a time.

TECHNICAL NOTES:
Armament: 11.50-cal. machine guns; 4,000 lbs. of bombs
Engines: Two Pratt & Whitney R-2800s of 2,000 hp each
Maximum speed: 285 mph
Cruising speed: 190 mph
Range: 1,100 miles
Ceiling: 19,800 ft.
Span: 71 ft.
Length: 58 ft. 6 in.
Height: 20 ft. 3 in.
Weight: 37,000 lbs. loaded
Serial number: 43-34581

Operation STRANGLE: A Call Sign That Endures

Operation Strangle’s legacy is a lesson carved in the skies over Italy. It is a proof that air interdiction can be decisive, if you set your sights on the right objective. The campaign didn’t yield its most anticipated prize: a hasty German retreat from the Gustav Line. That shortfall forced the airpower thinkers of the postwar era to abandon the alluring myth that bombing railways alone could “starve” an army out of its defenses.

Instead, Strangle’s real victory came in a subtler, more powerful form. By relentlessly battering bridges, rail yards, and chokepoints, Allied aircrews denied the Germans the ability to restock their fuel and ammunition, or to build up the reserves needed to blunt the coming Allied spring offensive. The result was not a dramatic collapse, but a slow, relentless erosion of German readiness. RAND’s later study echoed this truth: even when withdrawal didn’t come, interdiction was still delivered by forcing the enemy’s hand in ways the planners hadn’t fully anticipated.

Strangle also left a doctrine lesson that endures: under Allied air superiority, German movements grew unpredictable, convoys forced into the night, logistics thrown into disarray. Interdiction could paralyze an army’s sense of time and space, but it delivered its most lethal blows when ground offensives drove up consumption and forced movement.

The enduring message for modern air campaigns is clear. Airpower wins quickest when it attacks the enemy’s system and times its disruption to a joint offensive, turning chaos into collapse.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

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Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

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The ES-3A Shadow provides indications and warnings for the Battle Group commander, and is normally assigned to AQ, the Command and Control Warfare commander, for tasking and mission assignment.

—Federation of American Scientists

Red lights wash the ready room, and the map is already crowded with arrows, emitter rings, and thin grea…

Read more

I am deeply proud of the professionalism and bravery of our Armed Forces personnel who have in recent days, successfully taken action across the region to protect our allies and defend British interests.

—Defence Secretary John Healey MP

Mission Briefing

The UK Ministry of Defence has revealed that its F-35B Lightning stealth fighters intercepted and took down hostile drones over Jordan, moving swiftly to safeguard the skies. In response, new defensive measures are now being put in place to further protect RAF Akrotiri, underscoring the commitment to keeping allied airspace secure.

New Defences are Deployed for RAF Akrotiri

Amid mounting speculation and rising regional tensions, Prime Minister Keir Starmer took to social media just after 1600 UTC on 3 March 2026, to confirm what many in the British press had guessed: the Royal Navy is dispatching HMS Dragon, a Type 45 air defense destroyer, along with Wildcat helicopters equipped for counter-drone warfare, to shield Cyprus from further aerial threats.

The Ministry of Defence swiftly followed with an official statement, revealing that RAF F-35B Lightnings operating from Akrotiri had already intercepted and destroyed drones over Jordan—part of a larger effort since six F-35Bs were sent to the base last month.

Defence Secretary John Healey underscored the urgency: “We are moving quickly to further reinforce our defensive presence in the Eastern Mediterranean. HMS Dragon brings world-class air defence capability, and our Wildcat helicopters are armed with Martlet missiles to counter the growing drone threat.

I am deeply proud of the professionalism and bravery of our Armed Forces personnel who have in recent days, successfully taken action across the region to protect our allies and defend British interests.”

These F-35B engagements join a series of recent actions, including a Royal Air Force Typhoon from the UK-Qatar 12 Squadron downing an Iranian drone headed for Qatar, and a UK counter-drone unit in Iraq neutralizing threats to coalition airbases.

On 01 March, RAF Akrotiri itself was hit by a one-way drone—likely launched by Iran or a regional proxy—causing only minor damage, with several other drones stopped before reaching the base.

Despite criticism aimed at the government for not preventing the attack, it’s worth noting that even the most fortified sites in the region have struggled to intercept every threat. In response, the UK has bolstered Akrotiri with additional air defense radars and counter-UAS systems, though the full extent of these reinforcements remains undisclosed.

The Wildcat HMA2 helicopters, proven in previous carrier strike group operations, are set to join HMS Dragon. Possibly embarking as the destroyer sails past RNAS Yeovilton, or arriving sooner via strategic airlift.

The stage is set for a robust British defense posture, as the UK moves decisively to protect its interests and allies across the Eastern Mediterranean.

The Features of the HMS Dragon and the RAF’s F-35B Lightning

HMS Dragon, with the bold red Welsh dragon gracing her bow, cuts a distinctive figure among the world’s warships. It is a symbol of modern British naval power. She’s one of six Daring-class, Type 45 air defence destroyers, engineered for the threats of today and tomorrow.

While her name conjures images of raw destruction, HMS Dragon is as adaptable as she is fearsome: her missions range from intercepting pirates and defending against missile attacks to delivering vital humanitarian aid, all under the command of a 200-strong crew based out of Portsmouth.

The centerpiece of Dragon’s arsenal is the Sea Viper missile system: a technological predator capable of tracking, targeting, and destroying everything from drones to cruise missiles and fighter jets.

In just ten seconds, eight missiles can leap from her decks, and up to sixteen can be guided at once, striking targets over seventy miles away. Her radar, scanning out to 250 miles, tracks hundreds of threats at once, giving Dragon a watchful eye over sea and sky alike.

But she’s more than missiles. Dragon bristles with close-in weapons: Phalanx 20mm cannons for last-ditch defense, a 4.5-inch naval gun, 30mm auto-cannons, miniguns, and a battery of machine guns.

Her flight deck and hangar are ready to launch a Merlin helicopter: an all-weather hunter for maritime patrol, rescue, or offensive missions at a moment’s notice.

Overhead, the F-35B Lightning takes British airpower into the future. With stealth, advanced sensors, and mission systems, this short-takeoff-and-vertical-landing jet can fight air-to-air, strike ground targets, conduct electronic warfare, and share a live picture of the battle with other forces.

Whether launching from carriers or remote airstrips, Lightning brings the unseen edge to every fight; making the team of ship and aircraft a formidable force on today’s unpredictable front lines.

How Akrotiri Became the New Frontline of Allied Airpower

The UK’s swift move to confirm that RAF F-35B Lightnings shot down drones over Jordan—followed by deploying the formidable HMS Dragon and Wildcat helicopters with Martlet missiles to bolster RAF Akrotiri—signals a sea change in allied airpower: the defense of the base itself has returned to the front line.

No longer just a rear-area sanctuary, Akrotiri now stands as a vital node in the coalition’s Eastern Mediterranean network, a linchpin for U.S. and allied operations, refueling, intelligence gathering, and rapid strike response as regional tensions rise.

For the United States, this is burden-sharing brought to life. The UK’s reinforcement of Akrotiri helps shield not just the base, but the entire connective tissue of coalition airpower that holds deterrence together.

It’s a reminder that fifth-generation fighters aren’t just for stealthy strike missions. They’re now essential players in the counter-drone fight, their sensors, engagement discipline, and quick reaction ability strengthening the allied kill chain whenever drone threats surge.

Across the alliance, the lesson is clear: even the cheapest one-way drones can have outsized impact, disrupting operations and threatening runways unless partners layer their defenses; combining fighters in the air, ships like HMS Dragon with Sea Viper missiles at sea, helicopters, ground-based counter-UAS systems, and shared early warning.

Akrotiri’s defense is more than a local skirmish. It’s a rehearsal for a future where the alliance must ask itself a hard question: how many vital bases can truly be kept open when the skies are thick with drones and missiles?

This Week in Aviation History

17 March 1947—a date that marked a turning point in the skies. That morning, the North American B-45 Tornado thundered aloft on its maiden flight, ushering in a new era for American airpower.

As the nation’s first operational jet bomber, the B-45 didn’t just break speed records. It broke new ground in how wars would be fought, carrying the torch for both bombing runs and high-stakes reconnaissance at the dawn of the Cold War. Its silhouette on the tarmac was more than metal and engines; it was a signal that the jet age had truly arrived.

The First Flight of the North American B-45 Tornado

As the final chapters of World War II unfolded, a new threat appeared on the horizon: Nazi Germany’s Arado 234 jet bomber. This sleek machine could outrun and outclimb any Allied fighter, signaling a leap in technology that sent shockwaves through American command.

The Luftwaffe’s Me 262 fighter had already proven itself a world-beater, and now the Arado 234 was rewriting the rules for bombing and reconnaissance. Britain answered with the Gloster Meteor, darting after V-1 flying bombs, while the U.S. fielded the Lockheed P-80 Shooting Star; too late for the European front, but destined for the skies over Korea.

Against this backdrop, the B-45 Tornado was born. From drawing board to runway, three years ticked by, and by the time the Tornado took flight, the world was already peering ahead to even faster bombers like the B-47 Stratojet and B-58 Hustler. Still, the B-45 earned its stripes.

In the Korean War, it flew both bombing and reconnaissance missions, slipping out mostly at night to avoid the lethal MiG-15s prowling the daylight skies. Later, the Tornado was upgraded to carry nuclear weapons, cementing its significance as the Cold War deepened.

Though retired in 1959 and soon eclipsed by faster, more advanced aircraft, the B-45 Tornado’s service was a bridge between eras—a jet that captured the urgency and innovation of its time, and proved that the race for the skies never truly ends.

The Anatomy of the B-45

With a top speed of 570 miles per hour and the ability to haul a 22,000-pound bomb load, the B-45 Tornado was a leap ahead. It is almost twice as fast as the B-29 Superfortress and able to carry a similar payload.

While the massive Convair B-36 “Peacemaker” could lift nearly 100,000 pounds, the B-45 traded brute strength for pure speed, and that made all the difference in the dawning jet age.

Armed with twin .50 caliber tail guns and crewed by four—a pilot, co-pilot, navigator/bombardier, and tail gunner—the Tornado was also the first jet bomber capable of aerial refueling, giving it a combat radius of 1,000 miles and the stamina to strike deep or slip away when it counted.

Stationed in Europe, the B-45 was ready for the unthinkable. It can deliver a nuclear payload right in the heart of the Cold War, standing as a silent deterrent against Soviet aggression.

Its silhouette, with straight wings and twin engine pods hanging from each side, looked dated even when new, but it soared above piston-engine fighters at altitudes up to 46,000 feet.

Only 143 were built, flown exclusively by the USAF and Britain’s RAF. And for a brief moment, the B-45 even found fame in Hollywood, appearing in films like War of the Worlds and Strategic Air Command; proof, perhaps, that legends can be both quiet and enduring.

TECHNICAL NOTES:
Armament: Two .50-cal. machine guns in the tail and 22,000 lbs. of bombs
Engines: Four General Electric J47s of 6,000 lbs. thrust each
Maximum speed: 570 mph
Range: 1,000 miles
Ceiling: 37,550 ft.
Span: 89 ft.
Length: 75 ft. 4 in.
Height: 25 ft. 2 in.
Weight: 110,000 lbs. maximum

The Tornado’s Enduring Flightpath

The true legacy of the B-45 Tornado is that it took jet bombers from blueprint to battle-ready, marking the moment when America’s airpower leapt from late-WWII dreams to Cold War realities.

The National Museum of the U.S. Air Force lists its many firsts: the first U.S. production four-engine jet bomber, the first jet to carry an atomic bomb, and—thanks to its RB-45 variant—the first multi-jet reconnaissance aircraft to refuel midair. These achievements didn’t just fill museum plaques; they shaped what strategic airpower would mean for the 1950s and beyond.

Combat quickly shaped the Tornado’s story. In Korea and the Far East, RB-45s proved the promise and peril of jet reconnaissance: fast and bold, but not invincible as enemy fighters and air defenses evolved. Pilots had to adapt, switching up tactics and timing, learning on the fly what it meant to survive in the new jet age.

That’s the enduring lesson of the B-45: real innovation isn’t finished at the rollout ceremony. The Tornado’s value came from how it grew under pressure: pioneering airframes, refueling in the sky, and a new way of thinking about basing and reconnaissance.

From the B-45’s first jet-powered leap to today’s stealth fighters, one truth remains: airpower endures only by evolving faster than the threats it faces.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

Like what you’re reading? Stay in the loop by signing up below—it’s quick, easy, and always free.
This newsletter will always be free for everyone, but if you want to go further, support the mission, and unlock bonus content like the Midweek Sortie, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Your support keeps this flight crew flying—and I couldn’t do it without you.

– Tog

“We are following the same detailed approach used in every other aircraft developmental test program to validate structural performance, flight characteristics and safe separation.”

—Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Ken Wilsbach

Mission Briefing

On 23 February 2026, the U.S. Air Force unveiled a striking image: Anduril’s YFQ-44A Fury, the latest fighter drone, soaring with an AIM-120 AMRAAM missile strapped beneath its wing. This wasn’t just a photo op. The Fury had just completed its first captive carry tests, proving it could shoulder the Air Force’s premier air-to-air missile. With this milestone, the Air Force officially launched the weapons integration phase for its next generation of collaborative combat aircraft.

The Fighter Drone that Carries an AMRAAM

The story of the YFQ-44A Fury reached a new milestone on 23 February 2026, when the Air Force pulled back the curtain and shared the first image of this sleek Anduril-built “fighter drone” carrying an AIM-120 AMRAAM missile.

This wasn’t just a photo op. It marked the Fury’s debut in captive carry evaluations, a crucial step in the weapons integration phase of the Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) program.

In the California sun—most likely at Southern California Logistics Airport in Victorville, where the Fury first took flight a few months earlier—engineers and test pilots put the airframe through its paces with inert, non-explosive missiles slung beneath its wings.

These tests aren’t about spectacle; they’re about precision and safety. By using inert AMRAAMs, the team can measure aerodynamic performance, structural integrity, and safe separation in a controlled environment, ensuring that the Fury can handle the stresses of live weapons down the line. Every angle, every vibration, every load is meticulously analyzed, confirming that the drone and missile are a match made for the battlespace of tomorrow.

“We are following the same detailed approach used in every other aircraft developmental test program,” said Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Ken Wilsbach. This means validating every aspect of performance, just as would be done for a new manned fighter. Safety comes first, and before the Fury or any CCA platform is cleared to carry live weapons, it must prove itself again and again on the test range.

At its heart, the CCA program is about more than hardware. It’s about a new era in human-machine teaming. These drones are being built to fly alongside piloted fighters as loyal wingmen, extending the reach, survivability, and punch of America’s airpower.

The vision is a force-multiplying network of autonomous systems that can sense, strike, and shield. All while keeping human pilots out of the most dangerous airspace. And no matter how smart the drone, a human operator still holds the final say over weapons release, ensuring command and accountability are never compromised.

While the Fury takes center stage in this phase of testing, the other CCA contender—the General Atomics YFQ-42A Dark Merlin—has yet to be pictured carrying a missile.

But the message is clear: the future of air combat is taking shape, one careful, calculated test flight at a time.

The Anatomy of the Fury Fighter

The YFQ-44A isn’t just another drone with a pilot hiding behind a screen. This is a leap into the new era of true autonomy in the skies. From its maiden taxi to every flight since, the Fury has operated semi-autonomously, not by remote control, but by executing its missions on its own terms.

There’s no stick and throttle, no hidden hand guiding its every move. Instead, Anduril’s innovation lets the aircraft follow a mission plan, adjust its own controls and throttle, and return to base with a single command; all while an operator oversees, ever vigilant but never directly flying the machine.

But this fighter drone wasn’t built to fly; it was engineered to win. The Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) program isn’t about building remote-controlled aircraft. It’s about creating teammates for the high-end fight.

YFQ-44A’s onboard systems process vast amounts of data at combat speed, identifying targets, commanding weapon effects, and amplifying the lethality and survivability of every formation it joins.

On the ground, its software backbone handles maintenance and vehicle health, ensuring the Fury is always ready for action.

What makes the YFQ-44A revolutionary isn’t just its hardware, but its brain—the autonomy that turns it into a force multiplier. By weaving autonomy into every test and mission from day one, Anduril is tackling airpower’s toughest challenges head-on, learning faster and pushing the technology further.

In this new age, autonomy is the key to delivering affordable, scalable airpower and keeping the peace—making the YFQ-44A not just a machine, but a harbinger of the future’s air dominance.

How Fury Expands Allied Airpower

Seeing the YFQ-44A Fury carry an inert AIM-120 isn’t just a milestone—it’s the moment concept becomes reality in the journey from sketches to operational hardware.

This test isn’t combat, but it’s critical: the Air Force is proving that an uncrewed fighter can shoulder air-to-air missiles, manage the physical demands of external stores, and edge closer to real-world deployment. For allies and partners, it’s a clear signal—America is committed to building a distributed, risk-tolerant air force, moving beyond reliance on a shrinking fleet of costly, crewed jets.

Strategically, the message runs deeper. Collaborative Combat Aircraft are designed to fly in formation with manned fighters, expand missile capacity, and take on the most dangerous missions; so pilots don’t have to.

If this vision is realized, allied air forces will gain new strength from human-machine teams, modular upgrades, and affordable mass, multiplying combat power without breaking the bank on every new threat. Just as vital, the Air Force assures that humans remain in control of weapons release, grounding this bold future in familiar command and legal guardrails.

In the end, this isn’t just about a photograph. It’s a glimpse into the future of allied airpower, where speed in fielding trusted autonomous wingmen could tip the balance in tomorrow’s skies.

This Week in Aviation History

The aircraft that would become the legendary AD (A-1) Skyraider took to the skies for the first time on 11 March 1945. It quickly proved its worth in the Korean War, famously striking the Hwaechon Dam and excelling in both strike and close-air-support roles. Known as the AD for “Attack Douglas” until it was redesignated the A-1 in 1962, the Skyraider picked up the affectionate nickname “Able Dog.” Many aircrews also called it the “SPAD,” a nod to the rugged World War I fighter and a fitting tribute to its own reputation for toughness and reliability.

The Proud American Skyraider

The birth of the Skyraider is the stuff of aviation legend. It is a tale that began not in a factory, but in a Washington hotel room in July 1944. There, Douglas Company’s chief engineer Ed Heineman, chief designer Leo Devlin, and chief aerodynamicist Gene Root sketched out a design bold enough to catch the eye of Navy Bureau of Aeronautics officials.

So impressed were the Navy brass that they awarded Douglas a contract on the spot, with one caveat: Douglas had to deliver its prototypes on the same timeline as competitors who’d had a six-month head start.

Rising to the challenge, the Douglas team rolled out the first XBT2D-1 almost four months ahead of schedule. On March 1945, that prototype took its maiden flight, and by April 7th, it was turning heads at the Navy Proving Ground in Patuxent River, Maryland. Test pilots praised the aircraft as superior to any dive-bomber yet evaluated.

Within weeks, on May 5, the Navy gave the green light for full production. Due to a reorganization in naval aircraft designations, the new attack plane became the AD-1—soon to be known as the Skyraider.

Over the next twelve years, Douglas produced 3,180 Skyraiders in eight major models and no fewer than 37 different variants. The Skyraider’s versatility was unmatched: it served as a dive-bomber, electronic warfare platform, early warning radar system, target-towing tug, search and rescue lifeline, and even a nuclear delivery vehicle.

Though born into Navy service, the Skyraider’s reach extended across the globe, flying with the Marine Corps, Air Force, Vietnamese and French air arms, the British Royal Navy, and even the air forces of Cambodia, Chad, and the Central African Republic.

The end of World War II brought a pause in production, but the Skyraider’s story was just beginning. As new models and more powerful R-3350 engines emerged, the aircraft’s performance only improved.

By 1950, the AD-4 was rolling out of the factory; the most numerous of all Skyraider variants. One record-setting AD-4B from NAS Dallas lifted 14,941 pounds, besting even its own empty weight.

Skyraiders proved indispensable during the Korean War, flying close air support for Marines and cutting off North Korean resupply lines. Their ability to haul heavy ordnance, deliver pinpoint dive-bombing, and survive punishment in the skies made them legends among combat crews.

Pilots called the Skyraider “the best and most effective close-support aircraft in the world.” The AD-5, with its wide fuselage, side-by-side seating, and ample room for additional crew, became the most versatile variant of all; capable of handling missions from early warning to electronic warfare, and etching the Skyraider’s place in aviation history as a true “jack-of-all-trades.”

The Tough and Ever-Reliable “Spad”

The Navy set out to create a single aircraft capable of both dive-bombing and torpedo runs. It is a workhorse to replace specialized World War II attack planes.

What Douglas delivered was no beauty queen: the Skyraider’s barrel-shaped fuselage and blunt lines looked more brute than ballerina. But what it lacked in elegance, it made up for in muscle, able to haul a staggering 8,000 pounds of ordnance; outclassing even the legendary B-17 Flying Fortress.

When the Skyraider first took flight, it offered pilots an unforgettable experience. “My first impression was that I was in for the ride of my life,” one aviator recalled, surrounded by the thunder and vibration of the mighty 3350 radial engine. “That first flight... was something to behold.”

Dubbed the “Able Dog” or “Spad,” the Skyraider earned its stripes over Korea, where it became a legend among attack pilots and ground troops alike. It hit everything from fortified bridges and power plants to the Hwachon Dam—famously using aerial torpedoes. The Skyraider’s versatility saw it modified for electronic countermeasures, night attacks, and more, adapting to every challenge Korea threw its way.

Even as jets began crowding carrier decks, the Skyraider remained a fixture. Some pilots trained for “Sandblower” nuclear missions; long, low-level flights that tested both machine and man, earning the nickname “Butt Busters.”

The A-4 Skyhawk eventually took over as the Navy’s primary attack aircraft, but Skyraiders still thundered off decks during Vietnam, flying the first retaliatory strikes after the Tonkin Gulf incident and braving ever-deadlier antiaircraft fire until 1968, when those risks finally grounded most attack variants.

Below is a quick rundown of the ever-reliable Spad.

TECHNICAL NOTES
Armament: Four 20 mm cannons and up to 10,000 lbs. of assorted bombs,
rockets, cluster munitions, gun pods, and flares
Engine: Wright R-3350-26WD Duplex-Cyclone of 2,700 hp
Cruising speed: 200 mph
Combat radius: 300 miles

First Flight, Lasting Impact: The Significance of the “Able Dog”

The legacy of the A-1H Skyraider is a testament to the idea that real combat value can’t be measured by speed or sleek lines alone. In the jungles and skies of Southeast Asia, this stout, old-school aircraft proved its worth with unmatched close air support and search-and-rescue escort missions.

Packing heavy firepower, flying low and precise, shrugging off damage, and lingering over the battlefield longer than any jet, the Skyraider became a lifeline for troops in need.

Over Vietnam, it flew more than 90,000 sorties; earning a place in history with two Medals of Honor and fourteen Air Force Crosses, the final chapter for single-engine, prop-driven attack planes in USAF combat.

But the Skyraider’s impact didn’t end when its engine finally cooled. Lessons learned from its heroic missions directly shaped the design and doctrine of the A-10 Thunderbolt II, the Air Force’s legendary “Warthog.” With straight wings, a rugged build, and a mission-first mentality, the A-10 carries the Skyraider’s torch; proving that survivability and persistent firepower never go out of style.

What endures most is the Skyraider’s lesson: in air combat, it’s the aircraft that can take punishment, stick with the mission, and deliver for those on the ground that earns its place in legend.

Even as aviation races ahead with new technology, the Skyraider stands as a reminder that true value is found in grit, endurance, and the ability to deliver when it matters most.

In Case You Missed It

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Post Flight Debrief

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Now 34 years later, as I concentrate on stewardship across the fleet, it’s obvious the crew takes great pride and ownership of USS Nimitz. I appreciate all the work you do to maintain this warship to ensure it is combat-ready and continues to strengthen deterrence.

—Adm. Steve Koehler, commander, U.S. Pacific Fleet

Read more

“Dark merlins are hunting machines, built for speed and aerodynamics.”

—GA-ASI President David R. Alexander

Mission Briefing

On 23 February 2026, General Atomics Aeronautical Systems christened its YFQ-42A drone with a name worthy of its promise—“Dark Merlin.” This wasn’t just a ceremonial gesture; it marked a pivotal transition as the craft left behind simple test flights and stepped boldly into the realm of true mission autonomy.

Now, “Dark Merlin” stands ready to prove itself not as a mere prototype, but as a future wingman in the evolving world of collaborative combat aviation.

When Dark Merlin Takes Wing

On February 23, 2026, General Atomics Aeronautical Systems revealed a name for its YFQ-42A drone: “Dark Merlin.” The choice is rich with meaning; the merlin, a nimble falcon, hunts in groups and is prized for its agility.

That’s no accident; it’s a nod to the vision of drones flying in formation with crewed aircraft, hunting together in the skies. But let’s set the record straight: this name isn’t yet stamped with the official approval of the US Air Force.

For now, “Dark Merlin” is a narrative anchor, a way to give personality to a prototype while the Air Force’s formal naming process remains down the runway.

That distinction matters, especially at this crossroads in the CCA (Collaborative Combat Aircraft) program. The Air Force hasn’t yet locked in the full structure of the fleet: industrial partners, production tempo, software standards, levels of autonomy, and budget priorities are all still in play.

Naming this drone “Dark Merlin” gives it a face at a moment when the service is still weighing how modular and flexible the next generation of airpower should be.

At its core, the CCA concept aims to solve a problem that’s plagued modern air forces: how to increase numbers, reach, and tactical options without endlessly ramping up the count—and cost—of piloted jets.

As part of the Next Generation Air Dominance vision, these drones are designed to fly alongside 5th generation fighters like the F-35A, and one day, their 6th generation successors.

The Air Force hopes to field a fleet of at least 1,000 CCAs in various roles: missile carriers, network extenders, electronic warriors, decoys, and scouts. Each designed to push risk onto unmanned platforms and keep human pilots where their judgment matters most.

But let’s not kid ourselves: the real challenge isn’t building a budget-friendly F-35 lookalike. It’s forging a team—a human-machine partnership—capable of outthinking, outmaneuvering, and outlasting anything a single aircraft could achieve, even in the chaos of tomorrow’s contested skies.

What Dark Merlin Brings to the Fight

Step into the next chapter of air combat and you’ll find the YFQ-42A, a machine crafted not just for flying, but for thinking and fighting alongside its human counterparts. Born from the “genus-species” lineage that began with the XQ-67A Off-Board Sensing Station, the Dark Merlin takes the lessons of its predecessors and pushes them further.

With advanced digital engineering as its backbone, General Atomics Aeronautical Systems has reimagined what it means to field a collaborative combat drone, optimizing every curve and capability for the battlespace of tomorrow.

Look closer at the airframe, and you’ll spot a host of subtle evolutions. The engine’s serrated air inlet echoes the stealthy lines of the B-2 Spirit, while the fuselage and nose have shed the ‘shovel’ shape of the XQ-67 for something sleeker and more conventional.

The wings, swept with a sharper angle and broader surface, speak to a need for speed and agility, while the V-tails, shorter and more refined, hint at careful calibration for both stealth and maneuverability. Every adjustment is a response to the demands of the CCA program: reduce radar cross-section, enhance performance, and ensure survivability in contested skies.

Yet the true heart of the YFQ-42A isn’t just its steel and composites; it’s the sophisticated autonomy core that lets it act as a teammate, not just a tool. This digital brain, refined through years of dogfighting experience with the MQ-20 Avenger, is now proving itself in new ways.

In a recent milestone, Dark Merlin completed its first semi-autonomous flight using Collins Aerospace’s Sidekick Collaborative Mission Autonomy software, seamlessly integrated via the government’s Autonomy Government Reference Architecture (A-GRA).

Picture this: from the ground, a human operator cues up mission commands, sending them winging through secure links to the aircraft. The YFQ-42A executes each order with precision for over four hours, validating not only the reliability of Sidekick’s software, but also the flexibility and robustness of the A-GRA system.

This open, modular approach—MOSA, as the military calls it—means that autonomy software can be swapped or upgraded without tearing apart the airframe, ensuring the fleet stays competitive and adaptable as technology races forward.

This isn’t just about one drone, or even one program. The goal is to create a dynamic, competitive ecosystem where mission software moves swiftly between platforms, innovation is baked in, and the Air Force can avoid the trap of vendor lock. By separating software from hardware, the service accelerates its ability to adapt, outpace adversaries, and keep the technological edge sharp.

In the sky, the YFQ-42A is set to fly not just with the Next Generation Air Dominance platform—the future Boeing F-47—but also alongside today’s most advanced fighters, the F-22 Raptor and F-35 Lightning II.

With stealth in its bones and autonomy in its brain, Dark Merlin is poised to give warfighters the decisive advantage in the unpredictable air battles of the future—a true partner in the evolving dance of man and machine.

Dark Merlin and the Future of Coalition Air Combat

For the United States, Dark Merlin is more than a new piece of hardware. It’s a proving ground for the future of air combat. This isn’t just about flying another drone; it’s about answering a fundamental question: can the Air Force truly harness the power of human-machine teams on a scale that changes the nature of war?

With the YFQ-42A, part of the Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) program, the Air Force aims to field a fleet of modular, cost-effective, and operationally relevant autonomous aircraft designed to operate alongside the most advanced fifth- and sixth-generation fighters.

General Atomics built Dark Merlin from the ground up with modularity and adaptable autonomy at its core. The goal is clear: integrate new mission systems rapidly, enable seamless teaming in the most demanding combat environments, and keep pace with the evolving technological landscape.

For Washington, this signals a possible breakthrough: finding a way to generate greater combat mass, maintain persistence, and offer tactical flexibility without relying solely on a handful of exquisite, crewed fighters. The CCA’s pursuit of “affordable mass” is especially relevant for sustained campaigns in the Pacific, where scale and endurance will be decisive.

Dark Merlin’s recent semi-autonomous flight showed more than just advanced engineering. It demonstrated that real-time operator control, mission adaptability, and robust reliability are within reach.

And this isn’t just a U.S. story. The CCA program is being discussed with allies, raising the prospect of shared autonomy standards, interoperable force packages, and future export opportunities. Imagine a future where Dark Merlin and its kin fly not just with American jets, but alongside allied aircraft across the globe, multiplying the reach and resilience of the entire coalition.

If Dark Merlin succeeds, it’s not just about drones joining the fight. It’s about forging a new era where software-driven wingmen become an everyday reality, redefining what deterrence and allied airpower look like on the world stage.

This Week in Aviation History

On 14 March 1921, the squadron claimed the title 95th Pursuit Squadron, and by 1924, the now-iconic kicking mule emblem was officially worn on their aircraft at Selfridge Field, Michigan. By 1935, the unit had transitioned to attack duties, and just before World War II, it became the 95th Bombardment Squadron.

As the storm of war gathered, the squadron patrolled America’s west coast in B-18 Bolos and B-23 Dragons, hunting for enemy submarines. Their vigilance paid off. They’re credited with sinking the first Japanese submarine off Oregon’s coast, marking their place in history before the wider conflict began.

The Saga of the 95th Reconnaissance Squadron

The story of the 95th Reconnaissance Squadron reads like a living chronicle of American airpower, stretching back to the dawn of aerial combat. Born at Kelly Field, Texas, on 20 August 1917, as the 95th Aero Squadron, this unit first took to the skies in the nimble French-built Nieuport 28.

Even in those early months, the squadron’s spirit was bold—they sailed for France, braving the unknown, and spent a bitter winter training for the crucible to come. On 8 March 1918, the 95th became the very first American squadron to fly combat missions in World War I, earning their motto, “First to the Front.”

Throughout the war, the 95th flew alongside the French Sixth and Eighth Armies, as well as the American Expeditionary Force’s First Army. It was during these sorties that the iconic kicking mule emblem appeared on their aircraft—a blue ring symbolizing their theater, the mule capturing their reputation for striking “swift and accurate.” By war’s end, the squadron had transitioned from the Nieuport 28 to the Spad XIII and the British S.E.5, racking up 230 patrols and earning credit for downing over 35 enemy aircraft and twelve observation balloons.

The years between the wars were marked by movement, redesignations, and a parade of new aircraft. The 95th was inactivated, reactivated, and shifted across assignments, flying a fascinating mix of machines—including the German Fokker D.VII, the PW-8, PW-9, P-1 Hawk, P-12, the P-26 Peashooter, and the A-17. On 14 March 1921, the squadron became the 95th Pursuit Squadron, and by 1924, their kicking mule emblem was officially recognized while based at Selfridge Field, Michigan.

Change was a constant companion. In 1935, the unit shifted to become an attack squadron, and by October 1939, they were redesignated as the 95th Bombardment Squadron.

As the world edged toward a second great conflict, the 95th found itself flying anti-submarine patrols along America’s west coast in B-18 Bolos and B-23 Dragons. It was here, on the eve of World War II, that the squadron made history once more—credited with sinking the first Japanese submarine off the coast of Oregon, a testament to their vigilance and skill.

After carving its name in North Africa, the 95th pressed forward with the Allied advance into Italy, making its home on the rugged airstrips of Sardinia and Corsica. By the autumn of 1944, the squadron was moving into France, alternating sorties from airfields across France and Austria as the war drew to a close.

Yet perhaps the most storied chapter from World War II came not over Europe, but in the Pacific—when six of the legendary Doolittle Raid’s sixteen crews hailed from the 95th Bombardment Squadron. All told, the 95th flew a staggering 601 combat missions in just over two years of relentless wartime operations.

After a brief pause, the squadron was reborn for the Korean War in 1952, taking to the skies in B-26 Invaders for light bombardment, interdiction, and armed reconnaissance. Post-war, the 95th traded its Invaders for B-66 Destroyers in Japan before standing down again in 1958.

The squadron’s story reignited on October 1, 1982, this time as the 95th Reconnaissance Squadron, operating the U-2/TR-1 from RAF Alconbury in England. When Alconbury’s chapter ended in 1993, the history lived on: the RC-135 crews at RAF Mildenhall adopted the 95th’s storied name, ensuring its legacy endured.

Today, the 95th flies missions from Mildenhall and Souda Bay, Crete, still at the vanguard of reconnaissance, still writing new chapters in the skies above Europe and beyond.

Under the Hoods of Bolos and the Dragons

Let me give you a rundown of two of the birds that the 95^th flew.

B-23 Dragon (Specifications)

• TYPE: Medium Bomber

• POWER: Two Wright R-2600-3 Radial piston engines with 1,600 hp. each

• SPEED: Maximum - 282 mph, Cruising - 210 mph.

• RANGE : 1,400 miles (with 4000 lbs of bombs)

• SERVICE CEILING: 31,600 ft

• WEIGHTS: Empty: 19,089 lbs, Combat: 26,500, Maximum: 32,400 lbs

• MAXIMUM PAYLOAD: 4,400 lb. (1996 kg) of bombs carried internally

• DIMENSIONS: Span 92 ft, Length 58 ft 4 3/4 in, Height 18 ft 5 1/2 in.

• CREW: Five; Pilot, Co-Pilot, Radio Operator, Bombardier and Tail gunner

• PRODUCTION TOTALS: 38 ; 15-18 converted into UC-67

Specification of Douglas B-18 Bolo

• Armament: Three .30-cal. guns (in nose, ventral and dorsal positions), plus 4,500 lbs. of bombs carried internally

• Engines: Two Wright R-1820-53s of 1,000 hp each

• Crew: Six

• Maximum speed: 215 mph at 15,000 ft.

• Cruising speed: 167 mph

• Range: 2,100 miles

• Ceiling: 23,900 ft.

• Span: 89 ft. 6 in.

• Length: 57 ft. 10 in.

• Height: 15 ft. 2 in.

• Weight: 27,000 lbs. loaded

• Serial number: 37-0469

The Legacy Carried Forward

The legacy of the 95th Reconnaissance Squadron isn’t just about age—it’s a story of transformation without ever losing its soul. Born in 1917 as the 95th Aero Squadron, it stands as one of the oldest Air Force units, its logbook filled with nearly every chapter of American air warfare. Over a century, the 95th has flown 25 types of aircraft, shifted through pursuit, attack, bombardment, and reconnaissance roles, and earned honors in every era from World War I dogfights to today’s intelligence-driven missions.

What sets the 95th apart is relentless adaptation. From launching biplanes in the Great War to orchestrating RC-135 operations above the Arctic Circle, the squadron has always evolved to meet the moment. Its history is stitched with valor—like providing crews for the legendary Doolittle Raid and operational relevance, whether in historic campaigns or cutting-edge exercises with allies.

In every transformation, the 95th demonstrates an enduring truth of airpower: aircraft may change, but the true mark of a unit is its ability to keep finding ways to serve, lead, and matter: no matter how the mission evolves.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

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Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

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Now is the time to rebuild the U.S. Air Force’s long-range combat forces to defeat threats that are “the most serious and most challenging the nation has encountered since 1945.”

—Quote from Mitchell Institute Policy Paper

Mission Briefing

Picture this: a new report from the Mitchell Institute has sent ripples through the aviation world, declaring that the U.S. Air Force needs 500 more combat aircraft to stay ahead of China by 2030.

This isn’t about sheer numbers. It’s about keeping the skies open in a future where a shorthanded fleet could mean stalemate in the Western Pacific. The study’s authors aren’t mincing words: they want to see at least 300 F-47 fighters and 200 B-21 Raider bombers soaring, far beyond today’s modest plans.

It’s a bold vision, drawn with urgency, as if the next chapter in airpower history is waiting just over the horizon.

A Shocking Study Calls for Hundreds of F-47 and B-21 Raider

The phrase “500 additional aircraft” isn’t tossed around lightly. It lands with the weight of a thunderclap—a shot across the bow for anyone paying attention in the world of airpower. In early 2026, the Mitchell Institute’s report, “Strategic Attack: Maintaining the Air Force’s Capacity to Deny Enemy Sanctuaries,” threw that number into the air like a challenge, painting a stark picture of the widening gap between what America’s Air Force aspires to do and the reality of its current procurement plans.

At the heart of the recommendation is a simple, urgent logic. To keep the initiative against a peer adversary—especially one as formidable as China—the United States needs a force capable of punching deep into the enemy’s heartland. The aim isn’t just to score a dramatic raid, but to disrupt the tempo of enemy air and missile salvos, to knock the adversary off balance and keep them guessing day after day.

The report calls for a minimum of 200 B-21 stealth bombers, built to endure and persist, and 300 F-47 fighters, a new breed designed to be “campaign-compatible”; not just impressive in isolation, but ready to fight, regenerate, and return for another round.

The numbers may make headlines, but it’s the diagnosis that should give every strategist pause. The Air Force, the authors suggest, is built for exceptional raids—those daring, surgical strikes that make for riveting headlines. But what about the long haul? There’s a world of difference between a “raid force” and a “campaign force.” The former dazzles with a single operation; the latter endures the grind of sustained conflict. That’s the chasm the report warns against a fleet that shines in a flash, but falters when the fight drags on.

It’s easy to confuse an impressive inventory with genuine power, but real airpower is what can take off, fight, survive losses, and keep coming back. Here’s the cold reality: the US Air Force’s total fleet hovers around 5,025 aircraft. But look closer—mission availability averages about 62%, a figure that’s set off alarm bells in the aviation press. That means roughly 1,900 aircraft could be grounded at any moment. In the vast Indo-Pacific theater, where distances stretch logistics to the breaking point and sustained operations wear down even the best-maintained jets, that’s a sobering handicap.

And then the politics come into play. Every time a jet is retired early “to finance the future,” the operational mass shrinks. Fewer planes in the sky means commanders get cautious, risking rare birds less, keeping them farther from the action, and ceding initiative to an enemy content to wage war from behind thick layers of protection. This, the report argues, is the danger. Without a surplus to absorb losses and keep the fight going, strategy becomes timid; just as the adversary bets on speed and surprise.

The Mitchell Institute’s analysis isn’t fixated on the sheer number of Chinese jets. Instead, it focuses on operational reality: China is shaping its mainland into an invulnerable rear base, a sanctuary shielded by dense, modern air defenses and bristling with long-range strike weapons: ballistic, cruise, and even hypersonic missiles that threaten every base and runway in the region.

The Pentagon’s own reports echo the warning. China is advancing rapidly, fielding new air-to-air missiles like the PL-15, rolling out cutting-edge platforms at airshows in Zhuhai—the J-35A, the J-15D—and signaling an industrial engine determined to build, iterate, and deploy at speed.

A Closer Look at F-47 and B-21 Raider

The Air Force’s F-47 is set to rewrite the playbook, flying nearly 70 percent farther without refueling than the legendary F-22.

That means tankers can hang back, safely out of harm’s way—a crucial edge for any campaign across the vast Pacific, where every mile matters and every risk is magnified.

Thanks to its advanced design, the F-47 will boast a combat radius of more than 1,000 nautical miles—leaving the F-22’s 590 miles and the F-35’s 670 in the dust. And with speeds topping Mach 2 and “stealth++” features, this sixth-generation fighter offers more than just range.

It brings a level of survivability and lethality that’s been the subject of quiet briefings and whispered speculation among those in the know. General Allvin’s recent infographic gives us a rare glimpse behind the curtain, hinting that the F-47 isn’t just a step ahead. It’s a leap.

But the future of airpower doesn’t rest on fighters alone. The B-21 Raider is poised to become the backbone of America’s bomber force, a dual-capable ghost built for both conventional and nuclear missions.

The Raider isn’t just a bomber. It’s the centerpiece of a family of systems that includes intelligence gathering, electronic warfare, and long-range strike capabilities, able to operate with or without a crew on board. From stand-off missiles to direct-attack munitions, the B-21 brings versatility and resilience, ready to breach even the most sophisticated defenses.

Allied Airpower and the 500-Aircraft Debate

In the Indo-Pacific, sheer airpower quality is no longer a guarantee. Without enough combat mass and ready jets, even the finest aircraft can’t tip the balance. That’s the heart of the Mitchell Institute’s warning: America’s current plans may fall short for a drawn-out campaign against China’s well-protected mainland, with its dense air defenses and long-range missile threat.

The question is shifting from “Can we strike?” to “Can we endure—absorbing losses, regenerating sorties, and sustaining relentless pressure?” A force tailored for headline-grabbing raids, the report argues, can still be too small for the grind of real war. Readiness and availability matter; what’s on the ramp is more important than what’s on paper.

This isn’t just America’s challenge. In the high-stakes Pacific, credible deterrence is a team effort. If the U.S. needs more stealthy, penetrating aircraft, then allied basing, rapid dispersal, runway repair, tanker support, munitions stockpiles, and interoperable fighters all become critical.

It is also crucial to “bridge” solutions, like F-35 and F-15EX buys and collaborative combat aircraft, underscoring the urgency for allied coordination now, not just when the latest platforms are fielded.

The bottom line? The next chapter of deterrence will hinge not only on breakthrough jets but also on whether America and its allies can muster resilient, sustainable combat power before a crisis puts their preparations to the ultimate test.

This Week in Aviation History

On March 4, 1948, NACA test pilot Herbert H. Hoover etched his name in history, becoming the first civilian to shatter the sound barrier aboard the X-1-2 rocket plane. The X-1 program would go on to push the envelope even further, with Chuck Yeager blazing past Mach 2.4 thanks to improved machines and fuel systems. By the program’s close in November 1958, 27 daring pilots had logged 238 flights across several X-1 variants, each sortie a bold step into the unknown.

A First for Supersonic Research

The dream of rocket-powered flight was first sparked not in the skies, but on the ground; born in the daring world of auto racing. That bold vision took flight on June 11, 1928, when the Lippisch Ente soared into history as Germany’s first rocket-propelled aircraft.

Stateside, the quest for speed intensified in the early 1940s as pilots and engineers grappled with a new frontier: the mysterious, turbulent air near the speed of sound. The National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA)—which would later become NASA—and the U.S. Army Air Forces (USAAF) joined forces to conquer this transonic barrier. Their goal was clear: push aircraft beyond Mach 1 and unlock the secrets that lay beyond.

On March 16, 1945, Bell Aircraft was tasked with building three experimental planes to probe the transonic regime. Thus, the X-1 was born, powered by a formidable XLR-11 rocket engine from Reaction Motors Inc., which burned a volatile cocktail of alcohol, water, and liquid oxygen. Air-launched from the belly of a lumbering B-29 Superfortress, the X-1 would ignite its rockets and tear through the thin skies above.

The first X-1, delivered in December 1945, made its debut glide at Pinecastle Field, Florida, before the program shifted to the sun-baked expanse of Muroc Field in California’s Mojave Desert. By mid-1947, two X-1s were flying: one for the Air Force, hell-bent on smashing Mach 1, and one for NACA, devoted to meticulous transonic research.

It was on October 14, 1947, that Chuck Yeager etched his name into legend, pushing the X-1 to Mach 1.06 and becoming the first human to break the sound barrier. Just months later, on March 4, 1948, NACA’s Herbert H. Hoover followed suit, the first civilian to cross into supersonic territory.

With upgrades and new fuel delivery systems, the X-1 eventually reached speeds of Mach 2.44. By the time the program closed in November 1958, an elite cadre of 27 pilots had flown 238 sorties, each flight a step deeper into the unknown.

The quest didn’t stop there. Between 1959 and 1968, 12 test pilots took the X-15 rocket plane—another marvel of American engineering—on 199 breathtaking flights, pushing the envelope of hypersonic flight and skimming the very edge of space itself.

What is Bell X-1-2?

The first generation of X-1 aircraft didn’t just break the sound barrier. They shattered the conventions of how we explore the skies. These were not warbirds or airliners, but pure research machines, built with a single purpose: to chase the unknown and gather the data that wind tunnels and theory could no longer provide.

The X-1’s legacy is more than speed; it’s the birth of the experimental aircraft, dedicated solely to pushing the boundaries of flight, unburdened by the needs of the battlefield or the marketplace.

In the late 1930s and early 1940s, aircraft designers faced a daunting new frontier. As planes crept faster, their wings began to encounter both subsonic and supersonic airflow, creating a host of unpredictable and often dangerous problems—compressibility effects, surging drag, wild trim changes, turbulence that rattled teeth, and sudden losses of control.

Even the best wind tunnels of the day couldn’t accurately capture what was happening at these speeds; their own data became unreliable as models approached the sound barrier.

Visionaries like John Stack of the NACA, Ezra Kotchner of the Army Air Forces, and Walter Diehl of the Navy recognized that only a specialized research aircraft. The one built to fly directly into the teeth of these mysteries. It could unlock the secrets of supersonic flight.

The Army Air Forces handed the challenge to Bell Aircraft, tasking the company with building three experimental planes that would become the X-1 fleet.

The X-1’s shape was inspired by something already proven stable at supersonic speed: the .50 caliber machine gun bullet. Its fuselage mirrored this form, while its wings were straight and thin for minimum resistance.

The X-1-1 carried an 8 percent thickness-to-chord wing; the X-1-2’s was slightly thicker at 10 percent. Propulsion came from the XLR-11 rocket engine, a four-chambered powerhouse burning a volatile mixture of liquid oxygen and alcohol-water.

Rockets were still a controversial choice. Many at NACA and the Navy preferred jet propulsion, but the Army Air Forces were determined to bet on rocket power.

Bell delivered the first X-1 in December 1945, and soon after, NACA was asked to oversee instrumentation and data analysis. This brought a sharp team of engineers into the heart of the project.

The first glide flight—no engine, just pure aerodynamics—took place on January 19, 1946, at Pinecastle Field in Florida, with Bell’s Jack Woolams at the controls. Ten more glide flights followed, each one testing the X-1’s handling near the ground, before the aircraft went back to Bell for its rocket engine installation.

By October 1946, the X-1-1 was delivered to what’s now NASA’s Armstrong Flight Research Center at Edwards, California—then known as Muroc Flight Test Unit. NACA engineers arrived that September to prepare for the X-1-2’s debut.

On October 11, Bell test pilot Chalmers “Slick” Goodlin took the X-1-2 on its maiden glide flight, moving on to powered runs by December, reaching Mach 0.79. By June 1947, both X-1s had proven their mettle up to Mach 0.8, at which point Bell’s contract was fulfilled.

That summer, a new agreement shaped the X-1 program’s next phase. The Army Air Forces would use the thinner-winged X-1-1 to push hard for Mach 1.1, aiming to break barriers quickly with NACA’s technical support.

Meanwhile, NACA would take the thicker-winged X-1-2 on a more deliberate path, gathering the detailed, methodical data needed to understand the treacherous transonic regime. The age of the research aircraft and the supersonic era had truly begun.

From Breakthrough to Blueprint: The X-1-2 Legacy

The X-1-2 may not have the fame of “Glamorous Glennis,” but its legacy runs deeper—transforming the triumph of breaking the sound barrier into the science of making supersonic flight routine.

When the aircraft passed to NACA, it became a true flying laboratory, probing the tough questions that followed the first Mach 1 milestone: How do you control a plane when shock waves rule the airframe? What happens in steep turns or sudden pull-ups?

NACA pilot Herbert H. Hoover took the stick in late 1947, methodically flying research missions and, by March 4, 1948, nudging the X-1-2 to Mach 1.029; not in pursuit of glory, but to collect hard data.

Hoover’s flights marked a crucial shift: the X-1 series was no longer just about speed records, but about launching a new era of experimental, purpose-built research aircraft.

The X-1-2’s influence only grew as it was later rebuilt as the X-1E, pushing further into the high-Mach unknown and building on lessons from every setback. Its greatest legacy isn’t a single headline, but a philosophy—measure, learn, refine, fly again—the very foundation of modern flight testing that propels aviation innovation to this day.

In Case You Missed It

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“We are honored to reach this agreement with the U.S. Air Force, ensuring the F110-GE-129 remains the engine of choice for the world’s F-15 and F-16 fleets.”

—Amy Gowder, president and CEO, Defense & Systems at GE Aerospace.

Read more

“This action is essential to restore operational readiness … and ensure Air Force Global Strike Command (AFGSC) possesses the necessary assets to support strategic contingency war plans for all Combatant Commands.”

—Quote from the Approval Notice

Mission Briefing

In the aftermath of the June 2025 strikes on Iranian nuclear sites like Fordow, the US Air Force has begun replenishing its stock of GBU-57 bunker busters. Boeing has secured a sole-source contract exceeding $100 million to produce new bombs and subassemblies, with deliveries of critical components expected to start in January 2028.

The move signals Washington’s determination to retain the unique ability to destroy hardened, deeply buried targets without nuclear escalation. Yet this decision also exposes a vulnerability: the industrial base is exceedingly narrow, production takes years, and only the B-2 Spirit can deliver these weapons. Even as this replenishment begins, the Air Force is already looking ahead, developing the Next-Generation Penetrator for future missions.

Spirit of the Deep Strike: Washington Revives the GBU-57

The choice to replenish the Massive Ordnance Penetrator isn’t just a logistical footnote. It’s a profound doctrinal signal. This isn’t about simply refilling the shelves; it’s about telling the world, and America’s own forces, that the ability to launch a conventional deep strike is every bit as vital as stealth technology or in-flight refueling.

The catalyst is plain: in June 2025, GBU-57s shattered targets at Iranian facilities like Fordow and Natanz, with reports pointing to fourteen warheads delivered by seven B-2 Spirits in a meticulously planned operation years in the making.

Awarding Boeing a sole-source contract for new bombs is hardly a surprise. It’s the only feasible path, given the GBU-57’s status as a specialized weapon built in limited numbers, tightly interwoven with an exclusive industrial and certification framework.

This isn’t a munition you churn out by the thousands. The GBU-57 is a rare breed, engineered for only the most formidable targets: command centers deep underground, fortified production sites, labyrinthine tunnels, and facilities buried in stone.

Its formidable size tells the story. Weighing in at 13,600 kilograms and stretching over six meters, the GBU-57 isn’t just a “big bomb”—it’s a kinetic spear, relying on sheer mass, velocity, and structural toughness to punch through layers of rock and reinforced concrete before unleashing its payload.

Public details are understandably guarded, with penetration rates depending on everything from impact angle to the density of the target’s defenses. Still, the numbers whispered in defense circles speak of tens of meters of reinforced material standing no chance. It is a class apart from conventional bunker busters.

But the GBU-57’s power shapes everything around it. Right now, only the B-2 Spirit can deliver this weapon, carrying it internally while cloaked in stealth, giving the U.S. a razor’s edge advantage against the most well-defended targets.

Yet this exclusivity comes at a cost: the entire “deep bunker” capability is tethered to a small, high-maintenance fleet that’s never fully on call. Possessing the bomb doesn’t always mean you can launch it. The realities of maintenance cycles, global posture, or competing missions can leave that punch on the sidelines when you need it most.

That’s why the conversation around the B-21 Raider’s development is so critical. The next-generation penetrator, already being discussed, is expected to be lighter—tailored for the B-21’s payload limits (with talk of just one bomb per aircraft, compared to B-2’s capacity for more).

Once again, the bomb and the bomber are locked in a dance, each shaping the evolution of the other as the Air Force prepares for the next era of deep strike.

Beyond the Contract and Importance of Deep Strike Capability

The recent Boeing contract, at its heart, is more than a line item in a budget. It’s a window into the realities and vulnerabilities of modern munitions production.

The February 13 announcement speaks of a sole-source commitment exceeding $100 million, with tail kits and certain assemblies slated for delivery beginning January 2028. But behind those numbers are three clear lessons for anyone watching the future of American airpower.

First, rebuilding a stockpile is anything but swift. With a three-year gap between the GBU-57s expended in 2025 operations and the first new components expected by 2028, the timeline is dictated by more than bureaucracy.

Heavy munitions like these are custom-built in small batches, each one demanding rigorous quality controls and seamless integration with both aircraft and targeting systems. There’s simply no room for shortcuts when the stakes are this high.

Second, the fact that Boeing stands alone as the supplier isn’t just a policy choice. It’s a reflection of industrial dependence. The field is so specialized that putting the contract out for open bids would only have introduced further delays, since few companies have the data, expertise, or certifications required to even enter the game. The ecosystem for such a weapon is narrow, and the supply chain fragile.

Finally, while the price tag—over $100 million—catches headlines, it doesn’t tell the whole story. The actual number of weapons or kits remains undisclosed, and the true cost per unit is likely steep once guidance, explosives, testing, storage, and support are factored in.

But what’s unmistakable is the signal: this isn’t just a study or a placeholder. It’s a concrete move to restore and sustain a critical deep-strike capability for the Air Force, even as the industrial terrain grows more challenging.

Striking deep underground isn’t just an engineering flex. It’s a hard answer to how modern threats are built. Across the world, adversaries now hide their most vital operations beneath mountains of concrete and rock, betting on layers of protection and redundancy to shield them from attack.

Iran’s Fordow facility stands as the textbook example: a fortress designed to shrug off conventional firepower. That’s why heavy bunker-busting capability isn’t just another tool. It’s a strategic insurance policy, giving leaders an option that sits squarely between a warning shot and all-out escalation.

Even if such a weapon is used only once in a decade, its mere presence forces adversaries to rethink, spend more to dig deeper, and lose sleep over how to truly safeguard what matters most.

Why the GBU-57 Decision Strengthens U.S. and Allied Air Power?

Refilling the GBU-57 stockpile after its first combat use in June 2025 is more than a matter of replacing spent munitions; it’s a clear signal that the ability to strike deeply buried, hardened targets remains central to U.S. airpower strategy.

The Air Force’s $100-million-plus contract with Boeing to replace bombs used in Operation Midnight Hammer isn’t just about numbers. It’s about ensuring that strategic contingency plans stay credible and ready.

This move carries several implications for U.S. airpower. First, it underscores the enduring significance of stealth bombers. The GBU-57’s operational debut cements the B-2 as the go-to platform for the most challenging targets and accelerates the debate about how this unique capability will transfer to the B-21 era.

With the Next-Generation Penetrator (NGP) on the horizon, there’s already talk of lighter bombs to fit future platforms.

Second, it puts industrial resilience in the spotlight: replenishing low-volume, high-complexity weapons takes years, with supply chains and specialized manufacturing forming a fragile backbone that cannot be ramped up overnight.

Third, for U.S. allies, the message is strategic: conventional deep-strike options are critical for credible deterrence and alliance planning, even if only a handful of nations possess them.

Ultimately, the real lesson is that tomorrow’s airpower advantage won’t just rest on the size of a bomb, but on the ability to sustain rare, high-impact capabilities: ensuring both the force and the industry behind it are ready before the next crisis hits.

This Week in Aviation History

By February 1965, the race to the edge of the sound barrier was well underway—two Concorde prototypes were already taking shape, one beneath the hands of Aérospatiale in France and the other at the British Aircraft Corporation. On March 2, 1969, history stirred as Concorde 001 lifted gracefully from the runway in Toulouse, its maiden flight marking a bold new chapter in aviation’s pursuit of speed and elegance.

The Concorde’s Tragic Fate

The 1960s and ’70s marked a golden age of aviation. A time when the world seemed to shrink with every leap in technology. Jetliners were transforming travel, whisking passengers across continents in hours, and the Apollo astronauts planted their boots on the Moon in 1969, reminding everyone that the sky was no longer the limit. In the wake of these achievements, the era’s spirit of innovation and speed was unmistakable, as nations and aerospace giants vied for the next great milestone in flight.

In this high-stakes race for the future, Britain and France set their sights on an audacious goal: to build a passenger jet that could outrun the speed of sound.

The technical and financial hurdles were daunting, so the two countries forged a unique partnership, signing a bilateral treaty in 1962 and naming their project “Concorde”—a word that embodies both harmony and unity.

This was more than a name; it was a promise, a symbol of what could be accomplished when rivals became collaborators for the sake of progress.

By 1976, the dream had become reality. Concorde entered service with Air France and British Airways, instantly capturing the world’s imagination. Its needle-nose silhouette became a fixture on the tarmacs of London, Paris, and New York, ferrying the elite in unrivaled style.

Supersonic speed and luxury came at a steep price. A $12,000 for a round-trip ticket, a sum that would be over $66,000 in today’s dollars. Yet for the wealthy and famous, the Concorde’s allure was irresistible. Its legendary tagline, “Arrive Before You Leave,” was no exaggeration; the jet could cross the Atlantic so quickly that passengers landed in New York before their departure time in London or Paris.

Most Concorde flights traced a familiar arc between New York and London or Paris, but the jet did briefly stretch its wings to South America, Bahrain, and Singapore. These forays, though short-lived, hinted at a vision of global supersonic travel. It is a vision ultimately constrained by economics and geography.

The reality was sobering: only 20 Concordes were ever built, and none found homes outside the national airlines of France and Britain, both state-run at the time.

Why did this marvel of engineering meet such an abrupt end? The answers are as complex as the machine itself. Each flight guzzled over 6,700 gallons of fuel, burning through profits almost as quickly as it crossed the ocean.

The sonic boom—a thunderous shockwave produced when Concorde broke the sound barrier—meant its routes were mostly confined to open water, sparing cities from rattling windows but limiting destinations and revenue. Noise complaints and environmental concerns grew louder as the world became more attuned to the cost of progress.

Then came tragedy and turbulence. In 2000, a Concorde crash in France claimed the lives of everyone aboard, casting a shadow over the jet’s reputation. The aftermath of September 11, 2001, brought a sharp decline in international travel, and the economics of operating such a specialized fleet became impossible to justify.

On October 24, 2003, Concorde’s final flight marked the end of an era. Its legacy is not just the famous photograph of its rakish form slicing through the clouds, but a testament to human ambition. It is the drive to push boundaries, to chase speed and elegance, and to dream of a world drawn closer by the miracle of flight.

Incredible Features of this Supersonic Jet

Concorde was a vision brought to life. It is a sleek ogival delta-winged marvel powered by four Olympus engines, themselves descendants of the mighty Avro Vulcan bomber. Forged through a partnership between Rolls-Royce and SNECMA, these engines propelled Concorde into the stratosphere of aviation achievement.

The aircraft introduced the first analogue fly-by-wire flight control system in a commercial airliner, and its signature droop-nose—lowered for landing visibility—became iconic, hinting at the futuristic technology within.

What truly set Concorde apart was its astonishing performance. Cruising serenely at Mach 2.02—over 2,140 km/h (1,330 mph)—and soaring at an altitude of 60,000 feet, it left subsonic airliners far below, both literally and figuratively. Even its landing speed, a brisk 185 miles per hour, spoke of the relentless power under its wings.

Concorde pioneered a suite of technological breakthroughs. Its double-delta (ogival) wings and variable inlet ramps optimized airflow for high-speed flight, while “supercruise” capability meant it could sustain supersonic speeds without afterburners.

Thrust-by-wire engines; precursors to today’s FADEC-controlled powerplants; gave pilots unprecedented precision. The droop-nose, full-regime autopilot and autothrottle, and multifunction flight control surfaces all contributed to performance and safety.

Weight-saving and efficiency were paramount. The airframe was built mostly from aluminum, balancing strength, weight, and manufacturability. Higher speeds would have demanded heavier, exotic metals.

A high-pressure hydraulic system kept components light yet powerful, and “sculpture milling” carved parts from single alloy billets, reducing both weight and complexity. The aircraft relied on ground support for power, reflecting its premium service niche at major airports.

Behind the glamour, Concorde’s true legacy lies in the knowledge it gave birth to. Techniques and partnerships refined during its creation paved the way for the Airbus consortium, while SNECMA’s Concorde experience led directly to its partnership with General Electric and the creation of the world-renowned CFM56 engine series. Concorde was more than a supersonic transport.

It was a flying laboratory, shaping the future of aerospace far beyond its own legendary flights.

The Legacy of Supersonic Ambition

Concorde’s story is more than the tale of a retired jet. It’s the chapter where commercial aviation dared to outrun the very concept of time. For a fleeting era, schedules bowed to Mach 2, and the Atlantic became a mere dash as Concorde and her crews treated time zones like suggestions rather than boundaries.

But that blazing reputation came with hard truths: no speed could outpace the realities of cost, noise, and public acceptance. Its thunderous sonic boom and staggering operational expenses meant Concorde was largely tethered to transatlantic routes, a technological wonder soaring through a narrow corridor for an elite few.

Yet what truly endures from Concorde isn’t just the memory of supersonic luxury. It’s the trail of innovation it blazed. Air France views the program as a spark that ignited European aerospace, teaching hard lessons in design, manufacturing, and international teamwork.

NASA, too, looked to Concorde as the starting block for its High-Speed Research Program, measuring what a new generation must overcome; quieter engines, greener footprints, and broader accessibility.

In the end, Concorde didn’t just fly faster than any airliner before or since. It left behind a legacy of bold ambition and a checklist for the future, daring the current and the next generation to rewrite what’s possible in the sky.

In Case You Missed It

We are living in historic times:

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“If a missile and a drone had a baby, it’d be this.”

—Inside FPV

Mission Briefing

Loitering munitions burst into the spotlight during the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war, where Azerbaijan’s kamikaze drones took out Armenian tanks and air defenses from afar, slashing the cost and risk of classic air strikes.

The Russia-Ukraine war took this to the next level, with both sides unleashing swarms of affordable drones that knocked out expensive hardware and even choked off supply lines.

The lesson is clear: you don’t need the mightiest arsenal anymore. Victory now belongs to those who wield the smartest, most agile tools in the sky.

The Rise of Loitering Munitions and One-Way Attack Drones

Let’s clear the air about kamikaze drones, a term that paints with a broad brush but hides a world of technical nuance. In one corner, you have true “loitering munitions”—purpose-built weapons that launch, circle patiently over the battlefield, observe with a watchful eye, and, when the moment is right, dive for the kill.

In the other, you’ll find the first-person-view (FPV) contact drone: smaller, cheaper, flown by a human operator, and cranked out in workshops at lightning speed. Both are born from the same technological lineage, but their roles and realities are vastly different.

This isn’t just a matter of semantics; it’s at the heart of the confusion swirling through public debates and even military circles. Some see a drone and think of a reusable scout that returns home; others, a one-way missile.

But the truth is, loitering munitions live right on that boundary, blending the persistent surveillance and nimble cameras of drones with the single-use, explosive punch of a missile. The literature on the subject spotlights this hybrid nature, tracing how these tools are evolving from battlefield spotters into long-range weapons that can saturate an area with precision strikes.

The journey begins with the airframe. Tactical models, those meant for short-range, nimble work, run on electric motors. They’re quiet, hard to spot with heat sensors, and simple to keep running with just a few spare batteries.

Their bigger, long-range cousins trade stealth for stamina, employing tiny combustion engines that buzz louder but can stay aloft for hours. This single design choice shapes everything: how far they fly, how long they can wait, how much explosive they carry, and how easily they’re detected or jammed.

Take a common electric loitering munition like Russia’s Lancet-3. According to its maker, it cruises at 80 to 110 km/h (50–68 mph), can loiter for about 40 minutes, and delivers a 3 kg (6.6 lb) payload—all in a package weighing just 12 kg (26 lb). These aren’t speed demons; they’re patient hunters, meant to circle and wait for that perfect, high-value target to reveal itself.

The operating logic is simple yet deadly: see, decide, strike. With sensors that work day or night, the drone streams video back to an operator, who makes the final call before impact. Even when advanced electronics can track targets automatically, humans keep a finger on the trigger, able to abort if the situation suddenly changes.

The effect is anything but subtle; these weapons are modern in their optics and communications, but timeless in the devastation they deliver.

Yet, their Achilles heel isn’t in the warhead, but in the data link. FPV contact drones rely on radio signals—sometimes reaching just a handful of kilometers, sometimes stretching farther with the right gear and relays. But those signals are fragile, vulnerable to jamming, detection, and interception.

That’s the modern obsession: making these drones survive in a world thick with GPS jammers and electronic interference. Military designers pour resources into hardening antennas, filtering signals, and creating backup navigation modes.

The irony? That “cheap” kamikaze drone quickly racks up its own costs once it’s built to survive the electronic battlefield. In this new air war, the line between affordable and robust is razor-thin—and always shifting.

The Kinds of Kamikaze Drones that are Popular Today

Let’s climb into the world of kamikaze drones, where each model tells its own story on the battlefield. The first class dominating today’s conflicts are the micro-systems built for infantry. They are designed for close contact and rapid action.

The American Switchblade 300, from AeroVironment, is the gold standard here. Imagine a squad on the move: they carry this lightweight tube, launch the drone in seconds, and watch real-time video as it circles overhead, ready to strike. With about 15 minutes of endurance and a six-mile range, the Switchblade 300 gives infantry the power to turn a fleeting opportunity—a lone vehicle, a dug-in position—into a sudden, precise strike, no need to wait for artillery support. It’s also appealing in terms of cost. Congress pegs the price around $6,000 a shot, though full-system costs can be much higher, depending on support and procurement scale.

The next rung up the ladder are anti-tank and anti-radar munitions—tools built to break through harder targets like armored vehicles, artillery, and command posts. Russia’s Lancet-3 stands out here, carrying a 3 kg warhead and boasting a 40-minute flight time. At a cost of about $35,000, it’s cheap enough to be used in swarms, but accurate enough to destroy high-value assets.

Israel, a pioneer in this field, brings long experience with systems like the IAI Harop, which can loiter for up to nine hours and communicate two ways with its operator, and Elbit’s SkyStriker, capable of delivering heavier payloads over longer distances. These models carry a bigger price tag but offer greater range, better targeting, and true punch against fortified targets.

But the most strategic—and potentially game-changing—are the long-range “one-way” drones. Think of Russia’s Shahed-136/Geran-2 or the new European projects. These aren’t just for tactical skirmishes.

They’re designed to overwhelm defenses with dozens of simultaneous threats, each able to pinpoint infrastructure, depots, or power plants. France recently rolled out prototypes of its own, promising over 500 kilometers of range, speeds above 400 km/h, and payloads up to 40 kg; all signaling a shift toward mass-producible remote strike capability, not just rare, high-end missiles.

At the lower end, first-person-view (FPV) drones have become the most numerous. They aren’t marvels of engineering, but their strength lies in industrial agility: built from civilian parts, assembled in workshops, and constantly improved through hands-on experience.

Ukraine’s plan to buy 4.5 million FPV drones by 2025 for $2.6 billion shows how the battlefield is shifting toward mass production and adaptability.

What Does It Mean for the US and Its Allies?

Kamikaze drones, whether loitering munitions or swarms of inexpensive FPV “one-way” craft, are rewriting the rulebook for modern airpower. Suddenly, strike and reconnaissance missions that once demanded expensive jets and pilots can now be carried out by disposable machines costing anywhere from $500 to $50,000.

These drones can hunt tanks, artillery, radar, and supply lines, forcing defenders to scatter, hide, and spend far more to shoot them down than it costs to launch them. The battlefield tempo accelerates, and the economics of war shift dramatically.

For the U.S. and its allies, this revolution demands three things. First, scale, being able to deploy vast numbers of these attritable drones is as crucial as having a few high-end aircraft, which is why the Pentagon is racing to deliver capability “at speed and scale.”

Second, counter-UAS isn’t just a box to tick; it’s now a pillar of air defense, driving investments in everything from electronic warfare to lasers and guns. Third, as autonomy advances, ethical rules must evolve too, with organizations like the ICRC warning against fully autonomous systems targeting humans.

Ultimately, as cheap strike drones proliferate, victory will hinge not on a single platform, but on building a resilient, scalable kill-chain—and countering it—across the allied force.

This Week in Aviation History

Let’s wind back to February 27, 1963—a milestone in rotary aviation, marking the maiden flight of the Hughes Model 369 prototype, the ancestor of today’s legendary “Little Bird.” At first, she wore the Army’s YHO-6A designation, but when the Department of Defense introduced a unified naming system, she became the YOH-6A.

Hughes built five of these sleek, nimble machines, each powered by a 252-shaft-horsepower Allison T63-A-5A engine. Delivered to Fort Rucker, Alabama, these prototypes faced off against a field of contenders from Bell and Fairchild-Hiller, vying to become the Army’s next go-to scout and light utility helicopter, a true test of innovation and aviation prowess.

The Maiden Flight of the Little Bird’s Ancestor

Back to the early 1960s, the U.S. Army had a vision for a new breed of helicopter. Something light, nimble, and adaptable. They called it the Light Observation Helicopter, or LOH, and put out Technical Specification 153, inviting the nation’s best and brightest to answer the call.

Hughes Tool Company’s Aircraft Division stepped up with their Model 369, a sleek single-engine chopper with a four-bladed main rotor. This machine wasn’t just for the military, the Model 369 would evolve into the civilian Hughes 500, and later, the MD 500, a favorite among pilots around the world.

Twelve companies tossed their hats into the ring. The Army-Navy design board narrowed the field to Fairchild-Hiller and Bell, but soon, Hughes was back in the running.

The first Model 369 prototype took to the skies on February 27, 1963, initially wearing the Army’s YHO-6A label, before switching to YOH-6A under the new Department of Defense joint designation system. Hughes built five prototypes, each powered by a 252-shaft-horsepower Allison T63-A-5A engine, and delivered them to Fort Rucker, Alabama, for a showdown against Bell and Fairchild-Hiller’s entries.

As testing unfolded, Bell’s YOH-4, hampered by its underpowered engine, was eliminated. The contest narrowed to Hughes and Fairchild-Hiller. In May 1965, after a hard-fought competition, Hughes won the contract, earning an initial order for 714 helicopters, a number that soon ballooned to 1,300, with an option for 114 more.

The Hughes design didn’t include boosted controls, unlike Hiller’s OH-5A, which accounted for some of the price difference. Hughes’ bid came in at $19,860 per airframe (less engine), undercutting Hiller’s $29,415. The catch? Hughes priced them below production cost, reportedly losing over $100 million on 1,370 machines—all in the hope that long-term production would eventually turn a profit.

But the story didn’t end there. In 1968, Hughes bid to build another 2,700 airframes. This time, Stanley Hiller objected, accusing Hughes of playing dirty, and the Army reopened the bidding.

Hiller sat out, but Bell returned with its improved Model 206. In a final fly-off and sealed bid, Bell narrowly beat Hughes, offering $54,200 per airframe to Hughes’s $56,550. Legend has it that Howard Hughes, against the advice of his trusted confidant Jack Real, added an extra $3,000 to the bid at the last minute, and that small decision cost his company the contract.

And so, the OH-6 Cayuse—nicknamed the “Loach”—was born from fierce competition, engineering audacity, and more than a little high-stakes drama, leaving a mark on helicopter history that endures to this day.

The Anatomy of the Loach

Climb into the cockpit of the YOH-6A, a light and agile two-seater flown by a single pilot—a machine built for speed, precision, and adaptability. Its four-bladed main rotor, spinning counter-clockwise from above, was a marvel of engineering: thin stainless steel straps flexed to allow each blade to flap and feather as needed, while hydraulic dampers kept the lead-lag motion in check.

Early tests featured blade cuffs designed to cut drag, but these were soon abandoned in favor of simplicity. A two-bladed, semi-rigid tail rotor sat on the left side of the tail boom, also spinning counter-clockwise, its advancing blade riding high.

Power came from a T63-A-5 turboshaft engine, set at a 45-degree angle behind the cabin; delivering 212 shaft horsepower for cruising and up to 250 for takeoff bursts. Later production models upgraded to the T63-A-5A, squeezing even more muscle from the compact frame.

Hughes built 1,420 of these Cayuse helicopters for the U.S. Army, a testament to their utility and toughness. The same airframe still lives on today, evolving into the AH-6C and MH-6 for military missions and the MD500E and MD530F for civilian pilots. If you’re ever at Fort Rucker, you can spot the historic Hughes YOH-6A 62-4213—an enduring symbol of rotary innovation.

The Legacy that the Loach Left Behind

The Hughes Model 369 prototype left a legacy that reshaped rotary aviation, showing the world that a small helicopter could play a strategic role thanks to its simplicity, agility, and endless adaptability.

From its maiden flight, the 369 championed a “less is more” approach; streamlined, lightweight, and easy to maintain, with a practical, safe rotor and drive system. This wasn’t just clever engineering; it was a blueprint for a machine that could be scaled, modified, and upgraded as missions evolved.

In Army hands, the 369’s descendants—the LOH “Loach” family—redefined tactical reconnaissance in the helicopter era. These nimble craft flew fast and low, hugging the terrain, scouting and marking enemy positions in real time, and putting critical intel in commanders’ hands within moments. The original 1963 prototype became the backbone of a legendary combat reputation.

Yet, the true mark of the Model 369 is in its lineage. Its compact, versatile design led to the civilian Hughes 500/MD 500, and inspired the “Little Bird,” beloved by special operations for its ability to land almost anywhere and adapt to any mission.

Decades of innovation trace back to this one prototype. It is a platform that proved speed, access, and adaptability would always rule the skies, both then and now.

In Case You Missed It

More about the LUCAS drone:

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Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

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– Tog

“This is an incredible machine, as you all know. And it served us proudly for over 52 years.”

—Maj. Gen. Anthony G. Crutchfield, Fort Rucker and U.S. Army Aviation Center of Excellence Commanding General

What can you say about perhaps the world’s most iconic helicopter? Picture this: the battery whispers awake, followed by the crisp surge of the turbine—a spark in the night, sharp and sure. Beneath the red wash of the map light, the pilot runs through the time-honored checklist, each switch and callout drawing the cockpit closer to launch. Outside, the landing zone is pure possibility: a churned-up strip of earth and a shadowed tree line, both waiting to reveal their secrets the moment the skids break contact.

Read more

Through this exploration, the program aims to develop and demonstrate the capability for small (i.e., able to fit through windows) autonomous UAVs to fly at speeds up to 20 m/s (45 mph) with no communication links to the operator and without GPS guidance.

—DARPA

Mission Briefing

A hornet-sized drone slips through a window, paints the room in 3D, and turns a “secure” building into open airspace. The front line doesn’t move anymore. It leaks, as centimeter-class scouts and micro-effectors saturate the battlespace faster than radar can even notice. And once GPS goes dark and autonomy takes the stick, the strike isn’t a loud arrival. It’s a silent contact, delivered by something as small as a bee.

The Rise of Tactical Miniature Drones in Modern Warfare

In modern warfare, brute force has given way to stealth and surgical precision. The latest leap? The rise of drones so small you could mistake them for insects—machines with wingspans no longer than a finger and weighing less than two coins in your pocket.

These mini marvels can do what cruise missiles never could: navigate the tightest spaces, slip past barriers, and turn the battlefield into a web of invisible sensors and silent effectors.

Urban combat, with its blind corners and hidden dangers, poses some of the greatest risks to infantry. In these high-stakes settings, knowledge is survival. Here, micro-drones shine.

Imagine a drone the size of a hornet darting through a ventilation shaft or an open window, its miniaturized LiDAR mapping every nook and cranny in three dimensions. For special forces, this is like having X-ray vision—planning raids with a level of detail that was once unthinkable.

Engineers are now looking to nature’s own flyers for inspiration. Teams at MIT and Harvard are crafting “RoboBees,” tiny drones powered by artificial muscles made from special piezoelectric materials.

When jolted with electricity, these materials contract, flapping wings at a blur: over 120 times a second. Mimicking insects gives these drones a unique edge; they can dart, dodge, and hover in turbulent air where a regular quadcopter would tumble. Picture a hallway or tunnel, buffeted by shifting currents; a place where agility is everything.

What once belonged to science fiction is now within reach of engineering. The idea of a wasp-sized drone delivering a toxic payload isn’t just a movie plot anymore. Thanks to microfluidics and microelectromechanical systems, a tiny drone can carry milligrams of a potent agent, striking with precision instead of blast.

The next frontier is even smaller: research is pointing toward nanorobots, machines invisible to the eye, capable of entering the bloodstream and targeting organs or causing undetectable harm.

In this new age, the future of aerial warfare may not roar overhead. It may buzz, unseen, just out of sight.

Pocket-Sized Airpower: The Features That Drive the Invisible War

The Black Hornet 3 is a true marvel in the world of miniature aviation and a testament to what American innovation can achieve. Weighing in at a featherlight 33 grams and stretching just over six inches, this drone is no bigger than the palm of your hand, yet it’s already become an essential tool for the U.S. Army and NATO troops on the ground.

With a flight time of 25 minutes and a range of two kilometers, the Black Hornet 3 is a reconnaissance ace, giving soldiers a set of eyes that can slip over hills, around buildings, or deep into the unknown—all without risking a life.

But the future promises even more. Thanks to DARPA’s Fast Lightweight Autonomy program, there’s work underway to make these little wonders truly independent. Imagine a drone that navigates unknown territory not with GPS or constant commands, but with its own onboard artificial intelligence. This machine reads the world in real time and chooses its own flight path, just like a living creature with pure machine instinct.

The Black Hornet 3’s kit is a pilot’s dream of portability and efficiency. The micro-drone comes with its own docking station for charging, and a monitor about the size of a tablet. The whole package—drone, station, and monitor—barely tips the scales at three pounds, making it easy for soldiers to carry on the move. While the Black Hornet is in the air, a spare battery can be charging back in the dock, always ready for the next flight.

Security is top-tier, too. All wireless commands and data between the operator and the drone are encrypted, keeping the system safe from hackers. The Black Hornet wasn’t built for hours-long surveillance, but rather to give troops a quick peek over the next hill or behind that wall, making it an invaluable tool for instant reconnaissance.

Learning to fly this tiny aviator takes just 16 hours of training, and the controls are as intuitive as starting up a favorite gadget. Just a couple of twists in your hand, and the rotors spin to life. Soldiers report the drone is reliable, easy to steer, and maintains its command links without a hitch.

Stealth is its secret weapon. Painted a muted gray, the Black Hornet blends right into forests and jungles. It’s so quiet and unassuming that, during tests, one soldier never noticed it hovering just feet away—mistaking it, perhaps, for nothing more than a passing bird or oversized insect. That’s the future of reconnaissance: silent, unseen, and always watching.

The Invisible Wings: What Miniature Drones Mean for U.S. and Allied Power

Imagine this: airpower, once the domain of sprawling runways and massive carrier decks, now fits in the palm of a soldier’s hand. Miniature drones give every squad its own set of wings—launching tiny eyes and sensors that slip through alleys, skim treetops, and even dart through open windows.

The high ground? It’s wherever you need it to be, delivering instant surveillance and targeting.

For the U.S. and its allies, this means smaller units can spot, track, and strike faster, compressing the kill chain and relying less on scarce, expensive aircraft. When coalition partners speak the same data language and share tactics, that advantage multiplies across borders.

But this revolution cuts both ways. The same small drones that give us eyes everywhere also jam the skies with cheap, swarming adversaries. Suddenly, the question isn’t just “who has the best drone,” but who can sort, identify, and counter this flood of flying machines, even when GPS is jammed, and communications are under attack.

The U.S. treats these small drones as both an asset and a challenge, building layered defenses and joint strategies to keep ahead.

For alliances like NATO, the real test is interoperability. How do you defend against swarms without breaking the bank? How do you link sensors and defenses across nations?

As drones evolve from pocket-sized scouts to networked swarms, winning tomorrow’s invisible war will hinge not just on more drones, but on smarter collaboration and resilient, scalable command.

This Week in Aviation History

On February 24, the coalition unleashed a ground assault that swept across the desert with relentless force, quickly outmatching Iraq’s aging and under-equipped military. By nightfall, the Iraqi army had collapsed—10,000 troops captured, and a U.S. air base firmly planted deep in enemy territory. In less than four days, Kuwait was freed, and most of Iraq’s forces had been shattered, surrendered, or driven back across their own border.

Operation Desert Storm

Operation Desert Storm was a true display of international resolve, commanded by U.S. General Norman Schwarzkopf and drawing together 32 nations, Britain, Egypt, France, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and more, into a coalition force.

For six weeks, allied airpower thundered above Iraq, dismantling military and civil targets while encountering little resistance from Iraqi fighters below. On the ground, Saddam Hussein’s forces were largely paralyzed, his desperate salvo of Scud missiles aimed at Israel and Saudi Arabia failing to ignite the wider regional conflict he hoped for. Israel, at America’s urging, stayed out of the fight.

Then, on February 24, the coalition launched a ground offensive that swept across the desert like a sandstorm. Iraq’s outdated, poorly equipped army crumbled almost instantly. By nightfall, 10,000 prisoners had been taken and a U.S. air base established deep inside Iraqi territory.

In less than four days, Kuwait was free and most of Iraq’s forces had been destroyed, captured, or sent fleeing for home. President George Bush declared a cease-fire on February 28, with Iraq agreeing to coalition and U.N. terms. American sacrifices were real—125 killed, 21 missing—but the swift victory was decisive.

It was also the first combat test for the A-10 “Warthog.” The results were legendary: over 900 tanks, 2,000 vehicles, and 1,200 artillery pieces destroyed. That the Warthog still flies nearly three decades later speaks volumes about its rugged power.

Still, the skies were not without danger: 39 fixed-wing aircraft and five helicopters fell to Iraqi air defenses, including six A-10s. A flight commander, Captain Dale Storr, was shot down over Kuwait and presumed lost until his release from captivity after the war. We knew every sortie carried risk, but we flew on, driven by duty and trust in the machines beneath our wings.

Under the Hood of the A-10

The A-10C Thunderbolt II isn’t just another aircraft. It’s the pilot’s best friend down low and slow, hugging terrain with remarkable agility and pinpoint accuracy. This bird can linger over the battlefield for hours, swooping in from rough, makeshift strips close to the front lines, and operating in weather so thick you can barely see a mile ahead.

Whether unleashing precision-guided or old-school unguided munitions, the A-10C delivers its payload in any condition—above, below, or right through the clouds. Nightfall is no obstacle; with night vision goggles and advanced cockpit systems, these pilots own the darkness.

Step inside the cockpit and you’ll find a single seat up front, wrapped in a titanium “bathtub” that shields the pilot and vital controls. The panoramic bubble canopy gives unmatched visibility, while the Helmet Mounted Cueing System lets the pilot lock eyes and weapons on any threat.

The Thunderbolt’s rugged design means it can take a beating—shrugging off direct hits from 23mm rounds, self-sealing its fuel tanks, and relying on manual backups if hydraulics fail. In the heat of close air support, when survival and precision matter most, the A-10C stands alone, built to bring its pilot home.

Let me give you a short rundown of this legendary bird.

Primary Function: A-10 -- close air support, airborne forward air control, combat search and rescue
Contractor: Fairchild Republic Co.
Power Plant: Two General Electric TF34-GE-100 turbofans
Thrust: 9,065 pounds each engine
Length: 53 feet, 4 inches (16.16 meters)
Height: 14 feet, 8 inches (4.42 meters)
Wingspan: 57 feet, 6 inches (17.42 meters)
Speed: 420 miles per hour (Mach 0.56)
Ceiling: 45,000 feet (13,636 meters)
Maximum Takeoff Weight: 51,000 pounds (22,950 kilograms)
Range: 800 miles (695 nautical miles)
Armament: One 30mm GAU-8/A seven-barrel Gatling gun; up to 16,000 pounds (7,200 kilograms) of mixed ordnance on eight under-wing and three under-fuselage pylon stations, including 500 pound (225 kilograms) Mk-82 and 2,000 pounds (900 kilograms) Mk-84 series low/high drag bombs, incendiary cluster bombs, combined effects munitions, mine dispensing munitions, AGM-65 Maverick missiles, laser-/GPS-guided bombs, unguided and laser-guided 2.75-inch (6.99 centimeters) rockets; infrared countermeasure flares; electronic countermeasure chaff; jammer pods; illumination flares and AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles.
Crew: One
Date Deployed: March 1976
Unit Cost: $9.8 million (fiscal 98 constant dollars)
Inventory: Total Force – approximately 281

Desert Thunder: Airpower and the Legacy of Desert Storm

Operation Desert Storm’s true legacy isn’t just a headline victory from 1991—it’s the moment when the U.S. reimagined how to shape the Middle East from the sky.

The campaign kicked off with a dazzling show of precision: jet fighters and cruise missiles hammering Iraqi targets, setting the tone for a six-week air assault that crippled enemy units and command centers before most coalition boots even touched the ground.

The world took notice. America’s pinpoint strikes and overwhelming airpower changed military thinking everywhere. Realizing they couldn’t match the U.S. in open battle, rivals shifted their focus to asymmetric strategies; developing ballistic missiles, nuclear deterrents, and tactics designed to blunt America’s technological edge.

Insurgents in later conflicts like Somalia, Afghanistan, and Iraq found new ways to complicate the high-tech advantage, while major powers like China and Russia poured resources into narrowing the gap, inching ever closer over the decades.

Desert Storm proved that air dominance could flip the script on day one. Yet, the region’s story didn’t end there. The choices made high above the desert shaped every chapter that followed, leaving a long shadow over the Middle East; one that still stretches across today’s evolving skies.

In Case You Missed It

The unsung hero of airlift:

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

Like what you’re reading? Stay in the loop by signing up below—it’s quick, easy, and always free.
This newsletter will always be free for everyone, but if you want to go further, support the mission, and unlock bonus content like the Midweek Sortie, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Your support keeps this flight crew flying—and I couldn’t do it without you.

– Tog

“An Iranian drone was shot down as it ‘aggressively approached’ an American aircraft carrier in the Arabian Sea on Tuesday.”

—US Central Command spokesman Captain Tim Hawkins

Mission Briefing

On 3 February 2026, the calm of the Gulf of Oman was shattered as a U.S. Navy F-35C, poised atop the deck of the nuclear-powered USS Abraham Lincoln, locked onto a shadow moving fast across the horizon—a Shahed-139 drone, Iranian and uninvited, closing in with unknown intent. Eight hundred kilometers from the Iranian coast, steel met silence as the stealth fighter sent a message skyward: on this sea, the line between peace and provocation is razor thin, and vigilance never rests.

The Encounter in the Arabian Sea

In the opening days of February 2026, the air above the Gulf and Arabian Sea thrummed with tension, the stakes rising with every headline out of Washington and Tehran. The reasons were as layered as the clouds overhead: Iran’s nuclear ambitions, its regional maneuvering, and the unmistakable uptick in American military muscle flexing across these strategic waters.

Patrolling the heart of this chessboard was the USS Abraham Lincoln, the mighty nuclear-powered carrier, its decks bristling with the cutting-edge F-35C Lightning IIs. Since late January, the Lincoln and her air wing had kept to a steady watch, ranging some 500 to 800 nautical miles off Iran’s southern coast. It is a calculated show of presence and resolve.

It was here, in these contested skies, that the drama unfolded. It is a Shahed-139 drone, built by Iranian engineers and capable of both surveillance and loitering strikes, pushed into the carrier group’s orbit.

Its purpose, cloaked in ambiguity, was later framed by Iranian sources as a lawful reconnaissance mission over international waters. But for the crew aboard the Lincoln, the drone’s persistence, despite clear warnings, broke the thin line between curiosity and threat.

The decision to bring the drone down was guided not just by tactical instinct, but by the longstanding principles of international law: a nation has the right to protect its ships and sailors from imminent danger, especially in these tense corridors where seconds matter and intentions can be deadly. U.S. officials described the act as a measured response—one that prioritized the security of the carrier and her crew above all uncertainty.

The ripple effects were immediate. News of the encounter sent crude oil prices climbing by a dollar a barrel, a stark reminder that these waters are not just a military flashpoint, but a lifeline for the world’s energy supply. The Strait of Hormuz, narrow and vital, suddenly felt even tighter as investors braced for the unknown.

In this modern age, where drones and stealth fighters trade shadows over open seas, every move echoes far beyond the horizon—reminding us that the front lines of security and commerce are often the same.

The Anatomy of the Legends: The F35C and the USS Abraham Lincoln

The F-35C Lightning II stands at the cutting edge of naval aviation. It is a fifth-generation marvel crafted for the unique demands of carrier operations.

Forged for the flattop’s rolling decks, this American stealth fighter weaves invisibility, advanced sensors, and seamless data sharing into a single, lethal package, all to keep a vigilant watch over the vast airspace surrounding a carrier strike group.

When the order came to intercept the approaching drone, it was the F-35C that answered the call—a testament to the premium placed on the safety of the carrier and her thousands of crews.

By deploying such an advanced aircraft for this task, commanders signaled both restraint and resolve: neutralizing a potential threat without inviting escalation, all while demonstrating the technological edge that keeps the carrier’s guardians a step ahead in the world’s most contested waters.

Specifications

Length: 51.5 ft / 15.7 m
Speed: Mach 1.6
Wingspan: 43 ft / 13.1 m
Wing area: 668 ft2 / 62.1 m2
Combat radius (internal fuel): >600 n.mi / 1,100 km
Range (internal fuel): >1,200 n.mi / 2,200 km
Internal fuel capacity: 19,200 lb / 8,708 kg
Max g-rating: 7.5
Weapons payload: 18,000 lb / 8,160 kg
Propulsion: F135-PW-100
Thrust*: 40,000 lb Max / 25,000 lb Mil

Let us now take a closer look at its mothership, the USS Abraham Lincoln

Keel Laid: November 3, 1984 Christened: February 13, 1988 Commissioned: November 11, 1989 Builder: Newport News Shipbuilding Co., Newport News, Va. Propulsion system: two Westinghouse A4W nuclear reactors, four steam turbines, four shafts, 260,000 shp (194 MW). Lengths, overall: 1.092 feet (332.85 meters) Flight Deck Width: 252 feet (76.8 meters) Area of flight deck: about 4.5 acres (18211.5 m2) Beam: 134 feet (40.84 meters) Draft: 37.7 feet (11.3 meters) Displacement: approx. 101,000-104,000 tons full load Speed: 30+ knots Planes: 90 fixed wing and helicopters Crew: Ship: 3,200 ; Air Wing: 2,480

Armament:

- four MK-38 Mod 2 25mm Machine Gun Systems (MGS) - two Rolling Airframe Missile (RAM) launchers - two MK-29 ESSM launchers - two MK-15 20mm Phalanx CIWS

Homeport: San Diego, CA.

Allied Networks, Shared Defended Space

The downing of an Iranian Shahed-139 drone by an F-35C launched from the USS Abraham Lincoln may seem like just another tense encounter on the high seas, but beneath the surface, it speaks volumes about the new realities of airpower. This was more than a stealth fighter flexing its muscles; it was a fifth-generation guardian performing a mission that’s become routine—countering the persistent threat of unmanned aircraft over contested waters.

Gone are the days when carrier air wings simply prepared for high-stakes strike missions. Now, their pilots routinely scan the skies for elusive drones, racing against compressed timelines as these small, affordable threats test the nerves and readiness of entire strike groups.

The F-35C’s rapid interception illustrates how air superiority has evolved: it’s not just about dominating the skies, but about shielding the fleet and preserving freedom of maneuver in the face of proliferating, unpredictable hazards.

Every drone approach, especially from a platform as widely fielded as Iran’s Shahed series, forces difficult choices: warn, jam, outmaneuver, or, as in this case, shoot. For America’s allies and partners, there’s a clear lesson: success at sea depends on seamless teamwork and the ability to scale up detection, decision, and defense.

As drones grow smarter and more numerous, the true edge will belong to those who can turn split-second danger into a routine shield; protecting the fleet, time after time.

This Week in Aviation History

As the path to the Japanese homeland became clear, the stage was set for the invasion of Iwo Jima in February 1945, with Admiral Raymond Spruance’s Fifth Fleet and Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher’s Fast Carrier Force unleashing fierce air and naval bombardments starting February 10.

Under the codename Operation Detachment, the Fourth and Fifth Marine Divisions—led by Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith—stormed ashore on February 19, braving volcanic sands and entrenched defenders. After a month of brutal fighting, the island was finally secured on March 16, marking a pivotal chapter in the Pacific campaign.

The Battle for Iwo Jima

As dawn broke on February 16, 1945, the horizon off Iwo Jima was lined with the thunderous might of Task Force 54, under Rear Admiral William H.P. Blandy.

Six battleships—Arkansas, New York, Texas, Nevada, Idaho, and Tennessee—alongside five cruisers, including the storied Pensacola and Salt Lake City, drew closer to shore than doctrine usually allowed, bringing their guns to bear on the black volcanic sands and the forbidding heights above the landing beaches.

Despite limited time, poor visibility, and the daunting challenge of entrenched Japanese defenses, these warships unleashed a torrent of fire meant to soften the island’s iron grip.

But Iwo Jima would not yield easily. On D-Day, February 19, the naval gunfire grew even fiercer as three more battleships—North Carolina, Washington, and West Virginia—joined the barrage, along with cruisers Indianapolis, Santa Fe, and Biloxi.

Nearly 14,000 tons of shells rained down, shattering blockhouses and lighting up the labyrinth of caves and tunnels. Yet, when the Fourth and Fifth Marine Divisions, led by Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith, stormed ashore, they met an enemy still fiercely dug in and ready to fight for every inch.

The Marines’ advance was a grim, grinding ordeal. Armed with flamethrowers, bazookas, demolition charges, and grenades, they battled through a honeycomb of underground fortifications, facing Japanese soldiers who emerged from hidden tunnels to ambush and then vanished beneath the earth.

General Smith would later call Iwo Jima “the most savage and costly battle in the history of the Marine Corps.” The island was finally declared secure on March 16, but not before thousands of Marines had paid the ultimate price.

Strategically, Iwo Jima was the key to the air war against Japan. Just 700 miles from the home islands, it became a vital base for P-51 fighters and B-29 bombers, offering both a launching point for raids and a desperately needed emergency landing strip for crippled bombers returning from missions.

By late 1944, the Japanese had carved two airfields into the volcanic rock and were working on a third, shielded by an interlocking maze of tunnels, trenches, and fortified gun positions, especially around Mt. Suribachi, the island’s iconic peak.

It was atop Suribachi, on February 23, 1945, that Marines raised the American flag in a moment immortalized in history.

The first flag was too small to be seen by all; a second, larger flag was raised soon after, prompting Secretary of the Navy James V. Forrestal to remark, “the raising of the flag on Suribachi means a Marine Corps for the next 500 years.”

Yet, even as that image circled the world, desperate resistance continued, and victory was only declared weeks later—a testament to the island’s fierce defenders and the indomitable will of the Marines who took it.

Battleships at Iwo’s Gate

In February 1945, a formidable armada—eight battleships, five heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, and ten destroyers—gathered off a small volcanic island just 650 miles from Tokyo: Iwo Jima, the crucial link on the bomber route between Tokyo and the Marianas.

The Allies needed this rugged outpost as a base for fighter escorts and a lifeline for battered B-29s limping home from raids over Japan. But waiting for them were 22,000 Japanese defenders, dug deep into a labyrinth of caves and tunnels, determined to fight to the last man to deny the Allies a foothold.

Let me give you a quick rundown of the B-29, one of the birds involved in the Battle for Iwo Jima

Armament: Eight .50-cal. machine guns in remote controlled turrets plus two .50-cal. machine guns and one 20mm cannon in tail; 20,000 lbs. of bombs
Engines: Four Wright R-3350s of 2,200 hp each
Maximum speed: 357 mph
Cruising speed: 220 mph
Range: 3,700 miles
Ceiling: 33,600 ft.
Span: 141 ft. 3 in.
Length: 99 ft.
Height: 27 ft. 9 in.
Weight: 133,500 lbs. maximum
Serial number: 44-27297

Meanwhile, let us take a closer look at the anatomy of this battleship, USS Arkansas (BB-33)

Displacement: 26,000 tons Length: 562 ft. Beam: 93.1 ft. Draft: 28.5 ft. Propulsion: 12 Babcock and Wilcox coal-fired boilers with oil spray, 4-shaft Parsons direct-drive steam turbines Speed: 20.5 knots Complement: 1,063 men​ Armament (as built): 12 × 12-inch/50 caliber Mark 7 guns; 21 × 5”/51 caliber guns; 2 × 21” torpedo tubes

The Legacy of the Hardest Beach

The legacy of Iwo Jima is often reduced to one famous photograph—but its lasting impact is really about access, airpower, and the brutal price of seizing (and holding) forward positions.

Militarily, Iwo proved that a small island could be a strategic switchyard: in U.S. hands, its airfields became a refuge for damaged or fuel-starved bombers and a platform for extending fighter reach. A disabled B-29 made the first emergency landing in March 1945, and by war’s end the island’s fields had logged more B-29 landings.

It is a concrete measure of how “one more divert airfield” can translate into saved crews and preserved combat power. Iwo also served as an emergency landing field and as a base enabling fighters to escort B-29s—helping protect the strategic air campaign’s tempo and survivability.

Operationally, Iwo Jima hardened U.S. doctrine on amphibious assault against a prepared, subterranean defense—a fight defined by caves, tunnels, and fortifications that demanded relentless combined arms and combat engineering under fire. It also became a benchmark for the human cost of forcing entry: the battle ended in the same month of 1945 after staggering casualties on both sides.

Iwo’s lesson isn’t only about taking ground. It’s about protecting the routes, bases, and people that make airpower possible, a reminder that “access” still has a cost even in today’s long-range, networked wars.

In Case You Missed It

Photo Outlet

Every issue of Hangar Flying with Tog gets you a free image that I’ve taken at airshows:

Feel free to use these photos however you like, if you choose to tag me, I am @pilotphotog on all social platforms. Thanks!

Post Flight Debrief

Like what you’re reading? Stay in the loop by signing up below—it’s quick, easy, and always free.
This newsletter will always be free for everyone, but if you want to go further, support the mission, and unlock bonus content like the Midweek Sortie, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
Your support keeps this flight crew flying—and I couldn’t do it without you.

– Tog

“The OV-1 was such a unique aircraft; it had a variety of sensors and cameras. For an airplane designed in the late 1950’s, it truly was packed with interesting equipment.”

—Retired Captain Gary Clark

The briefing room smells like JP-4 and coffee that’s been burning since before sunrise. A map of the inner German border is pinned to corkboard, its red grease-pencil lines tracing valleys, gaps, and the roads you’re about to “read” from a few hundred feet up.

Outside, the OV-1 Mohawk waits—tripletail, blunt-nosed, built like a tool rather than a trophy. In the cockpit you sit shoulder-to-shoulder, pilot and sensor operator, and the airplane’s real “weapons” aren’t under the wings today, they’re in the mission kit: cameras, infrared, radar.

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Training will have to meet international flight regulations and Federal Aviation Administration flight rules. Instruction will be at the industry partner’s facilities, utilizing their aircraft and infrastructure

—Air Force Request for Information

Mission Briefing

At the end of January 2026, a quiet ripple ran through the aviation world: the U.S. Air Force was on the hunt for skilled hands to shape the next generation of foreign pilots, right here on American soil. Demand for these training programs was soaring to new heights, outpacing even the boldest projections. Beyond the gleaming promise of fighter jet sales, a subtler challenge loomed; a bottleneck that could determine the future of air power.

Airpower’s Bottleneck: Solving the Training Gap

As the last days of January 2026 slipped off the calendar, a subtle but telling signal emerged from the heart of American defense aviation. Defense News broke the story: the U.S. Air Force was quietly seeking companies ready to take on a vital mission—training foreign pilots on American soil.

Not with grand contracts just yet, but with a Request for Information, a kind of feeler, a call into the wind to see who might answer, how quickly, and at what cost.

Now, to the untrained eye, this might seem like just another bit of administrative paperwork. But in aviation, the fine print often carries more weight than the headlines. Behind every new jet rolling off the assembly line—be it the cutting-edge F-35 or the venerable F-16—lies a more complex, and frankly, more stubborn challenge: transforming a sale into real-world capability.

See, ramping up a factory floor is one thing. Machines work to schedule, day and night, if you feed them parts and power. But cultivating a combat-ready aviator? That’s a different league.

You can’t rush hundreds of hours in the cockpit, nor can you mass-produce the wisdom that seasoned instructors pass down, one sortie at a time. This isn’t just about filling cockpits. It’s about building muscle memory, judgment, and the kind of cool-headed decision-making that separates a pilot from a passenger.

That’s why this move toward outsourcing training isn’t just a business decision; it’s a sign of the times. The pipeline that feeds both U.S. and allied squadrons is being stretched to its limits. Demand from abroad is now pulling on the same resources the U.S. relies on, and that pipeline, no matter how you look at it, only has so much room.

There’s another layer here, too. The Air Force is looking to outsource the basics: instruction on demilitarized or commercially derived aircraft. Think of it as teaching a pilot to walk before they run; mastering instrument procedures, crew coordination, and unclassified mission profiles on simpler platforms, before moving on to the front lines.

The goal? Free up the most advanced jets and instructors for the training that truly demands them.

And this isn’t just about fighter pilots. The call extends to all corners of military aviation—surveillance, maritime patrol, medevac, search and rescue, even elements of electronic warfare. Washington wants to expand its training throughput, but not at the expense of its most precious resources.

The irony is almost cinematic: while flashy jet sales make the evening news, the real story unfolds behind the scenes, in briefing rooms and on training ranges. Without a robust training chain, gleaming airframes become little more than expensive lawn ornaments; capable in theory, but grounded in practice.

There’s a sovereignty angle, too. Nations that rely on U.S. training schedules accept a degree of strategic dependence. When tensions rise, the waiting game for qualified crews can become a vulnerability all its own.

And the numbers don’t lie. Lockheed Martin is set to deliver a record 191 F-35s in 2025, swelling the global fleet to nearly 1,300 aircraft across a dozen countries.

The F-16, too, is experiencing a renaissance: over a hundred new Block 70/72 models on order, dozens already delivered. Modernization isn’t a one-time wave. It ripples through generations of aircraft, each requiring its own cadre of trained pilots, instructors, and ground crews.

A new fighter jet is a promise, yes. But capability, that elusive blend of availability, safety, and operational excellence; depends on people as much as machines. An F-16 Block 70/72 boasts a robust lifespan and impressive thrust, but none of that matters if it sits idle, waiting for a crew.

In plain terms, handing over a jet without the training pipeline to support it is like parking potential on the ramp, waiting for the day it can finally take flight.

Beyond the Headline: The AETC and the ENJJPT

For decades, the international training web has run quietly and efficiently, much of it orchestrated by the Air Education and Training Command—the nerve center of pilot production and the gateway for allied aircrew.

Each year, more than 9,000 students from some 142 nations pass through America’s security assistance program. And it’s not just pilots—mechanics, systems techs, all the men and women who keep a jet combat-ready day after day join the ranks, learning more than just how to turn a wrench or handle a stick.

Here’s why that number matters: the United States isn’t simply shipping aircraft overseas. What’s really being exported is a whole operational language—procedures, safety protocols, standards, interoperability, and the disciplined methods that make a modern air force tick. You can’t download that overnight; it has to be taught, absorbed, and practiced.

At the heart of this process is the Air Force Security Assistance Training Squadron, quietly aligning the needs of partner nations with America’s own security priorities, matching training slots to base availability and industry timelines.

But when several allies ramp up their programs at once, the strain is real; on instructors, on simulators, on training fleets, and even on the airspace itself.

That’s the backdrop for the Air Force’s latest move: seeking outside providers to create extra capacity fast, especially in the less-sensitive stages of training, before pilots step into the classified world of combat operations.

The goal is ambitious: 1,500 new pilots a year by 2026. But targets don’t conjure more flight hours, billets, or training aircraft out of thin air. Some bases are already pushing to graduate over 350 aviators a year, while others are hampered by maintenance woes or limited accommodation.

Even with Euro- NATO’s joint jet pilot training program sharing the load, its output is finite. If demand swells across multiple countries at once, the system’s limits become clear. No matter how many jets are waiting on the ramp.

Cleared for Takeoff: Navigating the New Bottleneck in Allied Pilot Training

The U.S. Air Force’s recent Request for Information is more than just paperwork. It’s a candid signal to the aviation world: the flow of training is reaching its limit as allied nations clamor for American aircraft and expertise.

The bottleneck isn’t in the factories, but on the flight lines and in the classrooms, where the journey from “jet on the ramp” to a combat-ready pilot can stretch on longer than any procurement schedule.

For America’s allies, tapping into contractor-backed training offers a way to break free from the logjam. By outsourcing the early, less-sensitive phases—basic flying, instrument procedures, crew teamwork, and unclassified mission profiles, often on commercial or demilitarized airframes—partner nations can field new squadrons sooner. It’s a shortcut, of sorts, that keeps their investments meaningful and ensures deterrence remains more than just a talking point.

From the U.S. perspective, it’s a balancing act. The Air Force must safeguard its own training capacity, even as it honors commitments to partners around the globe. With goals like producing 1,500 pilots a year, every slot counts.

But opening the doors to outside providers isn’t without turbulence. There are questions of standardization, quality control, data security, and, not least, the sovereignty of how each nation shapes its own aviators.

The real story isn’t just about bringing contractors into the fold. It’s the dawning realization that the pilot training pipeline itself has become a strategic lever; frontline infrastructure for coalition airpower.

The next big debate? How much of that pipeline can be scaled up, and which parts must remain tightly held to preserve the sharp edge of readiness?

This Week in Aviation History

February 1943, morning breaks over Guadalcanal as the squadron’s F4U Corsairs touch down, their engines still humming with anticipation. By afternoon, there’s no settling in—these aviators are called straight into the fray.

Their first combat mission isn’t a strike, but a lifeline: nine hours aloft, shepherding a PBY Catalina across 230 miles of restless Pacific, determined to bring home two fellow pilots stranded at Sandfly Bay off Vella Lavella.

In a single day, the squadron trades the dust of the runway for the gravity of rescue, their introduction to combat etched not in gunfire, but in the unwavering resolve to never leave a comrade behind.

The Whistling Death/Wild Aces

Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 124 (known as the “Wild Aces”) was a name spoken with a mix of awe and respect in ready rooms and on flight lines across the Pacific.

Born at Camp Kearney in San Diego on September 1942, the squadron’s pilots were declared operational by the end of that same year, barely having twenty-five hours apiece in their brand-new F4U Corsairs. Yet, history doesn’t wait for perfect readiness.

By February 1943, the Wild Aces were carving their legend into the South Pacific sky. Eleven Corsairs roared off on their first major combat mission, escorting nine PB4Y-1 Liberators as they hunted Japanese shipping near Bougainville. Here, the Corsair tasted battle for the first time in the theater; facing down Zeros and floatplanes in a deadly ballet of speed and fire.

The next day, the cycle repeated itself: twelve more Corsairs, another high-stakes escort run, and heartbreak etched into the logbooks as two pilots—1st Lt. Gordon Lee Lyon, Jr. and 2nd Lt. Harold Ralph Stewart—vanished into the vast blue, never to return.

The cost of battle would not relent. Weeks later, another Corsair and its pilot, 1st Lt. Walter A. Franklin, Jr., were lost. But the squadron pressed on. March 29, 1943, dawned with a bold joint-service sweep: Captain Tom Lanphier led a handful of P-38 Lightnings and VMF-124 Corsairs into the teeth of the enemy. Weather scattered the formation, but those who found the target struck hard, strafing seaplane bases at Shortland, sending enemy floatplanes up in flames, and even raking a Japanese subchaser as they sped home.

May brought more ferocity. On the 13th, fifteen Corsairs scrambled to intercept incoming Japanese fighters over the Russell Islands, clashing with A6M2 Zeros in a twisting dogfight. Major William Gise, the squadron’s leader, did not come back. The very next day, Captain Brewer stepped up as Commanding Officer, with Captain Quilty as his Executive Officer.

Throughout the summer of 1943, the Wild Aces relieved VMF-213 and continued to fly hard. August 30 saw another escort mission. This time from Barakoma Airfield, guiding B-24 Liberators to Kahilli Airfield. Another name was added to the roll of the missing: 1st Lt. James L. Fowler.

Yet amid the crucible, heroism soared. Kenneth A. Walsh, one of their own, flew with such skill and valor on August 15 and again on August 30 that he became the first Corsair pilot to earn the Medal of Honor. The Wild Aces had written their story in the Russells, New Georgia, and Vella Lavella; etched in victories, sacrifices, and aerial mastery.

By September 7, 1943, their first Pacific tour closed. VMF-124 left the Solomon Islands behind, returning to the United States to regroup and train, their legacy already secured in the annals of Marine Corps aviation.

Under the Hoods of the Birds used by the Wild Aces

Features of the A-4E

Dimensions & Weights

Wingspan: 27 ft, 6 in (8.38 m)

Length: 40ft 4in (12.29 m) excluding refueling probe

Height: 15 ft, 10 in (4.57 m)

Wing area: 260 sq ft (24.16 sq m)

Empty Weight: 10,800 lb (4,899 kg)

Maximum Takeoff Weight: 24,500 lb (11,113 kg)

Accommodation

One (pilot)

Performance

Maximum speed: 1,040 mph (646 kmh) with 4,000lb (1,814 kg) bomb load

Initial climb rate: 10,300ft ft/min (3,140 m/min)

Range: 2,000 miles (3,220 km) with maximum fuel

Powerplant

One 11,200 lb (5,080kg ) Pratt & Whitney J52-P-408 turbojet

Armament

Fixed: Two Mk 12 20mm cannon with 200 rounds per gun in the wing roots

Disposable: This is carried on one under fuselage hardpoint, rated at 3,500 lb (1,588 kg), and on four underwing hardpoints, the inner pair each rated at 2,250 lb (1,021 kg) and the outer pair each at 1,000 lb (454 kg); a great variety of weapon loads can be carried, including nuclear bombs, the Mk 84 2,000 lb (907 kg) bomb, the Mk 83 1,000 lb (454kg) free-fall or retarded bomb, the Mk 82 500 lb (227 kg) free-fall or retarded bomb, the Mk 81 250 lb (113 kg) free-fall or retarded bomb, the LAU-3/A launcher with 19 2.75 inch (69.85mm) rockets, the LAU-10/A launcher with four 5 inch (127mm) rockets.

Electronics

Communication and navigation equipment, plus Bendix automatic flight control, Marconi AN/AVQ-24 head-up display, Texas Instruments AN/AJB-3 bombing system, ANIASN-41 navigation computer, AN/APN153(V) radar navigation, and electronic countermeasures.

Features of the Vought F4U Corsair

Wingspan: 41 feet

Length: 34 feet, 6 inches

Height: 14 feet, 9 inches

Empty Weight: 9,683 pounds

Max. Weight: 14,106 pounds

Powerplants: 1 Pratt and Whitney R-2800-32

Armament: 4 Wing Mounted 20mm Cannons

Crew: 1

Max Speed: 408 mph

Service Ceiling: 41,400 feet

Range: 1,120 miles

Legacy Written in Transitions

VMFA-124’s story begins with a bold first step. As VMF-124, they became the very first Marine squadron to take command of the Vought F4U Corsair in late October 1942; placing faith in a rugged, temperamental fighter that would soon become a winged legend across the Pacific.

Their pioneering spirit wasn’t confined to the tarmac; in February 1943, the squadron climbed into history, flying the Corsair’s first combat mission from Guadalcanal. The task was simple, escort a PB2Y on a rescue run, but crossing that threshold marked the start of a new era in Marine aviation.

Their legacy didn’t stop at land-based operations. VMF-124 helped shatter old boundaries by bringing the Corsair—and Marine tactical aviation—aboard the USS Essex. No longer just a land-based force, these Marines proved they could surge from the sea, flying real strike operations side by side with the Navy. Archival reports confirm that this was no mere demonstration, but a genuine integration into fleet combat.

After the guns fell silent, the squadron’s significance evolved. Reborn as VMA-124 in the Marine Reserve, the unit kept the torch of tactical excellence burning. Through changing jets and shifting demands, the Wild Aces earned multiple safety and performance awards, a testament to their enduring professionalism and the culture of safe, skillful flying that defined every chapter of their legacy.

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