Author: Ross

I am an independent scholar specialising in the history of war. I have nearly 20 years of experience within the education, museum and heritage sectors in Australia and the United Kingdom. I am currently the Senior Historian at Brisbane City Council in Australia. I am also the editor-in-chief and owner of 'From Balloons to Drones.' My research interests focus on the history of air power and air warfare, military leadership and command, military culture, and the history and development of professional military education. I also maintain an interest in transport history. To date, I have published numerous articles, chapters and encyclopedia entries, edited two books, and delivered papers on three continents to various civilian and military audiences.

Wings over Lebanon: Local Ingenuity and American Assistance in the War against the Islamic State

By Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Jackson, PhD, USAF, and Major (ret) Wael al-Taki, LAF

2 August 2014: Hundreds of Islamic State and al-Nusra Front militants stormed Lebanese Army positions in the Bekaa Valley, fifty miles east-northeast of Beirut. Under relentless fire, Lebanese troops conducted a fighting withdrawal, calling frantically for reinforcements. Amid the chaos, the militants captured 36 soldiers, brutally executing at least four.

High overhead, 1^st Lieutenant Wael al-Taki peered through the infrared camera on a Cessna 208B Grand Caravan – the same single-engine turboprop used by FedEx for rural package delivery. The Lebanese Air Force operated two such aircraft, both modified with surveillance gear. Only one, however, could carry a pair of AGM-114 Hellfire missiles – the same laser-guided missiles used by Apache attack helicopters and Predator and Reaper drones.

The Cessna required a crew of three: two pilots and a mission systems operator (MSO). Yet shortages of trained personnel forced al-Taki to act as both pilot and MSO, moving to the back of the aircraft after take-off to operate the mission systems while Lieutenant C.Y. took the controls.[1] A brigadier general from the operations staff took the other pilot’s seat, relaying strike approvals from the operations centre in Beirut.

Below, the militants surrounded a company of Lebanese troops, their withering fire wounding several soldiers, including the deputy commander. The Cessna banked toward the firefight. Al-Taki gripped the hand controller, aligning the crosshairs with the enemy fighters. He fired the laser designator. He had never fired a laser-guided missile before. In fact, no one in the Lebanese Air Force had ever fired one in combat. “I was just thinking of the guys down there, that someone should save them,” he later recounted. He stole a quick glance out the window as C.Y. jammed his thumb down on the firing button. With a flash, the Hellfire streaked off the launch rail – and into history.[2]

Lieutenant al-Taki’s Hellfire was the opening shot in Lebanon’s three-year air campaign against the Islamic State, culminating in Operation Fajr al-Jaroud, or ‘Dawn of the Hills,’ in August 2017. During that same period, Operation Inherent Resolve, the US-led coalition’s campaign in Iraq and Syria, hammered the Islamic State and other militant groups with over 24 thousand airstrikes from hundreds of the world’s most advanced warplanes, including fourth- and fifth-generation fighters, unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), and stealth bombers.[3] The Lebanese air campaign was exceedingly modest by comparison, yet it successfully rolled back the Islamic State’s western flank. Ultimately, Fajr al-Jaroud continued a pattern established over the previous two decades: modest US security assistance, combined with the ingenuity of Lebanese aviators, enabled the Lebanese Air Force to prevail under challenging battles against violent extremist groups.

A Bell UH-1H Huey II from the 11th Squadron participates in an exercise on the Hannoush Range. (Source: Author)

Rebuilding the Lebanese Air Force

Founded in 1949, the Lebanese Air Force once operated modern jet aircraft, including the de Havilland Vampire, Hawker Hunter, and Dassault Mirage III. American assistance began during the Cold War, with the US Military Assistance Program delivering six Hawker Hunters in 1963. However, a brutal sectarian civil war from 1975 to 1990 left the air force in ruins, forcing the reconciled government to rebuild it from scratch.[4]

Lebanon occupies strategic – and treacherous – terrain, wedged between Syria and Israel. Though the civil war ended in 1990, Syrian troops continued to occupy much of the country’s north until 2005. Israel invaded four times between 1978 and 2024, occupying southern Lebanon from 1982 to 2000.

The US had straightforward goals for supporting the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF) after the civil war: building a non-sectarian national military would strengthen national cohesion and counter the influence of sectarian militias like Hezbollah. ‘The LAF is a key institution of Lebanese statehood,’ declared US Ambassador Elizabeth Richards in 2016. ‘It is Lebanon’s sole legitimate defense force and an essential element in exerting the state’s authority throughout all of Lebanon’s territory.’[5]

Between 1996 and 2001, Lebanon acquired 24 Bell UH-1H Huey helicopters from the US, most of which had been in storage since the end of the Vietnam War. Initially relying on pilots who had trained in the US in the 1980s, the Lebanese Air Force assigned 12 of the helicopters to the 11^th Squadron at Beirut Air Base, eight to the 10^th Squadron at Klayaat Air Base, 55 miles north-northeast of Beirut near the Syrian border, and four to the 14^th Squadron at Rayak Air Base, in the Bekaa Valley, 30 miles east of Beirut. These simple utility helicopters became the backbone of the Lebanese Air Force – and its only combat aircraft – until 2007.[6]

The first battle for the rebuilt air force erupted on 31 December 2000, in the rural Dinniyeh region near Lebanon’s northern border with Syria. Approximately 150 militants from the al-Qaeda-aligned group Takfir wal-Hijra attacked a military checkpoint, killing four soldiers and capturing two. The LAF immediately launched an operation to rescue the captives and eliminate the militants.[7]

Brigadier General S.Y., then a major in the 11^th Squadron, recalled first learning of the attack while at a New Year’s Eve party with his squadron in Beirut. The festivities had begun winding down at four o’clock in the morning when the commander of the air force suddenly burst in, his face pale. “Return to base immediately!” he ordered. The men thought he was joking—or drunk. Frustrated, he bellowed for them to obey his orders at once. “We learned the hard way that he meant business,” S.Y. said.[8]

Two hours later, the major lifted off from Beirut, leading four Hueys north along the Mediterranean coast to reinforce the 10^th Squadron at Klayaat Air Base, closer to the scene of the action. Upon arrival, they found the base buzzing with activity: Two companies from Lebanon’s elite Ranger Regiment had already arrived, along with two mechanised infantry companies and an armoured platoon. The LAF planned to deploy the Rangers to assault the militants’ mountain stronghold, while the mechanised infantry and armour secured Klayaat.

The helicopter force split into an assault group of eight and a reserve group of two, the latter consisting of one aircraft for medical evacuation (MEDEVAC) and another equipped with two 7.62-millimetre door guns for armed reconnaissance. In the afternoon, two 14^th Squadron Hueys arrived from Rayak to reinforce the reserve group.

At nine o’clock in the morning, with temperatures hovering just below freezing, the assault group launched for the target area. Situated 5,200 feet above sea level, the high-altitude landing zones limited each helicopter to carrying only seven Rangers with their heavy gear, instead of the usual eleven. “Navigation to the landing zones was the hardest part, as the air force still used primitive methods in those days,” recalled S.Y. “Our best navigational equipment were the terrain maps provided by the directorate of geographic affairs.”

The assault group split into two elements, each led by a 10^th Squadron pilot familiar with the terrain. “We flew nap of the earth,” said S.Y., “using the deep valleys and low terrain features to remain hidden from enemy observation.” The first element landed to the south and southwest of the target, while the second landed to the north. The Hueys then returned to Klayaat for another load. In total, they lifted approximately 200 soldiers onto the battlefield. The rapid encirclement enabled by air power allowed the Rangers to crush the militants in just forty-eight hours. The Lebanese Army lost 11 soldiers killed in action, including one of the men taken captive during the initial checkpoint attack.[9]

The Lebanese Air Force Adapts

The Hueys played a significant role in the LAF’s next major battle a little over six years later. On 19 May 2007, four armed men from the Sunni militant group Fateh al-Islam robbed a bank in the town of Amyoun, thirty miles north-northeast of Beirut, making off with $125,000 in cash. Lebanese paramilitary police quickly identified the militants and tracked them to a house ten miles to the north in Tripoli. A firefight erupted, soon spreading to the nearby Nahr al-Bared Palestinian refugee camp, which served as Fateh al-Islam’s headquarters. Hundreds of militants stormed LAF military posts and checkpoints in the area, killing thirty-two soldiers, most of whom were asleep in their barracks. The LAF launched an all-out effort to secure Nahr al-Bared and neutralise the militants, leading to a nightmare scenario of urban combat amid the camp’s ramshackle buildings and narrow alleyways.[10]

The Lebanese Air Force initially restricted its support to MEDEVAC and overhead surveillance. However, just two months before the battle, Lebanon had acquired nine Aérospatiale SA.342L Gazelle light attack helicopters for the newly established 8^th Squadron. Armed with 68-millimetre unguided rockets, HOT guided antitank missiles, and .50-calibre machine guns, the Gazelles provided Lebanese ground troops with close air support for the first time.

The urban assault bogged down around the militants’ final position, a veritable fortress of concrete rubble. The Gazelles’ light weapons proved ineffective. With casualties mounting, the Lebanese Air Force adapted by jury-rigging three of its Huey utility helicopters as bombers.

The Lebanese Air Force had a stockpile of 500- and 1,000-pound bombs left over from the 1960s. Mechanics cannibalised bomb shackles and pylons from scrapped Mirage fighter jets and attached them to a steering rod from a decommissioned navy ship. To evenly distribute the weight across the cabin floor, they mounted the rig on an armoured plate salvaged from an inoperative M-113 armoured personnel carrier. Each heli-bomber could carry a single 1,000-pound bomb slung between the landing skids or a 500-pound bomb on either side. Mechanics lengthened the landing skids to ensure sufficient ground clearance.

The heli-bombers went into action on 9 August 2007. Using civilian Garmin 295 handheld GPS units to pinpoint their release points, the crews dropped dozens of bombs, blasting a path for the ground troops. The innovative air support helped bring the battle to an end on 7 September.[11]

The siege of Nahr al-Bared proved a formative experience for the LAF, underscoring the need to modernise the air force with fixed-wing aircraft capable of providing intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR), target designation, strike coordination, and close air support. This set of requirements roughly aligned with what the US Air Force (USAF) defined as light attack armed reconnaissance (LAAR). The US government offered to assist in this effort, eager to prevent Lebanon from becoming another active battlefront in the Global War on Terrorism.[12]

In 2009, the USAF provided Lebanon with a Cessna 208B Grand Caravan, funded through grant aid. Orbital ATK (later acquired by Northrop Grumman) reconfigured the Caravan as an AC-208 Eliminator, equipping it with a Wescam MX-15 electro-optical/infrared camera system, a microwave broadcast system for real-time video transmission, a weapons-grade laser designator, an infrared laser pointer, a flare dispenser, and launch rails to carry an AGM-114 Hellfire missile under each wing. A second aircraft arrived on 6 November 2013, configured solely for reconnaissance and lacking missile rails. A third aircraft, featuring a more powerful engine and a digital glass cockpit, arrived on 19 December 2016. The Cessnas were assigned to the 4th Squadron at Beirut Air Base.[13]

The Lebanese Air Force still had a handful of senior fixed-wing pilots who had flown Mirages and Hunters. However, without a fixed-wing pilot training program, it sent young lieutenants abroad to Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and the United States for flight training. Upon their return to Lebanon, they completed a short Cessna training course provided by Orbital ATK. According to US Ambassador Elizabeth Richard, these pilots built a solid reputation. “The LAF is recognized in the US for the quality of the officers and soldiers it sends to our training and education programs,” she said. “Lebanese students routinely finish at the top of their classes, earning ‘honor graduate’ recognition.”[14]

In addition to the grant aid, the US embassy facilitated $1.9 billion in foreign military sales (FMS) to Lebanon between 2014 and 2020, including the purchase of six RQ-11 Raven small, hand-launched UAVs and 1,000 Hellfire missiles – items paid for with Lebanon’s own funds.[15] The Lebanese Air Force also bolstered its rotary-wing fleet, acquiring 24 additional UH-1H Huey IIs from the US and nine Aérospatiale SA.330 Super Puma utility helicopters, license-built in Romania by Industria Aeronautica Romana. The Super Pumas were assigned to the 9^th Squadron at Hamat Air Base, located 30 miles north of Beirut.[16]

An Aérospatiale/IAR SA.330 Super Puma modified as a heli-bomber completes a rocket pass on the Hannoush Range. (Source: Author)

The Long Campaign

These modest modernisation efforts took place as neighbouring Syria spiralled into chaos. Protests against dictator Bashar al-Assad escalated into civil war and eventually gave rise to the Islamic State. More than one million Syrian refugees poured across the border into Lebanon, with at least 137,000 settling in camps within the Baalbek-Hermel Governate, Lebanon’s northeastern-most region. The town of Arsal, perched above the Bekaa Valley on the slopes of the Qalamoun Mountains, had the highest concentration of Syrian refugees of any municipality in Lebanon, with 39,300 registered in four camps.[17] On 1 February 2013, a patrol from Strike Force, Lebanon’s elite counterterrorism regiment, came under attack while chasing a wanted terrorist near the outskirts of the town. The ambush killed Captain Pierre Bachaalani and 1^st Sergeant Ibrahim Zahrman and wounded many others.[18]

The LAF found it increasingly challenging to operate near Arsal. Al-Nusra Front, al Qaeda’s Syrian affiliate, used the town as a base for smuggling men, weapons, and equipment into Syria. The group began expanding its reach into the Bekaa Valley through a relentless series of deadly suicide car bombings and mortar and rocket attacks. Meanwhile, the Islamic State took control of the mountainous region east of Ras Baalbek and al-Qaa.[19]

On 2 August 2014, al-Nusra Front launched an attack on the 8^th Mechanized Infantry Brigade’s positions near Arsal. Over the next five days, roughly 700 militants from al-Nusra and the Islamic State joined the battle, resulting in the deaths of 19 soldiers, the wounding of 86, and the capture of 36. Special operations forces from the Ranger and Air Assault Regiments quickly deployed to reinforce the embattled Lebanese troops.[20]

Stationed 30 miles southeast at Rayak, the 8^th Squadron launched its Gazelle attack helicopters to assist, relying on satellite imagery printed from Google Earth to orient themselves to the battlefield. The commander of the air wing at Rayak led the first mission, his helicopter armed with two .50-calibre machine guns. “When we arrived in the area, we did not know which military positions had fallen and the extent of the enemy’s penetration,” recalled his copilot, Captain M.B.[21]

Spotting a group of armed men, but unsure of their identity, the wing commander dove in for a closer look. Bullets from a Russian-built PK machine gun raked the helicopter. A round tore through the cockpit, destroying the collective lever and spearing through M.B.’s left hand. “I started bleeding, losing large amounts of blood,” he recounted. The wing commander took control of the helicopter and flew straight to the Dar al-Amal Hospital near Baalbek, where M.B. received emergency medical care. The wing commander then returned to Rayak, only to find that he could not shut down the engine. A bullet had damaged the fuel controls, forcing him to wait for the helicopter’s fuel tank to run dry before it finally shut down.[22]

Meanwhile, at Beirut Air Base, 1st Lieutenant C.Y., a Cessna pilot with the 4^th Squadron, received an urgent call from base operations ordering him to prepare his aircraft and crew—himself as pilot, Lieutenant al-Taki as pilot and mission systems operator, and a brigadier general from the operations staff to coordinate with the operations center. “A few minutes later, we were ordered to take off, destined for the outskirts of Arsal,” he recalled. Lieutenant C.Y. was already well-acquainted with the area, having frequently surveilled it since the ambush on the Strike Force patrol the previous year. Yet amid the chaos of the mass attack, the fog of war had set in. “The attack on the military centers happened suddenly,” said C.Y. “We did not have all the information on the disposition of military forces, especially after several fell into the hands of the terrorists.”[23]

Establishing radio contact with the ground troops, C.Y. and his crew began scanning the battlefield through their camera, watching as militants overran one post after another. The defenders executed a fighting withdrawal, buying time until reinforcements could arrive. In the summer of 2014, the 4^th Squadron had only two Cessna 208s, and the second aircraft had yet to be retrofitted to carry Hellfire missiles. That meant C.Y. and his crew were flying the only armed fixed-wing aircraft in the country. While the United States classified the AC-208 as an inexpensive armed tactical reconnaissance aircraft, for Lebanon, it was a strategic asset. It would take more than an hour to land, rearm, and return to the target area, so they had to carefully balance their ability to deliver aerial firepower with the need to maintain continuous ISR coverage. “Our plane was equipped with two Hellfire missiles,” said C.Y. “We were careful not to use them unless absolutely necessary.”[24]

That moment came when the militants encircled a company of Lebanese troops, wounding several with their relentless fire. “We saw through the surveillance camera a group of about ten armed men preparing to storm the center from the rear,” C.Y. recalled, “so we decided to intervene.” Watching the Cessna’s live video feed from the operations center, the LAF director of operations, along with the army and air force commanders, gave the green light for a strike. It would be the first precision airstrike in Lebanon’s history.

C.Y. recounted what happened next: “We turned toward the target and launched the first missile, which took fifty-eight seconds to reach its mark, striking with precision and inflicting heavy losses on the attacking force.” The militants retreated into a nearby house. Circling overhead, C.Y.’s crew waited for them to regroup before launching the second missile. “We deliberately waited for all the terrorists to enter the building before firing,” he explained. “The Hellfire missile is most effective in enclosed spaces – such as rooms, buildings, and fortifications – rather than open areas.”[25]

The missile streaked off the launch rail, and one minute and twenty seconds later, it slammed into the house. The cement walls collapsed, and the house erupted in flames, fuelled by secondary explosions from ammunition stored inside. No one emerged from the inferno. The airstrike reversed the tide of the battle, forcing the militants to withdraw from around the besieged company.[26]

The combat debut of the AC-208 in August 2014 marked the LAF’s first use of precision-guided munitions and the first real-time broadcast of battlefield surveillance video. Meanwhile, the Hueys and Super Pumas transported troops and flew MEDEVAC missions, while Raven UAVs and the Cessnas provided ISR, and Gazelles and the AC-208 delivered close air support. These efforts helped halt the militant advance, but the LAF could not yet push them back, and a three-year stalemate ensued. Of the 36 Lebanese soldiers captured in the battle, the militants executed four, released seven, and exchanged 16 for thirteen jailed militants in a prisoner swap. Nine remained unaccounted for, presumably still held by the Islamic State.[27]

According to Captain G.A., another Cessna pilot in the 4th Squadron, “Our squadron participated in continual military operations from 2014 to 2017. The unrelenting bombing over such a long period of time helped to exhaust and demoralize the militants, as well as to destroy their logistical capabilities and their command-and-control centers.” In addition to Hellfire strikes, the Cessna crews provided observation and adjustment for artillery fire. According to G.A., “The targets we attacked varied from command-and-control centers and logistical points […] to tunnels dug in the mountains […] bulldozers used in digging tunnels and fortifying fighting positions […] and on one occasion, we targeted an Army M-113 armored vehicle which the militants had captured.” While they typically struck preplanned targets, the crews also often searched for targets of opportunity.[28]

In the summer of 2016, the Lebanese Air Force launched its largest coordinated airstrike on militant positions – an operation they viewed as their own miniature version of Desert Storm’s high-tech ‘Instant Thunder’ air campaign. “The raid lasted for about forty minutes,” recalled Colonel A.M., who helped plan the operation. The Cessna fired the opening salvo, striking the first two of eight preplanned targets: an Islamic State field command headquarters and a house sheltering a high-value target. Both missiles hit with precision. “No one left the targeted buildings,” A.M. stated, “so we considered the casualties as confirmed.”[29]

Follow-on attacks targeted enemy infrastructure, including lodging, water tanks, ammunition dumps, and vehicle yards. To bolster the air force’s limited firepower, mechanics from the 9^th Squadron modified a Super Puma into a heli-bomber – similar to the Huey bomber experiment nine years earlier. They rigged a pair of steel I-beams through the cabin and mounted bombs or rocket pods on either side, creating a makeshift but effective strike platform.[30]

After the initial Hellfire strikes, the Cessna used its infrared laser pointer to mark targets for the helicopters and served as a tactical air coordinator, sequencing their attacks. The Puma dropped two 250-kilogram bombs, followed by the Gazelles strafing militants fleeing the bombing with .50-calibre machine guns and 68-millimetre rockets. Once the helicopters cleared the area, the Cessna called in artillery fire to finish the job. Throughout the operation, the Cessna and Raven UAVs provided continuous surveillance of the target area.[31]

While the LAF managed to contain the Islamic State and al-Nusra incursions into the Bekaa Valley, military and political leaders collaborated with their American counterparts to secure new equipment and training for a decisive operation to expel them entirely. For the air force, this included six Embraer A-29B Super Tucano light attack aircraft, which would equip the newly formed 7^th Squadron. The Lebanese Air Force identified twelve of its top pilots to train on the Super Tucano at Moody Air Force Base, Georgia, under the USAF’s 81^st Fighter Squadron. The first group of pilots departed Lebanon in February 2017, with the first two A-29s scheduled for delivery in October and the remaining four the following June. USAF Special Operations Command also planned to deploy a team of combat aviation advisors to Lebanon in 2018.[32] Meanwhile, in January 2017, al-Nusra Front merged with four other militant groups to form Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), which dubiously claimed to have severed its ties with al-Qaeda.[33]

It remains a point of contention whether Lebanon’s ingrained political paralysis or a strategic decision to wait for new capabilities like the Super Tucanos delayed a decisive operation against the Islamic State. On 20 July 2017, the Iranian-backed Shia militia Hezbollah pre-empted the LAF by launching its own campaign to retake Arsal.[34]

For at least six years, Hezbollah had been deploying fighters to Syria as part of Iran’s efforts to bolster Bashar al-Assad’s dictatorial regime. A successful operation to expel HTS from Lebanon would not only serve Iran’s strategic interests but also undermine the LAF’s position as the nation’s principal security provider. From 21 to 24 July, Hezbollah seized more than 60 per cent of HTS-held territory, leading to a ceasefire on 27 July that allowed the remaining HTS fighters to withdraw into Syria. Hezbollah’s sophisticated propaganda apparatus flooded media channels with battlefield updates, maps, and footage highlighting combined arms operations involving infantry, artillery, and rockets. Press reports estimated that more than twenty Hezbollah fighters and 150 HTS militants were killed in the operation.[35]

The Lebanese government had no choice but to order an immediate offensive against the Islamic State positions north of Arsal – a far more challenging task given the rugged, defensible mountainous terrain – or risk appearing impotent compared to Hezbollah. The LAF assembled a frontline strength of 4,300 troops in the eastern Bekaa Valley, including the 6^th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, the 1^st Intervention Regiment, the Air Assault Regiment, one company from the 4^th Intervention Regiment, and one company from the Moukafaha, a special operations unit under the Directorate of Military Intelligence. Another 4,250 personnel provided support, including elements of the 1^st and 2^nd Artillery Regiments with 36 155-millimetre howitzers.[36]

On 14 August 2017, the LAF initiated its opening manoeuvres, officially launching Operation Fajr al-Jaroud, or ‘Dawn of the Hills,’ on 19 August. That same day, Hezbollah and the Syrian Arab Army announced their own offensive on the Syrian side of the border, once again attempting to upstage the LAF. The simultaneous operations fuelled speculation of collusion between the LAF and Hezbollah. However, LAF leadership firmly denied such claims, emphasising that their only interaction with Hezbollah was limited to a deconfliction policy not unlike the one between US and Russian forces in Syria.[37]

Lebanese ground forces encountered improvised explosive devices (IEDs), fortified fighting positions, and suicide bombers, but years of sustained operations had already hollowed out the Islamic State’s defences. A steady barrage of air and artillery fire paved the way for the advancing troops. Over 11 days, the Lebanese Air Force flew 141 hours of combat missions. One of the seventy US military advisors in the country, observing the LAF’s coordinated use of ISR, precision air strikes, artillery, infantry, armour, and special operations forces, described the campaign as ‘twenty-first century maneuver warfare by a modern military.’[38]

Though delivery of the first two A-29s was still two months away, the 4^th Squadron had received its third Cessna in December 2016, and all three aircraft were now configured to carry Hellfires. Additionally, the Lebanese Army fielded a game-changing new weapon it had received several years earlier from the Americans: M712 ‘Copperhead’ 155-millimetre laser-guided artillery rounds. Flying parallel to the gun-target line, the Cessna could use its laser designator to guide in round after round with deadly precision. During Fajr al-Jaroud, the Lebanese Army fired 130 Copperhead rounds, including a blistering thirty-three in just thirty minutes at the operation’s climax.[39]

The Islamic State’s position collapsed in mere days, shrinking to a pocket of just twenty square kilometres by 27 August – down from the 120 square kilometres it had occupied at the outset. However, the LAF never launched a final assault; with the operation proving a stunning success, an alarmed Hezbollah quickly intervened to negotiate a ceasefire, allowing the remaining Islamic State fighters to retreat into Syria in exchange for information on the nine LAF soldiers captured three years earlier. Though all nine had been killed, the deal allowed the LAF to recover their bodies. On 28 August, approximately four hundred Islamic State fighters and camp followers departed on buses for eastern Syria.[40]

Operation Fajr al-Jaroud killed more than 50 Islamic State fighters, at the cost of nine LAF soldiers killed and 100 wounded. For the first time since the civil war, the LAF successfully conducted a theatre-level joint operation, demonstrating its ability to effectively utilise US security assistance.[41] Yet, the success owed to more than just the two-week operation. “When the battle is discussed, many people marvel at the short period of time that it was limited to,” said Colonel A.M. “They do not realize that it came as a result of three years of continuous targeting that exhausted the terrorists’ infrastructure and killed many of them.”[42]

Lebanese Air Force aircraft in the hangar at Hamat Air Base, foreground, left to right: SA.330 Super Puma, UH-1H Huey II, SA.342L Gazelle; background, left to right: AC-208 Eliminator, A-29B Super Tucano, Bell 212. (Source: Author)

Conclusion

Hezbollah’s efforts to undermine and overshadow the LAF failed to erode its legitimacy as Lebanon’s principal source of security. The success of the joint operation against the Islamic State spoke for itself.[43] Despite limited resources, the Lebanese Air Force played a decisive role. From the Dinniyeh operation in 2000 to the heli-bombers over Nahr al-Bared in 2007 and the precision airstrikes in the Bekaa Valley from 2014 to 2017, Lebanese aviators found ways – often audacious improvisations – to mobilise air power against violent extremist organisations. What began as a force rebuilt around hand-me-down Hueys gradually evolved into a capable mix of helicopters, crewed fixed-wing aircraft, and UAVs performing ISR, light-attack, and mobility missions. This transformation depended on steady but limited US security assistance: surplus aircraft, grant-funded upgrades, foreign military sales, and training programs that produced a new generation of skilled aviators.

Yet US assistance alone cannot account for the LAF’s battlefield performance. At every stage, Lebanese officers, NCOs, and technicians adapted faster than their inventory changed. They welded together heli-bombers when they lacked aircraft capable of striking hardened urban positions. They mastered precision weapons that they had never fired in training. They built tactics around a single missile-toting Cessna, rationing its firepower while keeping it on station as the country’s only persistent ISR asset. They overcame shortages in personnel, spare parts, and navigational equipment through ingenuity, improvisation, and a deep sense of obligation to the soldiers fighting below.

By the time the Islamic State threatened Lebanon’s northeastern frontier, the Lebanese Air Force had become something unexpected: not a conventional air force in the American sense, but an adaptable, hybrid force optimised for Lebanon’s terrain, politics, and threats. Its air campaign from 2014 to 2017, though modest by comparison with the coalition’s industrial-scale air power in Operation Inherent Resolve, proved decisive along the Islamic State’s western flank, steadily degrading militant capabilities until Operation Fajr al-Jaroud finally drove them from Lebanese territory.

From its rebirth in the 1990s through its campaign against the Islamic State, the history of Lebanese air power demonstrates that modest US security assistance, when paired with Lebanese ingenuity, produced an outsized strategic effect. The Lebanese Air Force did not win battles because it possessed the most technologically advanced equipment, the largest fleet, or the most refined doctrine. It won because Lebanese aviators extracted maximum value from every aircraft, every munition, and every training opportunity. In doing so, they provided the Lebanese Army with the air support it needed to survive, adapt, and prevail against some of the most dangerous violent extremist groups in the world.

Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Jackson PhD is an Assistant Professor of History at the US Air Force Academy. He served as a U-28A instructor pilot, Combat Aviation Advisor, and Adaptive Precision Strike evaluator pilot in Air Force Special Operations Command, flying 236 combat missions and 125 combat support missions in support of Operations Inherent Resolve, Freedom Sentinel, Enduring Freedom, Enduring Freedom-Philippines, and Damiyan. He holds a PhD in history from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He is the author of Fallen Tigers: The Fate of America’s Missing Airmen in China during World War II (2021).

Wael Nawaf al-Taki is the manager of Strategic Defense Solutions, Ltd. He served as Chief of the Lebanese Air Force Operations Room and as an A-29 Super Tucano instructor pilot and squadron commander. In addition to flying more than 200 hours in combat operations, he spearheaded organisational and tactical reforms that enhanced air-ground integration within the Lebanese Armed Forces.

Header image: A Lebanese Air Force student prepares to fly the Embraer A-29B Super Tucano for the first time at Moody Air Force Base, Georgia (Source: US Air Force)

[1] The names of most Lebanese military officers have been withheld for security reasons.

[2] Major Wael al-Taki, oral history interview by Daniel Jackson, February 27, 2025.

[3] Department of Defense, ‘Operation Inherent Resolve: Targeted Operations to Defeat ISIS,’ Operation Inherent Resolve, 9 August 2017.

[4] National Archives and Records Administration, Record Group 330, Military Assistance Program 1000 System Master File, 1986.

[5] US Embassy in Lebanon, ‘US Ambassador Delivers Cessna Aircraft to Lebanese Armed Forces,’ 19 December 2016,.

[6] Brigadier General S.Y., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 3 August 2022.

[7] Lebanese Armed Forces, Air Force Operations, Beirut, 2021.

[8] Brigadier General S.Y., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Lebanese Armed Forces, Air Force Operations.

[11] Ibid.: Riad Kahwaji, ‘The victory – Lebanon developed helicopter bombers,’ Skyscraper City, 3 September 2007.

[12] Lebanese Armed Forces, Air Force Operations.

[13] Orbital ATK, Mission Systems Operators Manual: Lebanon Armed Caravan SN1239, 02TMAOP-002, Fort Worth, 2016; Stephen Trimble, ‘USAF orders 2^nd Cessna Caravan for Lebanon,’ FlightGlobal, 18 January 2012.

[14] US Embassy in Lebanon, ‘The United States Delivers Four A-29 Super Tucano Aircraft to the LAF,’ 12 June 2018.

[15] Department of State, Bureau of Political-Military Affairs, ‘US Security Cooperation with Lebanon,’ Fact Sheet, 20 January 2025.

[16] Defense Security Cooperation Agency, ‘Lebanon – Huey II Helicopters,’ Transmittal No. 12-07, 20 July 2012; Defense Security Cooperation Agency, ‘Lebanon—Huey II Rotary Wing Aircraft and Support,’ Transmittal No. 14-20, 19 September 2014; Defense Security Cooperation Agency, ‘Lebanon—AGM-114 Hellfire II Missiles,’ Transmittal No. 15-29, 4 June 2015.

[17] Aram Nerguizian, The Lebanese Armed Forces, Hezbollah, and Military Legitimacy, Draft, (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic & International Studies, 2017), p. 9.

[18] Lebanese Armed Forces, Air Force Operations.

[19] Nicholas Blanford, ‘The Lebanese Armed Forces and Hezbollah’s Competing Summer Offensives Against Sunni Militants,’ CTC Sentinel 10, no. 8 (2007), p. 27.

[20] Nerguizian, The Lebanese Armed Forces, Hezbollah, and Military Legitimacy, p. 11.

[21] Captain M.B., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 6 August 2021.

[22] Ibid.

[23] Captain C.Y., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 6 August 2021.

[24] Ibid.

[25] Ibid.

[26] Ibid.

[27] Blanford, ‘The Lebanese Armed Forces and Hezbollah’s Competing Summer Offensives Against Sunni Militants,’ p. 27.

[28] Captain G.A., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 10 August 2021.

[29] Colonel A.M., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 10 August 2021.

[30] The author inspected this aircraft himself and spoke with the maintenance officer who oversaw the modifications while in Lebanon in 2020.

[31] Ibid.

[32] Defense Security Cooperation Office, ‘Lebanon—A-29 Super Tucano Aircraft,’ Transmittal No. 15-13, 9 June 2015; Sierra Nevada Corporation, ‘SNC, Embraer Complete Early Delivery of A-29 Super Tucano Aircraft to Lebanese Air Force for Close Air Support Role,’ Press Release, 12 June 2018.

[33] Thomas Joscelyn, ‘Al Qaeda and allies announce ‘new entity’ in Syria,’ Long War Journal, 28 January 2017

[34] Nerguizian, The Lebanese Armed Forces, Hezbollah, and Military Legitimacy, p. 15.

[35] Ibid., pp. 15-6.

[36] Ibid., p. 20, 22.

[37] Ibid., p. 16, 23.

[38] Ibid., p. 24.

[39] Lebanese Armed Forces, Air Force Operations.

[40] Blanford, ‘The Lebanese Armed Forces and Hezbollah’s Competing Summer Offensives Against Sunni Militants,’, p. 29.

[41] Nerguizian, The Lebanese Armed Forces, Hezbollah, and Military Legitimacy, p. 24, 27.

[42] Colonel A.M., oral history interview by Wael al-Taki, 10 August 2021.

[43] Nerguizian, The Lebanese Armed Forces, Hezbollah, and Military Legitimacy, p. 5.

#BookReview – Balloon Ace: The Life of an Early Airpower Visionary

Reviewed by Ray Ortensie

Charles D. Dusch Jr., Balloon Ace: The Life of an Early Airpower Visionary. Lexington, KY: The University Press of Kentucky, 2025. Illustrations. Notes. Bibliography. Index. Pbk. 269 pp.

Charles D. Dusch Jr.’s Balloon Ace: The Life of an Early Airpower Visionary chronicles the brief, heroic, and influential life of Louis Bennett Jr., a figure who sought to revolutionise American military aviation during the First World War. Dusch skilfully integrates Bennett’s personal history, familial pressures, military ambitions, and spectacular combat achievements with the broader cultural and military history of the Great War, resulting in a biography that is both insightful into early air power concepts and profoundly moving in its examination of wartime loss and subsequent commemoration. The book’s comprehensive scope, spanning from Bennett’s Southern upbringing to his mother’s tireless post-war efforts, illuminates how one young man’s vision anticipated future air power strategy and how the ensuing grief shaped public memory.

The narrative begins by establishing Bennett’s complex heritage. Born into a prominent Southern family with service in the Confederate Army during the Civil War, his identity was heavily influenced by the narrative of the Lost Cause. His family was related by marriage to Thomas J. ‘Stonewall’ Jackson, a figure elevated to the pantheon of Confederate heroes and Bennett was taught by his mother to embrace the Lost Cause mythology and recognise that he had ‘big shoes to fill.’ Despite this powerful heritage, as a student at Yale University on the eve of the Great War, Bennett intended to be ‘his own man’ and forge his own path, perhaps spurred by this very Civil War legacy.

Bennett and his classmates followed newspaper accounts that dramatically romanticised the war, particularly focusing on the new air weapon, often casting aviators as ‘medieval knights, jousting high above the clouds.’ (p. 24) This glamour, coupled with the speed of aviation, appealed greatly to Bennett. He became an early advocate for military flying, joining the Aero Club of America in 1915. While many Yale students debated the war or joined the Connecticut National Guard, Bennett focused on flying, securing a summer job at an aircraft factory in Marblehead, Massachusetts, in 1916 to learn how aircraft were assembled – a pursuit he deemed a ‘good healthy job’ and ‘quite a science.’ (p. 38)

Upon America’s entry into the war in April 1917, Bennett, a senior at Yale, departed mid-semester. He purchased a Curtiss aeroplane and immediately pursued his most significant, yet ultimately unrealised, vision: the creation of the West Virginia Flying Corps (WVFC). Bennett sought to form a state aerial militia, as outlined in his ‘West Virginia Aerial Reserve Unit’ sketch, to train 15 aviators. The unit’s goal was to establish ‘aerial efficiency in this section of the country.’ Bennett’s expansive concept went beyond West Virginia, where he envisioned a national aviation reserve system with a decentralised network of airfields and repair stations. Dusch notes that this systematic approach made practical sense, especially given the unprepared state of American aviation technology and industry, which lagged well behind Europe. Furthermore, Bennett’s idea closely resembled the air power arguments William ‘Billy’ Mitchell put forth in 1925.

To ensure the unit’s sustainability, Bennett incorporated the WVFC and established the West Virginia Aircraft Factory in Warwood, West Virginia, along the Pennsylvania Railroad line. This factory later produced spare parts and Curtiss JN-4D airframes for the Army, valued at about $1 million. Crucially, Bennett hired Captain E.A. Kelly, an officer on leave from the British Royal Flying Corps (RFC), as an instructor, ensuring his cadets would learn modern combat tactics, which few available US Army aviators were qualified to teach.

Despite his patriotic efforts, the War Department resisted Bennett’s efforts to create an elite, independent unit. General George Squier, head of the US Army’s Signal Corps, advised Bennett that the government was reluctant to recognise individual units because doing so would restrict the stationing of officers. Secretary of War Newton D. Baker appreciated the WVFC’s patriotism but asserted that military aviation demanded far more than mere flying skills, requiring training in ‘radio telegraphy, aerial combat, and reconnaissance, machine guns, topography, etc..’ Baker recommended that WVFC members apply for regular US Army training. Discouraged by the US Army’s refusal and aware of the logistical ‘growing pains’ and production delays plaguing the fledgling US Army Air Service, Bennett made a realistic choice: the ‘quickest and most direct route’ to active combat was through the RFC in Canada. (p. 87) This decision was upsetting to his father, who questioned Bennett’s choice of Canadian service over American service once the US declared war.

A Royal Air Force pilot affixing to his Royal Aircraft Factory S.E.5a biplane a notice reading: ‘Huns: 39 in 14 Days.’ Saint-Omer Aerodrome, 21 June 1918. This was the same type of aircraft flown by No. 40 Squadron during 1918. (Source: IWM)

Bennett was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the RFC in January 1918. After primary training, he progressed rapidly through advanced aircraft in England, moving from the Avro 504 to the beloved Sopwith Pup. He then trained on the highly manoeuvrable but notoriously tricky Sopwith Camel and the Sopwith Dolphin. Dusch expertly discusses the deadly instability of the rotary-powered Camel, which was known for killing new pilots.

Posted to France around 21 July 1918, Bennett joined No. 40 Squadron of the Royal Air Force (RAF) the following day, replacing Lieutenant Indra ‘Laddie’ Roy, an ace from India recently killed in combat. Placed in ‘C Flight’ under Captain George E.H. ‘McIrish’ McElroy, one of Britain’s leading aces, whose reputation for ‘great determination, reckless bravery and abandonment’ galvanised the squadron. Bennett was thrilled, believing he would learn more from the experienced flight commander. (p. 114) Bennett’s combat career was intensive but brief, occurring during the great Allied counteroffensive of summer 1918. His first combat sortie was disastrous; on 31 July, his commander, McElroy, was shot down and killed by ground fire. This high rate of attrition was sobering; one pilot estimated the average life expectancy of a pursuit pilot was just three weeks.

Bennett soon became known as a highly effective ‘balloon buster,’ targeting German observation balloons (Drachen). Dusch emphasises the strategic importance of these attacks: balloons and observation aircraft provided the necessary aerial observation for accurate artillery fire, which accounted for approximately 75 per cent of First World War casualties. Neutralising these platforms was key to achieving air superiority, thereby protecting Allied soldiers and blinding enemy commanders.

Bennett scored his first confirmed air victory on 15 August, sending a German Fokker DVII down out of control. Later that same day, he destroyed his first balloon near Merville using Buckingham incendiary ammunition. On 19 August, demonstrating unusual courage, Bennett took off alone after being delayed by engine trouble and dove on an easterly balloon, setting it ablaze instantly. Emboldened, he took off again that afternoon, destroying two more balloons near Merville and Hantay. In just four hours, he destroyed four German targets. On 23 August, he destroyed two more balloons in a single sortie, bringing his confirmed score to seven.

However, on 24 August 1918, Bennett was reported missing. Later accounts from villagers and German Lieutenant Emil Merkelbach confirmed his final heroic actions. Bennett was shot down after successfully attacking German balloons. He had pursued the balloonists fiercely, despite being low to the ground and facing intense anti-aircraft fire, a risk he willingly took. Wounded by a bullet to the head and suffering severe burns and two broken legs, he died that evening in the German field hospital at Wavrin without regaining consciousness. He was buried the next day with full military honours by his German captors.

Dusch spends the concluding section of the book discussing the legacy established by Bennett’s mother, Sallie Maxwell Bennett, a woman driven by intense, personal bereavement. Dusch frames Sallie’s actions within the larger context of First World War grief, noting that the absence of identifiable bodies caused acute psychological suffering for families, linking the experience back to the American Civil War. Sallie, already mourning the death of her husband earlier that August, immediately began a tireless quest to find her only son. Despite being initially denied a passport by the US government, she prevailed by becoming a correspondent for the Wheeling Register.

Once in France, Sallie overcame bureaucratic obstacles and conflicting reports about the location of her son’s grave. With assistance from Major General Mason Patrick and local French villagers, she eventually located his grave in the Wavrin cemetery. Her efforts soon expanded beyond her son; profoundly moved by the devastation and the grief of other mothers, Sallie undertook a ‘private quest’ to find, visit, photograph, and map the graves of other fallen American servicemen for their families back home. She overcame French governmental resistance to repatriation and, in April 1920, successfully arranged for Bennett’s remains to be returned secretly to Weston, West Virginia, where he was buried next to his father.

Sallie ensured Bennett’s legacy through perpetual memorials. She dedicated the family home in Weston as the Louis Bennett Jr. War Memorial and Public Library. More globally, she commissioned a stained-glass window in Westminster Abbey to guard the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, dedicating it to ‘all flying men.’ In a unique blending of collective and personal memory, the artist used Bennett’s image as the model for the angel holding the shield of Faith within the window. Her final major endeavour was commissioning the statue of ‘The Aviator,’ designed to inspire the nation’s youth with his example of ‘able courage.’ This statue was ultimately dedicated at Linsly Military Institute in Wheeling, strategically positioned along the National Road to be seen continually by the American public.

Dusch’s Balloon Ace paints a comprehensive portrait of Louis Bennett Jr., not merely as a combat hero, but as an insightful, if ultimately thwarted, early air power visionary whose innovative ideas predated official policy. Furthermore, the detailed account of Sallie Bennett’s unrelenting efforts provides a powerful case study of maternal grief and the profound role of women in shaping national commemoration during the tumultuous post-war years. Balloon Ace: The Life of an Early Airpower Visionary convincingly demonstrates how Bennett’s story, though tragic and brief, became a foundational part of America’s public memory of the First World War.

Ray Ortensie is the Command Historian for Headquarters Air Force Materiel Command, based at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio, giving command oversight and support to 13 field-level history offices and four field-level museums. He is also an adjunct professor at American Public University System and Southern New Hampshire University, teaching undergraduate and upper-level graduate courses in U.S. history. His research focuses on aviation depots and Civil War guerrilla warfare. Ray received his master’s from Purdue University in 2004 and started working as an Air Force Historian shortly afterwards.

Header image: A Royal Aircraft Factory S.E.5 returning to St Omer aerodrome in the evening, 26 June 1918. This was the same type of aircraft flown by Bennett when he served with No. 40 Squadron RAF in 1918. (Source: IWM)

#BookReview – Flight Culture and the Human Experience

Reviewed by Dr Brian Laslie

Scott W. Palmer (ed.), Flight Culture and the Human Experience. College Station, TX: Texas A&M Press, 2025. Hbk Photos. Bibliography. Index. 248 pp.

Scott W. Palmer’s edited work, Flight Culture and the Human Experience from the Texas A&M Press, is a compilation of papers presented at the 55th Annual Walter Prescott Webb Lecture Series in 2021. Sadly, edited volumes and collections of this type are seeing a downward trend in publication across academia as university presses tighten their belts under increased budgetary constraints, and this work demonstrates what a blow that is to serious academic scholarship, particularly for those without a manuscript-length project.

The book itself is a ‘collection of essays on the modern social and historical implications of aviation,’ which ostensibly places it outside the purview of the classically trained military historian, but since ‘guns and trumpets’ has been slowly subsumed into the broader contours of ‘war and society,’ there is still much here for the historian who concerns themselves with military matters as it pertains to aviation and air power. Only three of the seven chapters relate specifically to military issues; these include Johanna Rustler’s ‘The British Air Mechanic at War and Aircraft Innovation, 1914-1918,’ Marc Dierikx’s ‘Civil Air Transport and the Colonial Context in the Interwar Period,’ and Michael W. Hankins’ ‘Selling the Fighter Pilot’s Dream Machines: The F-15 and F-16 in the Public Eye.’ However, military aspects of the ‘flight culture’ can be found throughout.

In an introduction provided by Caroline E. Tapp, Curator of Social and Cultural History at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, she notes that ‘flight culture has become an intrinsic part of the human experience’ and an experience which ‘transcends geographic borders and historical timelines.’ (p. 1) Contrary to Joseph Corn’s magnificent book Winged Gospel (1983), which demonstrated an America-centric focus on aviation, the current work broadens that interpretation into a global one. People of all nations are affected by and interact with aviation and air travel, which, in turn, shapes national culture and identity. As Tapp also notes, thanks to the work of Roger Launius, the writings of New Aviation History/New Aerospace History have become a distinct field exploring the melding of technology, social, and other ‘inclusive investigations’ into a cohesive field of study (p. 4).

Patrick Luis Sullivan De Oliveira begins the work with ‘The Utopian Machine: Lighter-Than-Air Flight and Romantic Socialism in Nineteenth-Century France,’ a chapter focusing on Ernest Pétin, the French milliner who went on to design airships. However, the chapter’s strength lies in its demonstration of the relationship between European socialist thought and the belief in lighter-than-air flight. Flight, be it heavier or lighter than air, has always been used in political metaphors. In this case, utopian socialist ideals wrapped their conceptions around lighter-than-air flight. As the author quotes Victor Hugo, who ‘turned his attention upward and toward the future’ and the promises of a better 20th Century (p. 34). De Oliveira shows, through Hugo, that the airship ‘would finally bring to fruition the ideals of the French Revolution.’ (p. 36)

Marc Alsina’s ‘Gender, Race, and Heroic Aviation in Interwar Argentia, 1920-1940’ demonstrates how aviation helped create unique national identities. In Argentina, military and civilian aviators, both men and women, received acclaim that helped to ‘articulate a modern national identity’ (p. 70). Rénald Fortier’s chapter ‘“Detroyattaboy”: Michael Détroyat and the 1936 National Air Races,’ gives a brief biography of the French air racer and how his victories in the 1936 National Air Races in the United States engendered resentment amongst American flyers including Roscoe Turner who stated, ‘[i]t isn’t fair for any foreign pilot to come over here’. However, Turner was severely criticised for his ‘poor sportsmanship’ (p. 148, 150). Still, the chapter clearly demonstrates how foreign influencers catalysed change, in this case, in America.

Janet Bednarek’s ‘Chasing the Future: Why US Airports Seem Always Under Construction,’ while not meant to be humorous, certainly provides chances to chuckle as she addresses the American nationwide airport signage ‘pardon our progress’ as airports have struggled since the 1960s with keeping up to an insatiable demand for air travel in America (p 171). In short, the airports themselves could not keep up with the ever-increasing number of travellers. Besides the ticketed passengers themselves, pre-9-11 airport visitors, changes made after the September 11th attacks, Covid-19, and myriad other reasons have made creating an ‘airport of the future’ a nearly impossible task (p. 192). While we may look upon the pre-9/11 era as the halcyon days of air travel, Bednarek clearly shows that at no time since the 1960s air travel boom has an airport been able to keep up with demand and that our interpretation of well-dressed flight attendants, good food, and good drinks began and ended at the door to the aircraft.

As previously noted, only three chapters demonstrate a more military-focused bent. Of these, Rustler’s ‘The British Air Mechanic at War and Aircraft Innovation, 1914-1918’ is a breath of fresh air that focuses on the support arm to those who fly at the ‘pointy end of the spear.’ In much the same way that Apple TV’s Masters of the Air gave significant, if not equal, screentime to these air mechanics or what we today call ‘maintainers,’ Rustler’s chapter infuses the study of aviation with a much-needed focus on the lower-ranked enlisted men who have since 1914, ‘kept ‘em flying.’ However, more importantly, Rustler shows how the relationship between the mostly officer flyers and enlisted air crews developed into ‘mutual trust and respect that transcended social boundaries’ and ‘served as a guidepost for future social development and emancipation.’ (p. 63)

Dierikx’s ‘Civil Air Transport and the Colonial Context in the Interwar Period’ is not exclusively military, but the air power historian studying the interwar years should not miss it. It begins with a vignette by a Dutch cartographer, which Antoine de Saint-Exupéry could have written. In short, flying can often be viewed in ‘Hobbesian’ terms: short, brutish, and nasty. Again, while not a military chapter per se, it does demonstrate the lengths to which colonial powers went to develop viable air routes between the First and Second World Wars. Flying these routes as both crew and passenger required a certain, ‘panache,’ as governments, postal and mail services, corporations, businessmen, and other air travelers all fought against the unknown in an early globalisation movement that shrank our world, connected empires, and birthed a new form of traveler and all done under the assumption that ‘absolute national sovereignty should rule the air medium.’ (p. 130)

Hankins’ chapter is entitled ‘Selling the Fighter Pilot’s Dream Machines: The F-15 and F-16 in the Public Eye,’ although ‘Mad Men for the Military Industrial Complex’ would also have been an apt descriptor. While Hankins has already explored the developments of both the F-15 and F-16 and the fights between the ‘Fighter Mafia’/‘Reformers,’ in his book Flying Camelot (2021), this chapter shows how that fight played out in ads present in trade publications, magazines, and other venues that saw these roles of each aircraft morph over time. Hankins has become one of the leading post-Vietnam United States Air Force and air power scholars, and this chapter only enhances that reputation.

Overall, this book accomplishes what it sets out to do, namely, providing a ‘wider, more meaningful view of aviation history.’ (p. 4) This is an important book; it presents some of the latest and greatest aviation scholarship, and its sum is greater than its composite parts. This vital work will find a home on the shelf of everyone who considers themselves a serious scholar of air power and aviation history.

Dr Brian Laslie is a noted air power historian, having authored The Sundowners, Pegasus, and Little Butch: Carrier Air Group Eleven and the War in the Pacific, 1943-1945 (2025), Air Power’s Lost Cause: The American Air Wars of Vietnam (2021), Architect of Air Power: General Laurence S. Kuter and the Birth of the US Air Force (2017) and The Air Force Way of War (2015). The latter book was selected for the Chief of Staff of the Air Force’s 2016 professional reading list and the 2017 RAF Chief of the Air Staff’s reading list. US Air Force Historian and Command Historian at the United States Air Force Academy. Formerly, he was the Deputy Command Historian at the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) and United States Northern Command (USNORTHCOM). A 2001 graduate of The Citadel and a historian of air power studies, he received his Masters’ from Auburn University Montgomery in 2006 and his PhD from Kansas State University in 2013.

Header image: Three DHC-4 Caribou aircraft of No. 35 Squadron Royal Australian Air Force at Vung Tau air base, Vietnam, c. 1967-68. (Source: Australian War Memorial)

#Commentary – Filling the Fighter Gap: Türkiye Turns to the Eurofighter After the F-35 Fallout

By Ömer Ergün Özkan

“If we cannot get the F-35, we will evaluate other options.” “There is no way we will step back from the S-400s.” “If the promises given to us are not kept, we will not approve Sweden’s NATO membership.” These are just a few of President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s statements since Türkiye was removed from the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter programme in the summer of 2019, following Ankara’s decision to operationalise the Russian-made S-400 air defence system. However, despite years of bold rhetoric, Türkiye has yet to take meaningful steps toward modernising its ageing F-16 fleet, a gap that carries profound implications for regional competition and nearby conflicts. Despite setbacks over the past few years, Türkiye has gained significant visibility in the global security arena through its indigenously developed defence products. Its drones have played notable roles in conflicts in Nagorno-Karabakh, Ukraine, Syria and Libya, and were recently seen during the India-Pakistan border skirmishes. At the same time, Türkiye has expanded its defence exports to include light combat aircraft to Spain, corvettes to Pakistan and Malaysia, and various other complex systems. In parallel with these achievements, Türkiye launched its own fighter jet project, the Turkish Aerospace Industries KAAN, a fifth-generation, twin-engine stealth aircraft intended to become the future backbone of Turkish air defence. However, Ankara has acknowledged the challenges of developing a fully indigenous fighter jet. Beyond the immense financial burden and limited domestic technological expertise, political obstacles have also emerged. Most recently, Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan admitted that Türkiye has been having difficulty obtaining F110 engines from the United States, intended not only for prototypes but also for the first production batch of the KAAN.

Despite Türkiye’s long-standing ambition to build its own fighter aircraft, Turkish military planners have recognised since the late 1990s that the country would require an interim, or ‘gap,’ platform. As a result, Türkiye became one of the early participants in the Joint Strike Fighter (JSF) programme, which later produced the F-35 Lightning II. In return for its early commitment, Ankara was contracted to purchase more than 100 F-35s and became a strategic industrial partner in the programme. Knowledge transfer from the JSF also enabled domestic programmes such as TÜBİTAK SAGE’s Stand-Off Missile (SOM), now one of the most critical assets in Türkiye’s strategic inventory.

Türkiye’s selection of the F-35 programme was not a surprise. Since joining NATO, it has relied primarily on American-made aircraft for its air force. Although Türkiye has operated helicopters from France, cargo aircraft from Spain and drones from Israel, its combat fleet has always been built around US designs, including the F-84, F-86, F-101, F-4 and F-5. Today, Türkiye operates the second-largest F-16 fleet in the world after the United States.

Even amid political friction with Washington, Türkiye stayed committed to its American-made fighter fleet for their battlefield performance and long-established logistics. They also carried symbolic weight as reminders of Ankara’s Cold War alignment. During the US arms embargo on Türkiye between 1975 and 1978, imposed after Türkiye’s military intervention in Cyprus, Ankara continued operating US aircraft by sourcing spare parts from Libya and purchasing used F-104s from Italy. A similar moment of tension came in 2003, when Türkiye refused to allow the U.S. to use its territory for the war in Iraq. During this period, the Eurofighter Typhoon consortium reportedly offered Türkiye an equal partnership in the programme. Yet, despite the attractiveness of the offer, Turkish decision-makers remained committed to the F-35 programme.

Türkiye has long been the second-largest standing military force in NATO and has been regarded as a strategic partner of the United States since the Korean War. Nevertheless, the relationship between Ankara and Washington has frequently been marked by political tensions. However, these disputes did not significantly alter Türkiye’s major defence procurement decisions, particularly concerning fighter aircraft. In practice, and despite political rhetoric about diversifying suppliers, Türkiye consistently relied on US platforms. However, Ankara’s removal from the F-35 programme in 2019 may mark a significant turning point. Türkiye can no longer rely on a simple reset with Washington to modernise its ageing fleet, especially as the strategic environment grows more demanding.

Since its removal, Türkiye has repeatedly signalled its desire to return to the F-35 programme. Turkish officials argued that the expulsion lacked legal basis, and President Erdoğan and his government suggested they were open to negotiating a resolution to the S-400 dispute. Meanwhile, Türkiye’s military establishment warned of a growing capability gap until the KAAN could enter service. Türkiye also expressed interest in acquiring new F-16s and modernisation kits as an interim solution, but the package has yet to be finalised. At the same time, the war in Ukraine, Israeli air operations in Syria and the region, and Greece’s modernisation of its air force have further accelerated Ankara’s search for a new fighter platform. These developments raise concerns about falling behind in the regional balance of air power and being unprepared for a potential spillover from nearby conflicts. As a result, for the first time in decades, Türkiye is actively pursuing a non-American fighter aircraft solution: the Eurofighter Typhoon.

Image of the Turkish Defence Minister Hulusi Akar, seen here at Royal Air Force Coningsby today (06/10/2022). The Defence Secretary Ben Wallace hosted a visit for the Turkish Defence Minister to view RAF Typhoon jets based at RAF Coningsby, 6 October 2022. (Source: UK MOD © Crown copyright 2022)

Although Türkiye expressed formal interest in the Eurofighter a few years ago, the procurement process was blocked by Germany due to political disagreements. Following lengthy negotiations, the German government recently agreed to lift its objections, and a contract has now been signed. However, Türkiye now faces a delivery challenge. The most advanced version of the Eurofighter currently in production is Tranche 4, and the order backlog means new aircraft will not arrive before 2030. Because the Eurofighter is an entirely new platform for the Turkish Air Force, integrating it into doctrine, pilot training, and logistics will take significantly longer than adopting another US-made jet. To reduce the delay, President Erdoğan announced Türkiye’s intention to purchase used Eurofighters from Qatar and Oman alongside the 20 new Tranche 4 aircraft from the UK.

Ankara’s assertive pursuit of the Eurofighter highlights its growing concern over the balance of air power in its surrounding region. Despite significant advances in its drone fleet, including one-way attack drones and jet-powered unmanned systems, Türkiye understands that drones cannot fully replace conventional fighter jets in terms of deterrence and air superiority. Yet significant questions remain. Will Germany and other consortium members approve the transfer of Meteor long-range air-to-air missiles or Captor radar systems to Türkiye as well? Will Türkiye be permitted to integrate indigenous avionics and weapons into the Eurofighter? And how quickly can the Turkish Air Force develop the same level of operational proficiency it currently maintains with the F-16?

Ankara has now taken a decisive step away from decades of exclusive US fighter procurement. Whether the Eurofighter becomes a temporary gap-filler until the KAAN enters service, or the beginning of a long-term shift in Turkish defence strategy, remains to be seen. What is certain is that Turkish air power is at a strategic crossroads. Despite the uncertainties, the Eurofighter Typhoon remains the only available option to bridge the capability gap until the KAAN is operational or the F-35 dispute is resolved.

Ömer Ergün Özkan is a PhD candidate in the School of Public and International Affairs at the University of Cincinnati. His research examines military effectiveness, the impact of emerging technologies on defence procurement, and the strategic use of unmanned systems in modern warfare. He is also a Research Fellow at the Linda Hall Library in Kansas City, Missouri. He can be followed on X as @ErgnZkan.

Header image: Typhoon FGR.Mk 4 and T.3 of No. 41 (Test and Evaluation) Squadron flying during Exercise FORMIDABLE SHIELD, 16 May 2025. During Exercise FORMIDABLE SHIELD, No. 41 Squadron worked with Royal Navy and NATO ships and developed winning tactics to enhance the NATO defence against ballistic missiles. (Source: UK MOD © Crown copyright 2025)

#BookReview – Marshall’s Great Captain: Lieutenant General Frank M. Andrews and Air Power in the World Wars

Reviewed by Dr John J. Abbatiello

Kathy Wilson, Marshall’s Great Captain: Lieutenant General Frank M. Andrews and Air Power in the World Wars. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2024. Illustrations. Appendix. Notes. Bibliography. Index. Pbk. 273 pp.

Kathy Wilson highlights the career of a key player in US air power history in Marshall’s Great Captain: Lieutenant General Frank M. Andrews and Air Power in the World Wars. This is a much-needed and valuable contribution about a senior leader of the US Army Air Corps (USAAC) and the Army Air Forces (USAAF) – a leader who was a driving force behind American air power, yet not a well-known figure to our reading public. Who was the namesake of Andrews Air Force Base (now styled as Joint Base Andrews), located in Prince George’s County, Maryland, and currently the primary military airbase serving America’s capital city?

Wilson, an independent scholar and Writing Fellow for Norwich University, published Marshall’s Great Captain as part of the University Press of Kentucky’s Aviation and Airpower Series, edited by US Air Force Academy command historian Brian Laslie. Wilson’s narrative begins with Andrews’s time at West Point (Class of 1906) and ends with his untimely death due to an aircraft accident on 3 May 1943. The author correctly argues that the extant works on Second World War air power leadership gloss over Andrews’s career and fail to fully explain his significant contributions. Wilson rectifies this oversight with this thoroughly researched volume.

After a brief introduction and prologue, the latter teasing the reader with the circumstances of Andrews’s final flight and Consolidated B-24 crash, Chapter 1 succinctly covers the subject’s time at West Point and first 11 years in the US Army as a cavalry officer. A descendant of Confederate cavalry officers and related to two Tennessee governors, Andrews thrived as a young leader. In 1914, he married Jeanette ‘Johnnie’ Allen, daughter of a senior Army cavalry commander.

As Wilson explains in Chapter 2, Andrews transferred to the US Army Signal Corps’ Aviation Division, forerunner of the US Army Air Service and USAAC, in 1917 but did not see action overseas. His contributions during the First World War included staff duty in Washington, D.C., and command of Rockwell Field in southern California. By 1918, he was a 38-year-old temporary Lieutenant Colonel. In the early 1920s, he served in Germany in the Army of Occupation. A series of typical assignments followed, to include attendance at all three of the US Army’s professional schools: Air Corps Tactical School, Command and General Staff School, and Army War College. This chapter provides extensive context about US air power in the 1920s and early 1930s, including coverage of the Billy Mitchell trial, air-coastal defence experiments, and the Air Mail fiasco of 1934.

The next two chapters examine Andrews’s appointment to and service as Commanding General, General Headquarters (GHQ) Air Force, and the development of the Boeing B-17 bomber. Once again, Wilson provides extensive background, this time explaining the various boards and commissions investigating US air power, to include the Drum Board (1933) and the Baker Board (1934). In early 1935, US Army Chief of Staff General Douglas MacArthur appointed Andrews to serve as the first commander of GHQ Air Force. Comprising three under-resourced wings, the new GHQ Air Force was to serve as the Army’s air strike force, and here Andrews took charge of operations and training for the Air Corps. Wilson recounts his challenges stemming from a fragmented command structure in which the Chief of the Air Corps was responsible for supply, procurement, funding, assignments, and other supporting functions. At the same time, Army regional commanders exercised control over bases, maintenance, and court-martial authority. During his four years commanding GHQ Air Force, Andrews increased combat efficiency for USAAC, advocated for the long-range B-17 bomber, and, through air demonstrations and humanitarian flights, raised public awareness of the capabilities of US air power. He also established a solid relationship with a future mentor, then Brigadier General George Marshall, during the summer of 1938 by hosting the latter at GHQ and providing him with a personal tour of USAAC bases across the country. This visit paid dividends in two ways: it established a sense of trust between the two leaders, and it provided Marshall—then serving as the new Chief of Plans for the Army – with a solid understanding of air power’s roles, missions, and capabilities.

Boeing XB-17 (Model 299). (Source: Wikimedia)

Marshall became US Army Chief of Staff in September 1939 and appointed Andrews as the Assistant Chief of Staff, G-3, or chief of operations and training for the Army. Andrews was the first aviator to serve in this critical role for the Army, and, according to Wilson’s Chapter 5, it ‘was the most important and impactful assignment of Andrews’s career.’ (p. 105) Here, Andrews played an essential role in preparing the US Army for future combat in the Second World War, including establishing the Armored Force, improving training for the National Guard, setting up the Army’s emerging airborne infantry capability, and generally better integrating air units with Army operations. Chapter 6 then covers Andrews’ increased responsibilities first as commander of USAAC units in the Panama Canal Zone and then as overall US Army commander of the Caribbean Defense Command. These were important roles given American fears of potential Axis interference with the Panama Canal. Andrews demonstrated his expertise in reorganising forces, building and improving facilities, nurturing relationships with regional Allies, and most importantly, improving combat readiness.

Chapter 7 continues the Andrews story by describing the subject’s role as Commander, US Forces Middle East, starting in November 1942, and then as Commander, US Forces European Theater of Operations (ETO) beginning in February 1943. In these responsibilities, Andrews once again excelled at organising, training, and employing forces against the Axis. As ETO Commander, headquartered in London, he oversaw the rapid buildup of US Army ground units for Operation OVERLORD and the US 8^th Air Force for the Combined Bomber Offensive; throughout, he maintained an excellent working relationship with his British counterparts.

In the final chapter, Wilson details the planned trip from London back to the United States via Iceland on 3 May 1943, which ended in a tragic crash due to poor weather. Her epilogue speculates – using the best available evidence – what next role Andrews may have taken on had he lived. Unfortunately, Andrews’ story ends too early.

Some key themes emerge throughout Wilson’s narrative. In mentioning the leadership style and personality of the gregarious and hard-charging USAAF Commanding General Henry ‘Hap’ Arnold, admiration of Andrews’s soft-spoken, gentlemanly demeanour is obvious. In all his roles, Andrews sought to educate superiors, peers, and subordinates about air power, not to antagonise them as other airmen sometimes did. Andrews’s relationship with George Marshall was important not only for the former’s rise through leadership positions but also for Marshall’s clear understanding of air power’s role in its various capacities. Finally, Wilson skilfully describes the technical development and acquisition processes of US aircraft, topics seldom mentioned in similar histories of this formative period for American air power.

This reviewer submits only one minor complaint about this study. Several verbatim quotes appearing throughout the volume are unattributed in the text, requiring the reader to flip to the note pages at the end of the book to determine the source. Many of these are lengthy. For example, page 115 presents an extensive excerpt on Marshall’s approach to selecting Army leaders, with no clues about the source. The endnote at the back of the book reveals that this was a quotation from a 1943 New York Tribune article by a staff writer.

Nevertheless, Wilson’s well-researched biography of Frank Andrews is a welcome addition to our understanding of air power leadership during the interwar years and the Second World War. Andrews was a key player, skilled in diplomacy yet laser-focused on organisation, training, and readiness. Airmen today have much to learn from Frank Andrews’ story.

Dr John J. Abbatiello earned his PhD from King’s College London’s War Studies program in 2004. After 18 years of faculty service at the US Air Force Academy’s Department of History and Center for Character and Leadership Development, he then served as the Training and Education Branch Chief for North American Aerospace Defense Command and US Northern Command. He is the author of Anti-Submarine Warfare in World War I: British Naval Aviation and the Defeat of the U-Boats (Routledge, 2006) and a chapter on Lewis Brereton in The Worst Military Leaders in History (Reaktion Books, 2022).

Header image: General Frank M. Andrews, theatre commander of US forces in the ETO, was responsible for directing the American strategic bombing campaign against Germany and for planning the land invasion of occupied western Europe, 1943. (Source: Wikimedia)

#BookReview – Educating Air Forces: Global Perspectives on Airpower Learning

Reviewed by Dr Ross Mahoney

Randall Wakelam, David Varey and Emanuele Sica (eds.), Educating Air Forces: Global Perspectives on Airpower Learning. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2020. Hbk. Notes. Index. vii + 260 pp.

Air power history is dominated by accounts of operations, especially those of the First World War, the Second World War, and the Vietnam War. There is relatively little written about how air forces prepared for war. However, an inherent part of this preparation is how air forces have educated their aviators throughout history. As such, it is refreshing to read a volume dedicated to the subject of learning in air forces. Moreover, as the editors of the volume correctly write (p. 1), [i[f we accept that militaries are professions and that professions need education […] then we could reasonably want to know how militaries are educated and how well they perform this task.’

This edited volume is the outgrowth of a 2016 conference held at the Royal Military Academy of Canada on air power education. The book consists of 13 chapters organised into three chronological eras (the interwar years, the Cold War, and the post-Cold War). Many of the chapters were presented as keynote lectures at the 2016 conference. Several chapters, such as James Beldon and Peter Gray’s reflection on air power education in the modern Royal Air Force (RAF), were added for the publication of the volume (pp. 232-44). The addition of such chapters helps to round out the book and give shape to the subject.

Before examining some of the chapters, it is essential to recognise that, conceptually, this edited volume focuses on learning rather than solely on education. However, the latter is its main focus. This is an important distinction, as some of the chapters deal with educational establishments whose primary focus was training rather than education. As the editors relate, a tiered system of learning exists in military organisations that moves from training through to education (pp. 3-4). Nonetheless, for example, the chapters by Emanuele Sica (pp. 30-50) and John Farquhar (pp. 111-33) address institutions – the Accademia Aeronautica (Italian Air Force Academy) and the United States Air Force (USAF) Academy, respectively – whose primary focus is training. However, such institutions still have a broader educational role to play, and in this, we have a case of ‘Athens in Sparta,’ or a mix of skills-based training (Sparta) with broader education (Athens).

A review of this kind cannot hope to critique each chapter individually. As such, a couple of examples taken from each period will suffice. In the section on the interwar years, Sica examines the role that Giulio Douhet’s writing played in the education of the Regia Aeronautica (Italian Air Force) through the lens of the Accademia Aeronautica. In doing this, Sica presents a well-trodden subject – the writing of Douhet – in a new light. As Sica highlights, the place of Douhet in the development of his own country’s air force remains ‘open to debate’ (p. 43). Moreover, while the appointment of Italo Balbo in 1926 as undersecretary for air in the Italian government has been interpreted as ‘boon for Douhet’s fortune,’ the former’s policies illustrate the difficulty of assessing Douhet’s impact. This is born out in the teaching at the Accademia Aeronautica. As Sica argued, Douhet’s ‘ideas […] did not appear to gain wide acceptance, especially in the first years of the Italian Air Force Academy’ (p. 44).

In the section on the Cold War, the chapter by Richard Goette is of particular interest to this author, given the parallels between the Canadian and Australian experiences in the early years of the Cold War. Canada’s experience with creating its own Staff College is the subject of Goette’s chapter. However, it is worth noting that during the interwar years, both the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) and the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) relied on the RAF to provide mid-level officer education through the RAF Staff College at Andover, the latter examined by Gray in his chapter (pp. 15-29). The experience of the Second World War led the RCAF and RAAF to establish their own staff colleges. Goette, however, points out (p. 103) that ‘[a]ir force education at the RCAF Staff College […] involved much more than studying and time spent in the classroom.’ Goette’s point here is important. Attendance at institutions such as staff colleges is about more than just formal learning; it is about the experience as a whole and the opportunity for socialisation, networking and the sharing of ideas amongst peers.

The establishment of the USAF School of Advanced Airpower Studies (now the School of Advanced Air and Space Studies (SAASS)) by the world’s preeminent air force is the subject of Harold Winton’s chapter. In this chapter, Winton compares SAASS with the interwar Air Corps Tactical School and examines five key areas of comparison: origins and purpose, faculty, curriculum, students, and significance (p. 154). In his conclusion, Winton rightly highlights that, in creating an institution for the ‘elite’ education of select officers in the form of SAASS, the USAF must ensure that its officers show ‘intellectual humility’ to prevent them from degenerating (p. 163) into ‘elites of privilege and entitlement.’ Conversely, Martin James discusses the role of education and the establishment of the Air Power Studies Centre (APSC) (now the Air and Space Power Centre) by the RAAF. In this, James highlights the importance of key stakeholders, notably, the Chief of the Air Staff (CAS), Air Marshal Ray Funnell, in supporting the establishment of APSC. Indeed, the role of such ‘champions’ needs to be more fully understood. For example, Marshal of the RAF Lord Cameron was instrumental in establishing the role of Director of Defence Studies for the RAF in 1977. The RAAF was fortunate in having a CAS, Funnell, who recognised that the study and writing of air power, including its doctrine, had been neglected (p. 170).

It is hard to criticise an edited work such as this, as it does not purport to be a comprehensive examination of air power learning. It could never hope to be, but it does offer a valuable insight into a much-underappreciated subject. However, the volume focuses on the experience of Western air forces. It would have been interesting to compare the experience of Western air forces in learning with that of non-Western countries. For example, discussing air power learning in communist countries such as the Soviet Union and China could highlight the role ideology played in officer education.

In conclusion, despite the author’s criticism above, the editors are to be commended for bringing this volume to fruition. The volume offers a starting point for any scholar researching learning in the military, generally, and in air forces specifically. It should be read by both scholars and practitioners who are interested in military learning.

Dr Ross Mahoney is an independent scholar specialising in the history of war, with a particular focus on the use of air power and the history of air warfare. He is the Editor-in-Chief of From Balloons to Drones and currently the Senior Historian within the Heritage Policy team at Brisbane City Council in Australia. He has 20 years of experience in the education, museum, heritage and government sectors in Australia and the United Kingdom, including serving as the inaugural Historian at the Royal Air Force Museum from 2013 to 2017. His other research interests are military leadership and command, military culture, and the history and development of professional military education. He also maintains an interest in transport history. He has published numerous articles, chapters and encyclopedia entries, edited two books, and delivered papers on three continents.

Header image: Ramslade House, the home of the RAF Staff College in Bracknell after the Second World War. (Source: Wikimedia)

#BookReview – Rain of Ruin: Tokyo, Hiroshima and the Surrender of Japan

Reviewed by Dr Ross Mahoney

Richard Overy, Rain of Ruin: Tokyo, Hiroshima and the Surrender of Japan. London: Allen Lane, 2025. Hbk. Images. Notes. Further readings. Index. xiii + 206 pp.

The decision to use the atomic bomb in the Second World War is one of the most written-about episodes in modern military history. As Richard Overy (p. xi) identifies in this work:

[n]o single subject in the history of the United States war effort has prompted so much historical, political, and philosophical writing. No set of surviving records has been subjected to so much close forensic scrutiny.

Broadly speaking, debates over its use range from the argument that they were used to save American lives to the view that they were used to forestall Soviet ambition in the Far East and prevent the division of Japan. As exemplified by the controversy in 1994 surrounding the planned script for what became the ‘Enola Gay’ exhibition at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in 1995, debates over how we interpret the decision to use the atomic bomb have been subject to intense scrutiny and disagreements. Into this milieu comes Overy, one of the world’s leading authorities on the history of the Second World War and an expert on the history of air power.

Overy had previously written the voluminous The Bombing War (2013), which dealt with debates surrounding bombing in the European theatre of war; however, in this volume, he turns his attention to the US strategic bombing campaign against Japan in 1945 and the decision to use the atomic bomb. In Rain of Ruin, Overy deals with three separate but indelibly linked areas, which form the core of the book’s key chapters. Indeed, each chapter provides the necessary context for the next. For example, in Chapter Two, Overy explores the reason why the US shifted from precision targeting to a strategy of indiscriminate firebombing from March 1945 onwards. As Overy notes, the US had abhorred British ‘area bombing’ techniques. However, they were willing to adopt similar methods in the Far East against Japan because of a shift in thinking about the use of incendiary raids influenced by the character of the war in the Far East, ‘the demonisation of the Japanese enemy, and the effort to define area targets as legitimate military-economic ones.’ (p.40). Furthermore, they were supported in this shift in strategy by appointing an officer, General Curtis LeMay, who showed no ‘compunction about bombing and killing civilians if it helped shorten the war’ (p. 22).

Following on from the shift in US air power strategy, Chapter Three deals with the development and decision to use the atomic bomb. Indeed, Overy highlights that in accepting the change in air power strategy, it became easier for the US to normalise the use of the atomic bombs. As he argued, the shift in strategy ‘prepared the way for the apotheosis of indiscriminate destruction in the two atomic attacks’ (p. 18). Moreover, Overy also adeptly illustrates the role that civilian scientists played in the development of the atomic bomb, arguing that ‘[w]ere it not for the maximum effort by a cohort of the world’s most distinguished physicists, the bomb would not have been ready by 1945’ (p.54). As such, it is essential to remember that the use of the atomic bombs was a whole-of-government affair that not only required a shift in US air power strategy but also the willingness of other stakeholders to buy into the project and their eventual use. This also included government officials in key decision-making roles and illustrates that military strategy, such as the decision to use the atomic bomb, does not develop in a vacuum.

Finally, in Chapter Four, Overy examines the reasons for the Japanese surrender in 1945 and the role that the dropping of the atomic bombs played in that decision. In doing so, Overy does an excellent job in comparing the various arguments related to Japan’s decision to surrender, most notably, the role played by the Soviet invasion of Manchuria that started between the dropping of the two atomic bombs. Indeed, as Overy illustrates, drawing on Japanese sources, the Japanese decision to surrender – the so-called ‘Sacred Decision’ – was complex and not readily accepted. For example, towards the end of August, a Japanese Kamikaze unit dropped propaganda leaflets over Tokyo, warning residents not to surrender and stating that the imperial rescript had been a false document (p. 126). Despite this, Overy makes clear that the decision to surrender was complex. Both conventional and atomic attacks on Japan played a role in the decision-making process, though whether they were decisive, as many have argued, remains open to question. Indeed, Japanese leaders viewed the atomic bombings simply as an ‘extension of LeMay’s campaign’ (p. 110).

Overall, Overy has, in the course of just 150 pages, placed the decision to use the atomic bomb in its essential context, the shift in US air power strategy that occurred in the Far East in 1945 and assessed their role in the Japanese decision to surrender. The book is supported by copious referencing to sources not just from the US but also from Britain and Japan. It is necessary reading for anyone interested in the decision to use the atomic bomb, how the Second World War ended, or US air power strategy. However, perhaps the greatest strength of Overy’s analysis is that he does not ‘judge the past’ but allows the evidence to tell its story and allows the reader to ‘understand it better on its own terms’ (p. xiii). In this, Overy has been successful.

Dr Ross Mahoney is an independent scholar specialising in the history of war, with a particular focus on the use of air power and the history of air warfare. He is the Editor-in-Chief of From Balloons to Drones and currently the Senior Historian within the Heritage Policy team at Brisbane City Council in Australia. He has nearly 20 years of experience in the education, museum, and heritage sectors in Australia and the United Kingdom, including serving as the inaugural Historian at the Royal Air Force Museum from 2013 to 2017. His other research interests are military leadership and command, military culture, and the history and development of professional military education. He also maintains an interest in transport history. He has published numerous articles, chapters and encyclopedia entries, edited two books, and delivered papers on three continents.

Header image: The Boeing B-29 Superfortress Enola Gay on Tinian just after the attack on Hiroshima on 6 August 1945. (Source: Wikimedia)

#Commentary – Protecting Airfields from Drones and Infiltration

By Dr Jacob Stoil

From the F-35 Lightning II to the F-15E Strike Eagles, even the most advanced aircraft are sitting ducks while they are on the ground. It should come as no surprise that the best way to defeat aircraft is to attack them when they cannot evade, fight back, or use any of their defensive measure – in other words, while they are not flying. This has been a truism throughout much of the history of air power. It led to the Japanese attacks on Hickam Field as part of the Pearl Harbor attack, the British Special Air Service (SAS) raid on Haggag el Qasaba, the Luftwaffe’s Operation Bodenplatte, and the Israeli success against the Egyptian Air Force in the 1967 War, among many others. In recent decades, the uncontested nature of US and Allied basing has allowed air forces to operate freely, launching sorties without significant risk to their home base and achieving dominance in the skies. Recent events have provided a stark reminder that, if the era of safe basing has not ended, it is rapidly drawing to a close.

Fire crews attempt to extinguish the last fires among burnt-out North American Mitchells of No. 139 Wing RAF at B58/Melsbroek, Belgium, after the major daylight attack on the airfield by Luftwaffe fighter-bombers (Operation BODENPLATTE). (Source: IWM (CL 1806))

The most important protection that the US and Allied bases have had was distance. Since the Second World War, air assets based in Western Europe and North America did not need to worry about aerial threats from adversaries in anything short of a great power (likely nuclear) war. In the post-Cold War world, this experience was further reinforced as the US and NATO adversaries of the period, such as Iraq and Serbia, lacked any real possibility of reaching homeland-based aircraft. While in Iraq and Afghanistan, air assets were forward deployed, the most rare and critical assets in the US inventory – many of which are no longer in production and would be exceedingly difficult to replace – including B-2s, B-1s, and RC-130s, stayed out of the enemy’s reach.

Individual terrorists might have been able to reach a base in the US or Europe, but robust homeland security infrastructure limited the extent to which these could have been coordinated. In addition, most domestically radicalised terrorists acted as lone wolves and, therefore, lacked the capability to cause significant damage to infrastructure and multiple platforms simultaneously. The lack of a real threat to home-based aircraft has been one of the unspoken advantages that uscore the US and NATO’s ability to achieve air superiority and global reach without incurring the expense of protecting their aircraft or critical aircraft infrastructure at home.

Three events from the last six months should serve as a stark wake-up call that the era of distance being the primary protection for critical assets may be coming to an end. In Operation Spider’s Web, the Ukrainian Security Service smuggled containers filled with short-range attack drones into Russia through commercial channels. They employed Russian civilian drivers who knew nothing of the nature of the cargo they carried to bring the containers to launch locations near Russian air bases, and Ukraine employed remote instructions to launch the attack.

The drone strikes caught the Russian airbases completely off guard, allowing Ukraine to target critical Russian assets in unprotected positions. The attack damaged or destroyed as many as 4 0 aircraft , including strategic bombers that formed part of Russia’s nuclear triad. Russia’s assumption that distance from the front and national air defence protected these assets was painfully shattered in the course of a single day.

During Operation Spider’s Web, an FPV drone targets a Tu-22 bomber at Belaya air base, 4 June 2025. (Source: Wikimedia)

This has not been the only instance of launching short-range attack drones at distant targets. As part of Operation ‘Am Kalavi,’ Israel smuggled precision-guided munitions (PGMs) into Iran and established both a small factory to build attack drones and a base from which to operate inside the country. This meant that in advance of the Israel Air Force (IAF) strikes in Iran, Israeli intelligence and special operations personnel on the ground could launch drones and PGMs to confuse and reduce Iran’s air defences , ballistic missiles, and command and control capabilities.

This Israeli operation differed from the Ukrainian one in both its methods of delivering weapons and the types of targets selected, yet the lesson is similar. The most critical assets required for the defence of the nation can now be targeted by air, regardless of their range, and national-level air defences are insufficient to keep a determined adversary at bay. It is easy to imagine the damage an adversary could inflict on the US force posture through attacks similar to those in Russia or Iran, targeting B-2s, B-52s, or even high-value, low-density assets like the RC-135 or the-be-deployed E-130J TACAMO fleet.

The presence of new aerial threats to aircraft based in the homeland does not negate new ways in which traditional threats might manifest. In June 2025, Palestine Action, at the time of writing, a proscribed terrorist group in the UK, infiltrated RAF Brize Norton and sabotaged two parked RAF Voyager Aircraft, the RAF’s sole type of tanker aircraft, which has been extensively supporting NATO’s Eastern Flank missions. The apparent targeting of the attack was based on misinformation or disinformation – that the Voyager Aircraft were being used in direct support of the Israeli military in its war with Iran.

There is no apparent evidence that this attack was organised or supported by a foreign adversary. Still, there is ample evidence that foreign adversaries have used social media to contact, organise, and perhaps even direct the actions of groups and individuals far from their borders in ways that were not available in previous decades. Adversaries will likely note the potential efficacy of using social media to spur domestic groups in the US or NATO countries to attack important air assets.

So, the threat landscape has changed. Distance is not the defence it once was. Now, aircraft at home – especially those that play singularly important strategic or operational roles now require a level of protection unseen in the US since the Second World War. There are two primary ways to achieve this: active protection measures and passive measures. Active measures include air and missile defences such as Centurion C-RAM and counter-drone electronic warfare or directed energy systems, which, to provide protection from surprise, must always be active as well as air patrols. This may potentially pose a particular challenge for basing in areas with congested civilian airspace.

The status and the quality of the active system are important, but so too is the density. There must be sufficient defensive systems at each airfield (and especially those with low-density assets) to prevent being overwhelmed in a strike or destroyed. There must also be enough to allow for maintenance without a serious reduction in defensive capability. Active defensive systems may also be vulnerable to electronic warfare and cyberattacks. These systems would also provide little aid in the case of a Brize Norton-style infiltration. This means that the active defences against aerial threats must be combined with robust ground security and patrols.

Passive defence measures mitigate the damage that either aerial attacks or infiltration can cause. The cornerstone of passive defence for airframes is hardening. While some NATO countries still have limited hardened shelters in the US and elsewhere, hardening would require not only a change in construction but a change in practice. Building hardened hangers (including top protection and/or perimeter and top netting) for critical assets would greatly complicate attacks by small, short-range UAVs by requiring them to carry a far larger explosive to breach the aircraft shelter. Such hangers, if locked down, would also raise the challenge for would-be infiltrators and give security forces greater time to respond. At the same time, their protection would only apply when aircraft are in shelters and not parked on outdoor ramps, as is often the case.

Alone, passive protection can do what active protection cannot. It provides protection twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, from both air attacks and ground infiltration. Unlike active protection, many forms of passive protection are immune to electronic warfare and cyber-attacks. Passive protection does not interfere with any other airspace activities and, once completed, is less susceptible to degradation in capability caused by personnel shortages.

The advantages of hardening are why Norway has reopened its deeply buried aircraft facilities, and Switzerland never abandoned its facilities. The US and other NATO countries have built hardened aircraft shelters with top protection in the past, but ceased building them because the threat did not justify the cost of construction and challenges to aircraft maintenance in more confined spaces. As the operations in Iran and Russia, as well as the sabotage at RAF Brize Norton, make clear, the threat has changed.

In an ideal world, the US and NATO could still rely on the protection afforded by distance, but that is not the world of today. Failing that, the best possible way forward would be to combine active and passive defences to protect all critical assets, but this may prove unfeasible. While the solutions to the challenges posed may appear tactical, the implications of failing to implement new protection could be strategically catastrophic.

Whether the US and its Allies choose passive or active protection or a combination of both, the time has come to protect critical aircraft while they are on the ground so the Joint Force can count on them to be in the air. The US and its allies should take the opportunity to learn from the attacks on Iran and Russia and develop protection for their critical aircraft today or risk becoming a case study of regret in the future.

Dr Jacob Stoil is a military historian who is the US Army’s Research Professor of Middle East Security at the US Army Strategic Studies Institute. In this capacity, he advises the US Army and other organisations on Middle East policy, strategy, and lessons learned. Dr Stoil also serves as Chair of Applied History at the West Point Modern War Institute, Assistant Director of the Second World War Research Group (North America) and Trustee of the U.S. Commission on Military History. Jacob was a Senior Fellow of the 40th Infantry Urban Warfare Center and a co-founder of the International Working Group on Subterranean Warfare as well as an Associate Professor of Military History at the US Army School of Advanced Military Studies (SAMS). He has published multiple policy and academic articles, which can be found in publications such as the International Journal of Military History, Wavell Room, and Modern War Institute. He can be followed on X as @JacobStoil.

Header image: Preparation of two Saab JA 37 Viggen under Töreboda arches as part of the Bas 60 (Flygbassystem 60), which was an air base system developed and used by the Swedish Air Force during the Cold War. (Source: Wikimedia)

#ResearchNote – The Royal Australian Air Force Goes to War over Korea

By Dr Ross Mahoney

Editorial note: This article first appeared on the author’s website. It has been reproduced here with permission.

On 25 June 1950 local time, forces of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea) crossed the 38^th Parallel and invaded the Republic of Korea (South Korea). Launching Operation Pokpung, North Korea quickly moved south and by 28 June had occupied the capital of South Korea, Seoul. In response to this act of aggression, on 25 June 1950, in New York, the United Nations passed Resolution 82, which condemned the invasion, called for a cessation of hostilities, and demanded the withdrawal of forces beyond the 38^th Parallel. Failure to comply with the resolution led to the adoption of Resolution 83, which recommended that UN members provide military forces to support South Korea and restore peace.

Korea, after 35 years of occupation by the Japanese, was split into two zones of occupation in 1945. The Soviet Union occupied the north, while the United States occupied the south. While the intention had been to unify the Korean Peninsula, problems arose between the communist North and the nationalist South. The failure of the Communist Party (the Workers’ Party of North Korea) to participate in the 1948 elections, combined with the abstention of several South Korean politicians, led to the eventual development of two distinct systems of government.[1] After the communist victory in the Chinese Civil War in 1949 and after receiving tacit support from Joseph Stalin, North Korea prepared to invade South Korea.

Australia’s response to Resolution 83 was to support the UN. At this time, the Australian military was providing forces to the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) in Japan. Shortly after the passage of Resolution 83, the Department of External Affairs received communications from the Americans regarding the support Australia was willing to provide.[2] Initially, the Royal Australian Navy vessels (RAN) HMAS Shoalhaven and Bataan (the latter en route to Japanese waters to relieve the former) were tasked with supporting the withdrawal of nationals from South Korea; however, by 29 June, they were tasked with assisting American operations.[3] In cabling this news to the Australian Ambassador to the United States, Norman Makin, the Minister for External Affairs, Percy Spender, noted the presence of No. 77 Squadron, Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), in Japan. However, he stressed it represented ‘practically the whole of our effective operational fighter strength in Australia or elsewhere.’[4]

Group portrait of No. 77 Fighter Squadron, RAAF, 26 September 1948. Identified, left to right, back row: Warrant Officer (WO) Jim Flemming; WO W. Michelson; Flying Officer (FO) W. Horsman; WO M. Garroway; WO W. Rivers; Flight Lieutenant (Flt Lt) C.R. Noble; WO Fairweather; Flt Lt J. Grey; FO K. McLeod; WO B. Nichols; Flt Lt T. Murphy. Front row: FO W.O.K. Hewett; Flt Lt R. Hill; Flt Lt W. Ives; Flt Lt C. Butcher; Flt Lt S. Bradford; Squadron Leader F. Lawrenson; Flt J.I. Adams; Flt Lt G. Strout; Flt Lt K. Godfrey. (Source: Australian War Memorial)

No. 77 Squadron had deployed to Japan as part of BCOF in 1946 as part of No. 81 Wing. In 1948, it was transferred to Iwakuni Air Base in Yamaguchi Prefecture, on the island of Honshu. The squadron had been re-equipped after the end of the Second World War with the North American P-51D Mustang. By June 1950, No. 77 Squadron was amid preparations to return to Australia, it having been announced in April that the remaining Australian forces in Japan would be repatriated. However, events overtook these preparations.

On 29 June, the same day the Australian Government contributed the RAN to the war in Korea, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers in Japan, General Douglas MacArthur, requested No. 77 Squadron for operations over the Korean Peninsula. He had been informed by his principal air commander, Commander of the Far East Air Forces (FEAF), Lieutenant General George Stratemeyer, that he was in desperate need of long-range ground attack aircraft. As the Australian Official Historian of the Korean War, Robert O’Neill related, MacArthur had cabled the Commander of BCOF, Lieutenant General Sir Horace Robertson, to request the use of No. 77 Squadron. However, he had sent the message uncoded and not kept it from the entourage of reporters that he had taken with him on his tour of South Korea.[5] Stratemeyer embellished MacArthur’s position by heaping praise on No. 77 Squadron. While the praise was not unwarranted, it was clearly designed for effect. Indeed, Stratemeyer and his planners at FEAF had, in the words of the United States Air Force’s official history of air operations over Korea, ‘cast covetous glances’ at No 77 Squadron and its P-51 Mustangs.[6] MacArthur’s request for the deployment of No. 77 Squadron was widely reported in the Australian media alongside Stratemeyer’s praise for the unit before the Australian Government had a chance to respond.[7]

MacArthur’s request put the Australian Government in a challenging position. They still hoped to send No. 77 Squadron back to Australia, but alliance politics took centre stage, and by 30 June it was announced that the squadron would be committed to operations.[8] MacArthur had got his way. However, while No. 77 Squadron was committed to action, it operated from Iwakuni and would operate over Korea, but not be deployed to the peninsula. Moreover, due to poor weather, it would take several days for No. 77 Squadron to undertake its first sorties.

The North American P-51D Mustang aircraft A68-809, flown by Wing Commander Lou Spence DFC, when commanding No. 77 Squadron, RAAF, in Korea. Spence flew this aeroplane on 2 July when leading the second mission of the day. (Source: Australian War Memorial)

On 2 July, No. 77 Squadron undertook three sorties. The first was an ‘armed escort’ of four P-51s led by Squadron Leader Graham Strout for US Douglas C-47 Dakotas evacuating wounded soldiers from ‘Taijon’ (Daejeon) in Korea to Japan. One P-51 (A68-799) had to return to Iwakuni due to being unserviceable after take-off. The second sortie was a ‘close-armed escort’ mission led by the squadron commander, Wing Commander Lou Spence. The mission was to escort a group of US Douglas B-26 Invaders who attacked two bridges south of Seoul. One P-51 (A68-757) had to return due to unserviceability. The final mission saw six P-51s provide ‘armed escort’ to US Boeing B-29 Superfortresses who were attacking Yonpo airfield at Hamhung.[9] Despite the return of two aeroplanes to Iwakuni due to unserviceability, the sorties were relatively uneventful, despite several newspapers reporting that No. 77 Squadron downed one or two Yakovlev Yak-9 fighters.[10] No enemy aeroplanes were recorded as being encountered, and only in the two final sorties was any form of anti-aircraft fire encountered, though they caused no problem for the squadron. After a relatively inauspicious start, No. 77 Squadron would soon turn its attention to offensive operations, launching its first ‘armed attack’ with eight P-51s armed with rockets, attacking a convoy on a stretch of road between Heitaku and Suwon on 3 July. The attack claimed two locomotives, one truck, two staff cars, four other vehicles, and a bridge.[11]

The significance of No. 77 Squadron’s deployment over Korea came not in what the squadron physically achieved but in what its presence represented to alliance politics. The squadron’s first operations were widely reported both in Australia and abroad. In Australia, No. 77 Squadron’s first operation was reported in a typically functional manner, with many newspapers simply reporting on the character of the sorties. Nevertheless, some newspapers reported on the significance of the sorties in terms of Australian strategic policy, both foreign and domestic. For example, on 3 July, the Brisbane Telegraph noted that while the deployment of small-scale RAAF and RAN forces to support the effort in Korea was warranted to ‘honour Australian commitments to the United Nations’, any larger-scale deployment would need parliamentary agreement.[12] However, as an editorial in The Canberra Times reported, the rapid deployment highlighted ‘[t]wo extremes in the making of major decisions on policy have been illustrated by the reactions of the Government and of the Labour Party to the outbreak of hostilities in Korea.’[13] In short, the Australian Government acted quickly. At the same time, the Labor Party could ‘even comment on the situation until a meeting is held in Sydney next Wednesday [5 July], at which the policy will be decided.’[14] Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was reported that the Australian Communist Party had condemned the use of the RAAF, describing their deployment as a ‘scandal and a disgrace’ and demanding ‘the withdrawal of the R.A.A.F, from Korea.’[15]

More significantly, in the US, the rapid response of the Australian Government was noted. On 2 September, the Washington Evening Star reported on that ‘[t]he first combat mission of the Australians […] had a political significance. It made the air war a United Nations show […] No longer was the United States conducting any part of the Korean “police action” alone.’[16] That the term ‘political significance’ was used would not have been lost on readers, and a copy of this article was provided to the Department of External Affairs, as it aligned with Australian views on alliance politics.[17] Indeed, on 27 June, Makin had cabled Canberra to note that ‘the war had created a useful opportunity for putting to the State Department’ the creation of a ‘regional arrangement […] might help meet further crises.’[18] Thus, the failure to deploy No. 77 Squadron would have been inopportune and also demonstrated that, while a small contribution to the war effort, it had a significant political impact.

Thus ended the first day of operations for No. 77 Squadron over Korea. The squadron would deploy to Korea in October 1950 and eventually be re-equipped with the Gloster Meteor F.8. It would serve in Korea until October 1954, when it would transfer back to Japan and subsequently to Australia.

Dr Ross Mahoney is an independent scholar specialising in the history of war, with a particular focus on the use of air power and the history of air warfare. He is the Editor-in-Chief of From Balloons to Drones and currently the Senior Historian within the Heritage Policy team at Brisbane City Council in Australia. He has nearly 20 years of experience in the education, museum and heritage sectors in Australia and the United Kingdom, including serving as the inaugural Historian at the Royal Air Force Museum between 2013 and 2017. His other research interests are military leadership and command, military culture, and the history and development of professional military education. He also maintains an interest in transport history. He has published numerous articles, chapters and encyclopedia entries, edited two books, and delivered papers on three continents. His website is here.

Header image: North American P-51D Mustangs of 77 Squadron RAAF, lined up on the tarmac at Iwakuni air base, Japan, c. 1950. (Source: Australian War Memorial)

[1] This is an overly simplified description of the development of the two Koreas in the period after the Second World War. For more detail, see: Allan Millett, The War for Korea, 1945-1950: A House Burning (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2005).

[2] Robert O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1: Strategy and Diplomacy (Canberra, ACT: The Australian War Memorial and the Australian Government Publishing Service, 1981), p. 49.

[3] National Archives of Australia (NAA), A1838, 3123/7/3/4 PART 1, Statement by the Prime Minister, 29 June 1950; ‘Australia Backs U.N.,’ The Herald, 29 June 1950, p. 1; ‘Australian Units for Korea, Ships and Planes,’ Lithgow Mercury, 29 June 1950, 2.

[4] O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1, p. 51.

[5] O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1, pp. 51-2. On the repercussions, or lack thereof, of MacArthur’s ‘leak,’ see: O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1, p. 54. Cameron Forbes claimed MacArthur told Australian Roy Macartney, who was Chief of the AAP-Reuters office in Tokyo. See: Cameron Forbes, ‘Fighting in the Giants’ Playground: Australians in the Korean War’ in John Blaxland, Micheal Kelly and Liam Brewin Higgins (eds.), In from the Cold: Reflections on Australia’s Korean War (Canberra, ACT, ANU Press, 2020), p. 89. Macartney certainly filed a story that was picked up by several newspapers. For example, see: ‘Australian Fighters Sought by MacArthur,’ The Canberra Times, 30 June 1950, p. 1; ‘MacArthur Seeks Use of Australian Fighters in Korea,’ Border Morning Mail, 30 June 1950, p. 1; ‘MacArthur Wants Australian Fighter Planes,’ Daily Advertiser, 30 June 1950, p. 1. O’Neill noted the presence of Macartney of MacArthur’s aeroplane but does not explicitly note that the latter told the former that he wanted No. 77 Squadron. O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1, p. 51.

[6] Robert Futrell, The United States Air Force in Korea, 1950-1953 (New York, NY: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1961), p. 64.

[7] “R.A.A.F. Fighters Sought for South Korea,’ The Sydney Morning Herald, 30 June 1950, p. 1; ‘RAAF asked to Fight with U.S.,’ Daily Mirror, 30 June 1950, p. 1; ‘MacArthur Back; Wants to Use R.A.A.F.,’ Illawarra Daily Mercury, 30 June 1950, p. 1; ‘Mac Arthur asks for the R.A.A.F.,’ The Courier-Mail, 30 June 1950, p. 1; “Wants R.A.A.F. for Korea,’ The Mercury, 30 June 1950, p. 1.

[8] NAA, A1838, 3123/7/3/4 PART 1, Statement by the Prime Minister, 30 June 1950.

[9] NAA, A9186, 103, Detail of Operations, No. 77 Squadron, Operations Record Book, 2 July 1950.

[10] ‘RAAF Mustangs Escort Bombers,’ The Herald, 3 July 1950, p. 3; ‘RAAF Mustangs in a Mission which downs a Red,’ The Daily News, 3 July 1950, p. 1.

[11] NAA, A9186, 103, Detail of Operations, No. 77 Squadron, Operations Record Book, 3 July 1950.

[12] ‘Emergency Call to Parlt.,’ Brisbane Telegraph, 3 July 1950, p. 2

[13] ‘Policies on Korea,’ The Canberra Times, 3 July 1950, p. 4.

[14] ‘Policies on Korea,’ The Canberra Times, 3 July 1950, p. 4.

[15] ‘Communists in Stoney Attack Prime Minister,’ The Canberra Times, 3 July 1950, p. 1.

[16] NAA, A1838, 3123/7/3/4 PART 1, Brooks McClure, ‘Aussies Make Quick Contribution to War,’ Washington Evening Star, 2 September 1950. McClure’s article also noted the importance of the deployment of RAN ships.

[17] NAA, A1838, 3123/7/3/4 PART 1, Memorandum to the Secretary, Department of External Affairs, 5 September 1950.

[18] O’Neill, Australia in the Korean War, 1950-53 – Volume 1, p. 53.

#ReviewArticle – Bomber Command at War

Reviewed by Dr Dan Ellin

Marcus Gibson, The Greatest Force: How RAF Bomber Command became the No.1 factor in Britain’s total, destructive defeat of Nazi Germany. York: Marcus Gibson, 2025. Illustrations. Bibliographic Notes. xv + 537 pp.

Daniel Knowles, Reaping the Whirlwind: The Changing Perceptions of the Wartime Role of RAF Bomber Command. York: Barnthorn, 2025. Illustrations. Appendices. Bibliographic Notes. Index. 281 pp.

The history of RAF Bomber Command is a difficult heritage. Since the war itself, questions about area bombing have divided opinion, and today the bombing war is frequently remembered through the divisive, binary lenses of the ‘Dams or Dresden’.[1] Both books consider the public perception of the actions of RAF Bomber Command. However, while Reaping the Whirlwind examines the subject critically and objectively, The Greatest Force passionately argues for further recognition for Bomber Command. On his website, Gibson claims that the book aims to ‘fundamentally change our view, once and for all, of the immensity of their contribution.’[2]

In The Greatest Force, Gibson claims to answer the ‘outstanding questions’ (Rear cover) he has identified about RAF Bomber Command’s war, including why ‘Harris was right to bomb city centres’, how ‘Bomber Command became the No.1 factor in Britain’s total, destructive defeat of Nazi Germany’, and how the force ‘gave little-known but vital support to the Royal Navy against the U-boats and to Allied armies.’ He also maintains that the ‘book is the first-ever full analysis of the impact of RAF Bomber Command on Nazi Germany’. He claims that his research finally ‘dispels the many myths about Bomber Command’s true effectiveness,’ and proves that ‘it was the foremost military force in securing victory.’[3] The Greatest Force massively overpromises and underdelivers.

The book makes a couple of legitimate points, notably the importance of small industrial production to the Nazi war effort. However, it lacks proper evidence to support these ideas, and Gibson’s claims are largely unsubstantiated. The book fails to live up to the promise of the title, the blurb on the back cover, and its marketing. In the introduction, he back-pedals from the title’s claim, concluding ‘that the RAF’s bombing was the principal reason for Germany’s early military defeat in the West – a destructive force equalled in effectiveness only by the victories of the Red Army on the Eastern Front’. (p. xiv) More importantly, the questions he asks are not ‘outstanding’. For example, we already know that materiel was diverted from elsewhere to defend against Allied air power (p. 163).

He resolutely buys into the big man of history concept, citing Harris, Churchill, and his namesake with the dog, while making his disdain for Atlee very clear. (p. 470) His political stance and agenda are also revealed by phrases like ‘group think’ (p. 461) and ‘betrayal’ (p. 465, 469), as well as his wish for a column for Harris to rival that of Nelson. (p. 465) He tries so hard to clear the name of Bomber Command that he avoids the complexity of the subject and includes so much that is irrelevant. Rather than debunking certain myths about the role of Bomber Command, the book reinforces those on one side of the debate over the difficult heritage of the bombing war. His wish for a monumental column taller than that of Nelson firmly positions him in this. Gibson is a journalist with an axe to grind; he is not a historian.

The book is poorly referenced, many claims are unsupported, and the sources used are often cherry-picked without analysis. Most references are to the secondary literature, such as Adam Tooze’s Wages of Destruction (2006), rather than to the primary sources he claims to have used. The book overlooks the cultural context of the historiography he cites, as well as the nuances of working with veteran testimony 80 years after the events. One moment, he’s talking about Allied air power; the next, he is attributing all success solely to RAF Bomber Command (p. 159, 163).[4] Reading it made me realise that ‘yes and’ can be a negative comment.

Conversely, in Reaping the Whirlwind, Daniel Knowles acknowledges that the bomber has been in ‘the shadow of Fighter Command’ since Churchill’s speech about ‘the few’ in 1940, and like Gibson, argues that since the end of the war, Bomber Command has occasionally been regarded ‘with great distaste’ (p. 100). However, unlike Gibson, he traces how the ‘perceptions of, and attitudes to the role played by Bomber Command’ have fluctuated between 1945 and today, and he advances explanations for their changing favour (p. 5).[5]

Unlike Gibson, Knowles is historically minded, having a degree in History and Politics. The difference is highlighted in their approach to their subject. He critically examines the historiography, and how literature, film and TV, novels and comics, political discourse and contemporary events, the popular press, and even representations in school textbooks, have played their part in the construction of the popular memory of Bomber Command. He goes into some detail describing the capabilities of different bombsights, and navigation aids including Gee, H2S and Oboe, before he considers how the tactical differences between RAF and USAAF bombing policies have been remembered as area or precision bombing. In doing so, unlike Gibson, Knowles engages with the complexity and the nuance of evolving attitudes to the bombing war in the context of changing politics and worldwide events over the last eight decades.

Reaping the Whirlwind has a logical structure; it is well-referenced and includes 70 pages of appendices with transcripts of important primary sources, including the Butt Report and Churchill’s speeches and correspondence. I would argue that it is worth buying to have these sources accessible on a bookshelf. The book flounders a little by oversimplifying the discussion around censorship of films and the removal of statues (pp. 130-1), but the reader can forgive this and the occasional typo. Although he perhaps incongruously claims ‘little concern has been given to the aircrews of Bomber Command’, (p. 79) Knowles examines the decorations awarded to veterans, and comments that the issue of the Bomber Command Clasp in 2013 would not have occurred if ‘perceptions and attitudes of Bomber Command’s role within the Second World War had not changed’ (p. 97).

Knowles summarises the historiographical and current perspectives on the bombing war, whereas the thinking behind The Greatest Force remains rooted in the late 1990s or early 2000s. Although his book is half as long, Knowles is more effective than Gibson at arguing that the ‘hostility’ to Bomber Command’s position in public memory has been ‘unfair’. (p. 162) He concludes that while their role still divides opinion, perceptions have altered, and Bomber Command is now recognised by the memorials in London and by the International Bomber Command Centre in Lincoln. (p. 179)

Dr Dan Ellin is the archivist for the International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive housed at the University of Lincoln. A Social and Cultural historian, his research examines the lives, emotions and medical treatment of the men and women who served with Bomber Command during the Second World War, and how the bombing war is remembered.

Header image: An Avro Lancaster MkIII of No. 103 Squadron at Elsham Wolds, Lincolnshire, early March 1943. As part of the publicity for ‘Wings For Victory Week’ (6-13 March), the station photographer was required to supply photographs of the men and machines of the squadron for inclusion in local newspapers. (Source: IWM (CH 8965))

[1] Mark Connelly Reaching for the Stars: A New History of Bomber Command in World War II (London: I.B. Tauris, 2001), p. 147.

[2] Marcus Gibson, ‘The Greatest Force – New Book by Marcus Gibson’ 2025. Accessed 15/08/2025 https://rafbook.co.uk/

[3] Marcus Gibson, ‘The Greatest Force – New Book by Marcus Gibson’ 2025. Accessed 15/08/2025 https://rafbook.co.uk/

[4] Paul Woodadge and Marcus Gibson, ‘How RAF Bomber Command became the No.1 factor in Britain’s total, destructive defeat of Nazi Germany’, WW2TV (2025). Accessed 15/08/2025

[5] Ashley Barnett and Daniel Knowles, Barnthorn Publishing, ‘Reaping the Whirlwind by Daniel Knowles.’ Accessed 15/08/2025

From Balloons to Drones

Air Power throughout the Ages

Author: Ross

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Air Power throughout the Ages

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