Eleftherios Venizelos and the Evolution of Greek Military and Naval Aviation, 1909-1918

By Manolis Peponas

Greek military and naval aviation development would have been delayed if Eleftherios Venizelos had not become Prime Minister of Greece in 1910. Venizelos’ rise to power resulted from Greece’s failures in several areas. Greece, in 1909, was facing several issues, including financial problems, continuous military failures, especially the humiliating defeat in the Greco-Turkish War of 1897and the incapability of the political elite to respond to the masses’ demands, including better preparation of the armed forces, reduction of taxes, and financial stabilisation. Also, in the early 20^th Century, Greece remained concerned about the intentions of the Ottoman Empire, especially after the reforms introduced in the wake of the Young Turk Revolution of 1908. These events provided the context and motivation for the early development of Greek air power.

The Goudi Coup and Eleftherios Venizelos

In October 1908, junior Greek Army officers who felt disappointed in the military policy of the Greek government, especially the lack of preparation that had led to defeat in the Greco-Turkish War of 1897, formed the Military League. Their key demand was an increased military budget and modernisation of the Greek Army. Rapidly, the organisation became very powerful, largely due to frustrations within the Greek Army and society. Despite the lack of overt political ambition and a desire to focus on military affairs, the young officers gained the support of the people of Athens. So, on 15 August 1909, the Military League organised a coup that began in Goudi barracks. Prime Minister Dimitrios Rallis resigned on the same day, and his successor, Kyriakoulis Mavromichal, began negotiating with the rebels. Despite the success of the coup, the country’s social problems remained unsolved.^[1]

The months after the coup passed without any progress. On the one hand, while the Military League was powerful, it did not wish to create a military junta. However, the government had minimal freedom to act. Also, social problems, such as poverty, lack of education, and social inequalities, presented substantial obstacles, and few politicians could handle them. One who could handle them was Venizelos, a little-known lawyer who lived in Crete, then an autonomous region under the authority of the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. The revolutionary officers – several of whom were Cretans – called him in Athens on 28 December 1909. There, Venizelos crafted a compromise between the Military League and the politicians to create a prudent political program for his regime. After that, on 15 March 1910, the Military League dissolved itself, expressing the opinion that there was no longer a need to exist. Some months after that, on 6 October 1910, Venizelos was elected Prime Minister.^[2] Venizelos dominated Greek politics, serving as Prime Minister seven times before he died in exile in 1936.

Soon after his election, Venizelos, viewed as a man of action rather than an intellectual, aimed to transform Greece into a modern European state.[3] The new parliament passed several laws to improve education, protect individual freedoms, secure civil rights, and boost the economy. Also, realising that a new conflict against the Ottoman Empire was approaching, Venizelos sought to reorganise the Greek military. He held the portfolios of the Military and Naval Ministries. One of his first decisions was to invite a French delegation under General Joseph-Paul Eydoux and a British one under Rear-Admiral Lionel Grant Tufnell. Eydoux led the French Military Mission that arrived in Greece in January 1911 to oversee changes in the Greek Army, including improvements in organisation and tactics, training, and procedures. Grant led the British Naval Mission, which undertook similar work with the Greek Navy. Furthermore, in February 1912, the Greek parliament approved a new bill that divided Greece into four military regions. Each region could generate two divisions in wartime.^[4]

The First Greek Pilots

As early as 1909, Russian aviator Simon Utoskin appeared in Greece and flew with his Farman aircraft in the Palaio Faliro region. However, this effort had no connection to official Greek policy.^[5] The first flight in Greece was carried out by businessman Emmanouil Argyropoulos, who arrived in Athens with a Nieuport IV.G plane in January 1912. On 8 February, he took off from Rouf aerodrome in the presence of King George I and Venizelos. The Prime Minister followed Argiropoulos on his second flight and baptised his plane, Alkyon).

The arrival of the French Military Mission in 1911 was the key driver in establishing military aviation in Greece. Eydoux, a École Supérieure de Guerre graduate, was a passionate man with progressive ideas about how to modernise the Greek Army. In cooperation with Venizelos, Eydoux examined the possibility of establishing a Hellenic Air Service for the Greek Army that followed the standards of the French Army, which had formed its air service in 1909. Venizelos supported the idea and permitted the young officers to go to France for flying training. First Lieutenant Dimitrios Kamperos, First Lieutenant Michail Moutousis, and Second Lieutenant Christos Adamidis arrived there in the last months of 1911. They formed the nucleus of the Hellenic Air Service established in 1911, and they were trained at Henri Farman’s flying school at the Etampes aerodrome. At the same time, the Greek government ordered some of its first MF.7 Longhorns, which arrived in Athens some months later.^[6]

The MF.7, a two-seater aeroplane, was designed and built by Maurice Farman in 1910. It was almost 12 meters long, with a wingspan of 15 meters. It used a 70hp Renault 8C V-8 air-cooled piston engine and could reach a speed of 95 kilometres per hour. Its service ceiling was 4,000 meters. Farman used the prototypes initially for training purposes in his flying school. Furthermore, he and other experienced pilots like Maurice Tabateau, Eugène Renaux, and Farman won several Michelin Prizes flying this aircraft type. France, Greece, Great Britain, Australia, Italy, Spain, Mexico, Belgium, Norway, Japan, Denmark, and Russia operated them during the First World War.^[7]

Dimitrios_Kamberos — First Lieutenant Dimitrios Kamperos, the first military aviator in Greek history, c. 1912. (Wikimedia)

Kamperos was the first military aviator to return to Greece after the first phase of his training in France. On 13 May 1912, he performed his first flight in Greece during the military exercises before the First Balkan War broke out. Two days later, he flew at a height of approximately 1,000 meters, performing reconnaissance missions in nearby lands of Attica region. Both Eydoux and Venizelos watched his landing. The latter constantly expressed a great interest in the Hellenic Air Service, communicating personally with the pilots and trying to cover their training demands. On 27 May, Venizelos baptised the first four planes that arrived in Greece, giving them the names Dedalus, Aetos (Eagle), Gyps (Vulture), and Ierax (Hawk). The public celebrated the ritual, and several wealthy businesspeople were willing to purchase planes.^[8]

Kamperos stayed in Athens for three months; in August, he had to return to France for the second training phase. That period was enough for him to perform several daring flights. Also, in June 1912, he modified a Farman plane into a seaplane and landed it without difficulties in front of Venizelos and other officials. Simultaneously, Kamperos’ colleagues continued their training in France. The detachment numbered six pilots: Moutousis, Second Lieutenant Panoutsos Notaras, Adamidis, First Lieutenant Loukas Papaloukas, First Lieutenant Markos Drakos, and Kamperos. The process was interrupted in September because Greece entered the First Balkan War, and the aviators were obligated to return to their motherland.

Greek Military Aviation and The Balkan Wars

In 2011, historian Marc Biondich described the diplomatic and military history of the Balkans as a product of:

The complex multicultural and ethnolinguistic mosaic, which was produced over the centuries by a combination of geography and political history, has come under astonishing duress over the past two hundred years. Indeed, the Balkans as a term and spatial category were born in the modern era, conceived in the nineteenth century as a post-imperial space and legacy of Ottoman decline emerging from the confluence of revolution, war, and Great Power fiat.^[9]

During the 19^th Century, several national movements developed in the Balkans to challenge the domination of the Ottoman Empire. The creation of small nation-states in the region did not appease their ambitious leaders, including Eleftherios Venizelos, who desired to expand their countries’ borders. This ambition led to the Balkan Wars of 1912-1913, a series of conflicts that significantly reshaped the map of the region. During the Balkan Wars, Greek pilots had the opportunity to gain experience and show their skills.

In September 1912, the four Greek pilots who remained in France were ordered to return to Greece. They formed the nucleus of the recently established Aviation Company based in Larissa. This unit reported to the Hellenic Air Service. Having initially only four Henry Farman aircraft, the Aviation Company conducted mainly reconnaissance missions. In one of them, Kamperos threw hand grenades at his enemies, although he did not manage to cause any casualty. At the same time, new personnel arrived in Larissa because the government allowed civilians with a pilot diploma to enlist in the Aviation Company. The most significant was Argyropoulos, one of Greece’s few experienced aviators. The government also ordered new Maurice Farman aircraft from France. These decisions helped increase the efficiency of the Aviation Company.

The Greek Army occupied Macedonia’s most significant city, Thessaloniki, on 26 October 1912. That caused the pause of the air operations. However, the Aviation Company moved to Epirus in December to participate in the siege of Ioannina. There, the Greek pilots did not limit their action to reconnaissance missions; they also bombed the Turkish positions and provided supplies to their isolated fellow soldiers. After the liberation of Ioannina, Adamidis landed inside the city, highlighting the successful service of the Aviation Company.^[10]

Velos-_24_January_1913 — The Greek Destroyer Velos collects the Henry Farman aircraft of First Lieutenant Michael Moutoussis and Lieutenant Aristeidis Moraitinis after the first air-naval operation, c. 1913. (Source: Wikimedia)

Overall, the Balkan Wars significantly impacted Greek military policy regarding aviation. Notably, after the signing of the Treaty of Bucharest in 1913, which ended the Balkan Wars, the efforts to reinforce Greek military aviation continued. Venizelos and the other leading members of his government took the opportunity to understand better the potential of a well-organised Hellenic Air Service with modern aircraft and experienced pilots. It is also noteworthy that Venizelos did not lose his heart when Argyropoulos died in a crash in the Lagadas region on 4 April 1913. This was the Aviation Company’s first loss. Finally, at the beginning of 1913, Moutousis moved to Limnos, where, with Lieutenant Aristides Moraitinis, he organised and experimented with a recently purchased French seaplane for several missions.

Greek Military and Naval Aviation in the First World War

When the First World War began, Greece was politically divided. On the one hand, Venizelos believed the country should be allied with Britain and France because it would allow it to expand Greece’s borders further. On the other side, King Constantine I expressed the opinion that Greece should be neutral, securing whatever it had gained after the recent Balkan Wars. This dispute led to a ‘quiet’ civil war that ended with the deposition of King Constantine I in 1917. After that, Venizelos, supported by Britain and France, declared war on the Central Powers.^[11]Meanwhile, Kamperos continued his hard work. He led the Hellenic Air Service, which managed the logistics of military aviation, including the financial administration and the training of the pilots. Also, operationally, an Aviation Company and squadron based in Palaio Faliro, near Athens, reported to the Hellenic Air Service. However, both operational units lacked personnel, aircraft, and fuel. The same thing happened at the Hellenic Naval Air Service until 1917.

In Thessaloniki, where he had organised a rebel government in 1916-1917, Venizelos attempted to merge the air services of the Greek Army and Greek Navy; however, he was unable to achieve his aims due to the backlash of many officers who were afraid that they would lose their autonomy. Nevertheless, Venizelos reorganised the Hellenic Air Service. In September 1917, a specific department was established within the Army Ministry to improve the efficiency of the Hellenic Air Service by undertaking the bureaucratic tasks previously undertaken by the later. There, experienced French personnel supported the Greeks in developing the Greek Army’s aviation capabilities, while an aircraft manufactory was also created. From December 1917 to June 1918, three squadrons were established.^[12] These were 531, 532 and 533 Squadron. The former was a fighter unit equipped with Nieuport 24bis and Spad VII/XIIIBreguet 14A2/Β2, while the latter two were bomber-reconnaissance units equipped with Breguet 14A2/Β2.

The Hellenic Air Service participated in several confrontations during the First World War. At the Battle of Skra in 1918, Greek pilots located Bulgarian artillery batteries and guided Greek artillery fire, including counter-battery operations. Additionally, the 531 Squadron, equipped with Spad VII/XIII aircraft, participated in several dogfights against the more experienced Germans to battle for control of the air. However, the most significant role of the army’s squadrons was its participation in fruitful reconnaissance missions and the escort of Entente’s (mainly British) bombers that operated against the Ottoman coasts.^[13]

Between 1917 and 1918, the Hellenic Naval Air Service, which had been established in 1915, developed rapidly under the command of Moraitinis, a pro-Venizelist officer who had not hesitated to offer his service to the British in 1916, long before King Constantine I was deposed. The Hellenic Naval Air Service simultaneously trained and took part in several missions, something beneficial for its pilots. One of the most notable moments of the Hellenic Naval Air Service came on 21 March 1917, when Moraitinis bombed the German airdrome of Drama. Moraitinis impressed even his opponents, who witnessed his tremendous action. Moraitinis and his peers also bombed Bulgarian logistical hubs storing food several times and conducted numerous reconnaissance missions. Notably, most of those activities were executed at night under challenging circumstances.

In 1918, the Hellenic Naval Air Service cooperated several times with the British Royal Navy, escorting the latter’s ships operating in the region. One of those missions was the last for Sublieutenant Spyridon Hampas, who had the misfortune of facing the German ace Lieutenant Emil Meinecke. Meinecke had at least seven aerial victories while also training the Turkish pilots. The Germans buried his victim, Hampas, with military honours at the British Chanak Consular Cemetery. He was one of the 18 members of the Corps who lost their lives during the conflict.^[14]

At the end of the First World War, four Hellenic Naval Air Service planes flew into Istanbul on 4 November 1918 under the command of Moraitinis. It was a great honour for the Greek airmen because the city was centuries ago the capital city of the Byzantine Empire. After landing at Saint Stefanos’s airdrome, they continued their flight, demonstrating a Greek flag. Unfortunately, that was one of Moraitinis’ last missions as on 22 December 1918, the Breguet 14 he was piloting crashed accidentally near Mount Olympus. He was only 27 years old.^[15]

Venizelos_WWI_1918 — Venizelos reviews a section of the Greek army on the Macedonian front during the First World War in 1918. He is accompanied by Admiral Pavlos Koundouriotis (left) and French General Maurice Sarrail (right). (Wikimedia)

Conclusion

Moraitinis and, before him, Argyropoulos were two of the most notable Greek airmen who died during their service. However, these losses did not stop the evolution of Greek military and naval aviation. All Greek politicians, including Venizelos, envisioned that their country should dominate in the air. Greek pilots had proved their merit during and before the First World War, operating under difficult circumstances. For example, Greek military and naval aviators operated under challenging operational and organisational circumstances, faced more experienced German aviators and executed dangerous missions. Fortunately, some aviators, such as Kamperos and Moutousis, remained in the Hellenic Air Service and Hellenic Naval Air Service, training their successors.

The question remains, however, as to why Greek military and naval aviation succeeded. First, there was the charisma of the Hellenic Air Service and Hellenic Naval Air Service personnel. Men like Kamperos were both soldiers and leaders who loved danger. So, the other pilots admired them and were ready to obey their orders. More importantly, however, Greek politicians, especially Venizelos, showed an early interest in developing Greek military and naval aviation – Venizelos could be considered the real ‘father’ of Greek military aviation. Notably, Venizelos’ decision to request French and British military advisors was an essential step in developing Greek military aviation. Finally, through Greece’s participation in various wars of the 1910s, Greek pilots learned how to fly and manage an air service under wartime conditions: the theatres of the Balkan Wars and the First World War could be considered the real training schools for them.

Emmanouil (Manolis) Peponas is a PhD candidate at the Department of History and Archaeology, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. He completed his BA and MA studies with honours at the University of Ioannina. As an experienced freelancer, he has worked for remarkable institutions and publishing companies. He is the author of seven books and several articles. His research interests focus on the contemporary military, social and diplomatic history of the Balkans.

Header image: Greek aviators of the Hellenic Naval Air Service at San Stefano aerodrome after the capitulation of the Ottoman Empire, 1918. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] Mark Mazower, ‘The Messiah and the Bourgeoisie: Venizelos and Politics in Greece, 1909–1912,’ The Historical Journal 35, no.4) (1992), pp. 885-904.

[2] Mazower, ‘The Messiah and the Bourgeoisie.’

[3] Mazower, ‘The Messiah and the Bourgeoisie,’ p. 904.

[4] Thanos Veremis, Military Interventions in Greek Politics, 1916-1936 [Οι επεμβάσεις του στρατού στην ελληνική εξωτερική πολιτική 1916-1936] (Athens: Alexandria, 2018), p. 39.

[5] ‘Hellenic Air Force History: First Steps,’ Hellenic Air Force.

[6] Konstantinos Topalidis, ‘The History of the Air Force in Greece, 1919-1940’ [‘Η ιστορία της Πολεμικής Αεροπορίας στην Ελλάδα, 1919-1940’] (MA thesis, University of Macedonia, 2016), p. 14.

[7] ‘The Maurice Farman Biplane.’ Flight IV, no. 27 (6 July 1912), pp. 603-6.

[8] Topalidis, ‘The History of the Air Force in Greece,’ p. 15.

[9] Mark Biondich, The Balkans: Revolution, War, and Political Violence since 1878 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 1.

[10] Topalidis, ‘The History of the Air Force in Greece,’ pp. 16-20.

[11] George Kaloudis, ‘Greece and The Road to World War I: To What End?,’ International Journal on World Peace 31, no. 4 (2014), pp. 9-47.

[12] Topalidis, ‘The History of the Air Force in Greece,’ pp. 28-29.

[13] Douglas Dakin, The Unification of Greece 1770-1923 (London: Ernest Benn, 1972), p. 218.

[14] Topalidis, ‘The History of the Air Force in Greece,’ pp. 30-2.

[15] Jon Guttman, ‘Air Attack Over the Dardanelles,’ historynet.com, 23 September 1998.

Flipping the Script: How Getting Remotely Piloted Aircrew out of Combat Improves Operational Flying

By Major James Schmitt

For almost a decade, the US Air Force (USAF) has recognised the need for remotely piloted aircraft (RPA) aircrew to conduct ‘dwell.’ [1] Dwell is the Department of Defense (DoD) term for the time between deployments, typically used to restore unit cohesion, conduct training, and support servicemembers’ requirements. Operational experience and research showed that RPA squadrons, despite not physically leaving their home station during combat, also required time in dwell. However, the studies advocating RPA dwell focused on the benefits of time spent out of combat, with few authors studying combat performance. As a result, the studies missed a key point: continual combat operations, even with brief respites, force RPA squadrons and aircrew to divide their attention between traditional peacetime and wartime duties.

An unfocused squadron cannot mission plan with partners, fly operational missions, or conduct high-end training or rehearsals, leaving RPA squadrons persistently underperforming in combat. While RPA aircrew may reap some peacetime benefits from short dwell cycles, the RPA enterprise will only improve operations by adopting the same dwell model as the rest of the USAF.

A Brief History of RPA and Dwell

In 2015, the USAF conducted a wide-ranging study into the morale and retention problems in the RPA community, focusing on aircrew flying the MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper. Known as the Culture and Process Improvement Program (CPIP), the study revealed that RPA morale was most affected by continuous combat operations, preventing time away for personal and professional reasons. Unbounded combat operations and the associated rotating work and sleep schedules damaged the health of RPA aircrew, dramatically increasing fatigue, alcohol usage, and medication compared to other USAF career fields.[2] Accepting the CPIP results, the USAF agreed to implement a combat-to-dwell cycle by 2024 for its RPA aircrew.^[3]

The study’s mandate to focus on morale biased its recommendations. CPIP recommendations focused on improving aircrew welfare instead of operational performance, a conclusion that also affected follow-on civilian research. For example, a recent Government Accountability Office report on RPA staffing and dwell cited 21 articles; 17 were related to psychological health or well-being, while only one focused on operational effectiveness.^[4] In both military and research circles, a consensus developed that aircrew needed a ‘break,’ causing leaders to eschew traditional dwell models and leave RPA aircrew with far too little time out of combat.

Traditional platforms have an established dwell model based on when a unit deploys. DoD policy sets a goal of a 1:3 deploy-to-dwell ratio; in other words, for every month a unit spends deployed, it should spend at least three months in dwell. The USAF expanded on DoD guidance with its Force Generation Model, which formalised a 24-month model with a maximum of 6 months in combat. RPA aircrew, who conduct combat missions from their home stations, fell into a grey area in both policies. The lack of specific guidance presented a problem in managing combat deployments for RPA aircrew.

An_MQ-9_Reaper_sits_on_the_361_Expeditionary_Attack_Squadron_flightline_at_an_undisclosed_location,_Aug._6,_2022 — An MQ-9 Reaper sits on the 361st Expeditionary Attack Squadron flightline at an undisclosed location, 6 August 2022. The 361st Expeditionary Attack Squadron operates the aircraft in support of Operation INHERENT RESOLVE. (Source: Wikimedia)

Initial Implementation

On 1 October 2020, the 20^th Attack Squadron at Whiteman Air Force Base entered a 60-day reconstitution period, the first-ever protected dwell time for an RPA unit. Colonel Timothy Monroe, the 25^th Attack Group commander, wrote that dedicated time out of combat was a ‘paradigm shift’ that would ‘have a significant impact to an adversary’s calculus.’ He was quickly proven correct when the hard work of squadrons in reconstitution set up equally unprecedented MQ-9 deployments in Romania and Japan over the next three years. Even with a short amount of time in dwell, MQ-9 units executed a paradigm shift from counterterrorism in the Middle East and Africa to strategic competition in Europe and the Pacific.

While the first MQ-9 dwell programs have shown impressive results, they have limited goals – rotating four squadrons implies a deploy-to-dwell ratio of 1:0.3, well below the DoD and USAF deploy-to-dwell goal of 1:3. A lower ratio means less training. Before a 6-month deployment, a fighter squadron receives a minimum of 18 months of training. An MQ-9 squadron starting the same 6-month deployment gets only two months of training – about one-tenth the time to complete similar training requirements. The unusually short training period also created new challenges and amplified existing structural problems in the RPA community.

Before initial dwell implementation, MQ-9 pilots and sensor operators completed mission qualification training and did not train again until they became instructors – one of the most underappreciated facts about RPA aircrew. Additionally, most mobility and big-wing aircraft have an aircraft commander that can debrief co-pilots, and most fighter aircraft has a flight lead that can debrief wingmen; MQ-9 aircrew have neither. When entering dwell, the lack of training experience and a senior/junior crew model forces squadrons to task their instructors to oversee every dwell sortie. As a result, MQ-9 instructor pilots and sensor operators are severely overtasked during dwell, leading to burnout, low morale, and poor training quality.

Flipping the Script 1 — Depiction of deploy-to-dwell ratios (Source: Author)

Finding the Right Ratio

One barrier to decreasing MQ-9 deploy-to-dwell ratios is that dwell is normally justified in keeping US military members at home. DoD dwell policy explains a 1:3 deploy-to-dwell goal in part to ensure that servicemembers ‘do not spend extended periods of time away from their homeport, station, or base.’ MQ-9 aircrew never leave their base and return to their homes after each day of flying. Further, other communities (such as special operations forces) are chronically over-deployed. Even if studies continually demonstrate the need for RPA dwell, the lack of a physical departure from home stations challenges improved deploy-to-dwell ratios.

The requirement for traditional deploy-to-dwell ratios is evident in a day in the life of RPA aircrew. Today, pilots and sensor operators show up to work with many responsibilities. First, they fly for at least some portion of the day, conducting operational and combat missions globally. Second, they fulfil administrative responsibilities; all but the most junior aircrew have additional duties, from supervising airmen to administering annual evaluations to planning the squadron holiday party. Third, the aircrew accomplishes their training requirements. Because squadrons spend almost all their time in active operations, they must conduct basic combat training, training to make new instructors, and training on emerging tactics and technology while in combat. Fourth, the aircrew participates in mission planning, briefs, and debriefs internally and with outside agencies. To be clear, when RPA aircrew are flying, they do not do other work. Nevertheless, as soon as they leave the cockpit, their attention is pulled in three different directions.

Extensive research demonstrates the challenges of this type of multitasking. On the individual level, multitasking increases stress, decreases productivity, and increases the number of errors in completed work; one study demonstrated that multitasking functionally lowered workers’ IQ by ten percentage points.^[5] Organisational multitasking, in which an organisation’s focus is split between multiple critical tasks, has similar effects. Research demonstrates that multitasking organisations deliver results slower, less consistently, and of lower quality than their focused counterparts.^[6] The structure of RPA squadrons makes this problem more challenging; with a 24/7 mission, most of the squadron is divided into three shifts and rotating workweeks that prevent clear delineation of administrative, training, and combat duties. As a result, RPA squadron constructs that attempt to do all things at once are structured to underperform continually. Studies even demonstrate that RPA aircrew weigh their ‘deployed in-garrison status’ and ‘extra duties/administrative tasks’ (i.e., multitasking peacetime and wartime responsibilities) as higher operational stressors than combat and weapons employment.[7]

To return a squadron’s attention to its combat or operational mission, future RPA dwell programs must provide enough time out of combat to accomplish peacetime responsibilities. Before a manned squadron deploys, its members take the time to complete most training, administrative responsibilities, and professional requirements. RPA aircrew must do the same before beginning a ” deployment into operational flying. There is no data on how long this would take RPA aircrew, but it is reasonable to assume that it will be roughly the same as their manned counterparts.

With non-flying responsibilities accomplished outside combat missions, RPA squadrons could re-focus on combat operations. That same RPA pilot or sensor operator with four responsibilities in the legacy model would now have two: mission planning or execution. No key squadron personnel would conduct offsite development during high-priority operations. No pilots would be worrying about getting off shift in time to catch a flight to their wedding in four days.^[8] In short, the RPA enterprise would flip its most important script: while combat operations are normal and training is abnormal today, the future must make training normal and combat a critical exception.

Flipping the Script 2 — Depiction of RPA squadron responsibilities (Source: Author)

Conclusion – The Way Forward

Integrating RPA into a 1:3 deploy-to-dwell cycle faces serious but surmountable challenges. There are only three ways to improve a deploy-to-dwell cycle: create more squadrons, increasing the number of personnel out of combat; re-task (i.e., ‘redeploy’) some MQ-9 units from combat to training; or restructure squadrons to reduce overhead and free up personnel for training. Each of these three approaches poses its own challenges, as resources are limited, demand for MQ-9s is already more than the USAF can produce, and adjusting well-established personnel constructs carries risk. However, the idea that ‘risk is rarely mitigated, just transferred’ applies here. The RPA enterprise transfers risk to combat missions by not accepting risk in resourcing dwell.

Increasing time in dwell also increases the demand for training resources. More time in training means more flying hours at home, which requires more aircraft, cockpits, and (most importantly) maintainers. Even relatively banal problems like a chronic lack of desks and computers become acute when aircrew are in cockpits less and in offices more. The USAF is looking to save money in the MQ-9 program, but the relatively small costs of properly equipping its aircrew will pay returns in the long run.

Innovative solutions to resourcing dwell could be an entire article; the more critical starting point for the discussion is setting a requirement. As long as RPA aircrew are attempting to conduct missions while distracted by administrative responsibilities, if they are hampered by missing key personnel, and as long as they attempt to execute two important tasks simultaneously, they will not perform at the level expected of USAF aviators. The RPA enterprise must make another paradigm shift by integrating into the USAF dwell model, focusing on combat, and improving its performance just as the United States has faced its greatest strategic challenge since the end of the Cold War.

Major James ‘Hot’ Schmitt is a senior remote pilot in the United States Air Force with more than 2,500 combat and combat support hours in the MQ-1 and MQ-9. He has supported operations in Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, and elsewhere, including a recent deployment as the Chief of Weapons and Tactics for Air Forces Central at Al Udeid Air Base, Qatar. He is a graduate of the US Air Force Weapons School and currently works on the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations staff at Headquarters Air Force.

Header image: An General Atomics MQ-9 Reaper unmanned aerial vehicle flies a combat mission over southern Afghanistan. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] RPA is the USAF term for large, medium-altitude uncrewed aerial systems, sometimes also referred to as UAS or drones, to emphasise the role of the remote crew flying the aircraft.

[2] Chappelle, Wayne et al., ‘Reassessment of Occupational Health Among U.S. Air Force Remotely Piloted Aircraft

(Drone) Operators,’ Final Report, Air Force Research Laboratory (April 2017), p. 36.

[3] United States Government Accountability Office, ‘UNMANNED AERIAL SYSTEMS: Air Force Should Take Additional Steps to Improve Aircrew Staffing and Support’ (June 2020), p. 2.

[4] GAO, UMANNED AERIAL SYSTEMS, pp. 49-52.

[5] Molly Russ and Derek Crews, ‘A Survey of Multitasking Behaviors in Organizations,’ International Journal of Human Resource Studies 4, no. 1 (2014), p. 139.

[6] Janice Alquizar, ‘Multitasking of Teachers in the Contemporary Settings: Boon or Bane?” (Dec 2018), p. 35.

[7] Wayne Chappelle et al., ‘Symptoms of Psychological Distress and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in United States Air Force “Drone” Operators,’ Military Medicine 179, no. 8 (2014), p. 67.

[8] Author’s unpleasant experience.

Hulls, Hydrofoils, and Float Tests in the NACA Tanks, 1915 to 1945

By Jay Shaw

Since the establishment of the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) in 1915, it had worked closely with the United States Navy. Not only had the US Navy partnered with NACA, but the creation of the latter was also a rider to the former’s funding bill.[1] This history of NACA has been overshadowed by its successor, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), into which the former was absorbed in 1958. Thus, much of the critical work by NACA has been overlooked. Indeed, if NACA is remembered at all, it is for using wind tunnels in aeronautical research, but there was much more that it was responsible for. This article redresses this deficit by examining how NACA used water tanks in seaplanes’ aeronautical and hydronautical advancements after the First World War. It also highlights the people and agencies involved in the research and the means of conducting the research.

The United States Navy, Seaplanes, and the First World War

The US Navy, realising that aircraft would play a vital role in any future war, recognised that something had to be done to improve its readiness and improve its fleet of seaplanes The US Navy partnered with NACA to investigate and perform research on its aircraft, including seaplanes and flying boats. These planes would be critical in defence and coastal patrols. As a part of the first line of defence against German U-boats, the seaplanes would be a priority for the US Navy. The seaplane was considered a fixed-wing aircraft with a fuselage designed for floatation and containing a hull.[2] However, because it realised that aviation was still a technology in its infancy, the US Navy requested that NACA help make the naval seaplanes as efficient as possible. NACA, in supporting the tasking of the US Navy through its work on seaplanes, ensured a long and productive close bond with the Navy.

By the end of the First World War, the US Navy had several seaplanes with varying hulls, float types, and missions. These seaplanes operated from bases on shores because the US Navy did not have aircraft carriers or capital ships to launch such craft. The prevailing view then was that if the enemy were to attack, it would be by submarine, so it made sense to send patrols out from the shore to search for submarines. Several kinds of seaplanes were designed and used by the US Navy during the First World War. In 1919, Commander H.C. Richardson, the Superintending Constructor of Naval Aircraft for the US Naval Buffalo district in Buffalo, New York, who had also been Secretary to NACA’s main committee on formation in 1915, explained that:

[t]he principal work was done with two types of seaplanes, namely, the HS-2, the single-motored plane developed from the HS-1, and the H-16, a copy of an English seaplane.[3]

These two seaplanes were used because they were the most readily available. This shows how poorly the US Navy seaplane fleet was in 1919. However, according to Richardson:

The Navy Department fully appreciate[d] the desirability of experimenting to improve existing types and the development of new types of seaplanes and airplanes, directed to the solution of those problems which have arisen in the war and, more particularly, to the development of seaplanes or airplanes for operation with the fleet.[4]

Richardson was an active proponent of seaplanes for the US Navy. Therefore, because of the efforts of those such as Richardson, the US Navy was on track to update its seaplane fleet.

Unfortunately, the seaplanes of this period were unscientifically constructed. Their range was not that far, and their stability in flight left much to be desired. Actual aerodynamic testing was needed to ensure that any aircraft was worthy of combat and that the seaplanes were no exception. Richardson wrote in 1919 that:

[t]he problem confronting the Navy was largely determined at the time the United States entered the war [1917] by the fact that the operations of the German and Austrian fleets had been reduced principally to minor raids […] and the only real sea-going operations comprised the activity of submarines.[5]

This would be the primary mission of the seaplanes for many years: the patrol of waters in search of submarines. The submarines’ effect in the First and Second World Wars should not be taken lightly. The amount of cargo tonnage that could be destroyed by an undetected submarine could be immense.

Richardson’s 1919 article is crucial as he addressed the US Navy’s needs and how the seaplanes could aid it. His outline reads almost like a ‘wish list’ that NACA would eventually find itself working on. First, Richardson felt that performance, first and foremost, relied upon horsepower. He argued that:

[t]he performance in power flight is determined by the horsepower required and the horsepower available, and of course, the latter must always exceed the former or power flight is not attainable.[6]

Considering that Richardson wrote this in 1919, he seems to have firmly grasped the needs of seaplanes. However, the power plants of any aircraft currently were still in an age of infancy. As such, Richardson’s idea that seaplanes were reliant on horsepower was unfortunately ahead of the technology that would make the machines efficient.

Richardson also understood that lift was an essential component of flight. He explained that:

[t]he lift of an airplane surface and its resistance to advance are determined by the lift and drift factors, which vary with the type of section used and also with the angle of attack at which the surface is presented to the relative stream of air.[7]

The US Navy realised, however, as much as Richardson showed advanced thought on the subject, that the research involved was outside the Service’s scope. NACA, set up as an agency that was available to help government and civil agencies in aeronautics research, would be the agency to help the US Navy address the fundamental science of seaplane aeronautical research.

Curtiss_(NAF)_H-16_at_NACA_Langley_in_1929 — A Curtiss H-16 at the Langley Aeronautical Laboratory at Hampton, Virginia, c. 1929. (Source: Wikimedia)

The Importance of NACA’s Research

While often overshadowed by NASA, the work of NACA deserves examination because of the enormity of its contribution to aeronautics. As NASA historian James Schultz explained:

[t]hroughout its history, with research and applied engineering, the Center [Langley] has been responsible for some of the 20th century’s fundamental aeronautical and aerospace breakthroughs. The Nation’s first streamlined aircraft engine cowling was developed at Langley Laboratory […] the tricycle landing gear; techniques involving low drag-producing flush riveting; [and the] development of the sweptback wing.[8]

Similarly, historian Michael Gorn asserted:

[t]he proliferation of wind tunnels [about thirty had been built at Langley up to the 1950s] reflected the NACA’s true institutional identity: it concentrated on aeronautics.[9]

While Gorn is correct, NACA could not have focused solely on aerodynamics and prospered. Aerodynamics was just one piece of what NACA did. It was established to investigate all flight modes, and hydrodynamics was a crucial part of NACA’s work. While not as aerodynamically sophisticated as land planes, seaplanes and flying boats needed hydrodynamical studies to meet the needs of the US Navy. It is a mistake to overlook this field that so many within NACA worked on.

Once NACA started its research on hydrodynamics, it did so without any presumptions and began its research by looking at the fundamentals of the aircraft. George W. Gray, in his early history of NACA, explained this adeptly. He stated that:

[a] large part of the effort of the hydrodynamic staff at Langley has been expended upon the twin problems: trying to effect a seaplane body that will combine low water resistance with low air drag.[10]

Even before this, however, the question was whether seaplanes could even take flight. Then, again, the problem was that of power plants. As Gray pointed out, the studies:

[h]ad yielded some disappointing surprises: new designs that would not take off at the speeds planned or that would not lift the desired loads at any attainable take-off speed.[11]

With the water tanks of NACA, however, the guesswork was taken out of the equation. However, none of this would have been possible, at least in a reasonable amount of time, without some organisation to make it happen.

Langley and the Water Tanks

Langley, located at Hampton Virginia, was NACA’s research centre, established in 1917. It focused primarily on aeronautical research but would eventually be used to test space equipment such as the Apollo lunar module. However, the first ten years at Langley comprised only the testing of aeroplanes. There was no work at all done on seaplanes. To do this work, NACA had to have something other than a wind tunnel to test the seaplanes.[12]

The drag tank also called a tow tank, drag tunnel, or even the drag basin, was the solution to the research needed. Gray stated that:

[m]any of the studies in wind tunnels were applicable to seaplanes, and they in common with landplanes benefited from improvements in wings, propellers, engine cowlings, and other developments of the 1920s.[13]

The study variables were applicable, but these were still seaplanes, and there was a need to test them in water. Gray elaborated that NACA knew that it needed a better way to test the seaplanes:

[i]t was recognised that the airplane on the water has problems that are not shared by the airplane in the air or on the landing strip, and in 1929 the Committee in Washington decided to enlarge the organisation and equipment at Langley to provide for research in hydrodynamics.[14]

It was then that hydrodynamic research began at Langley.

Langley constructed two tanks: tank number one and tank number two. Tank number one became operational on 27 May 1931 for $649,000.[15] Its purpose was ‘to study the hydrodynamic resistance and other performance features of water-based aircraft.’[16] A vital design team member was Starr Truscott, who published numerous studies based on research from tank one. A few additions were made to the tank, including a new higher-speed (80-MPH) carriage (a rail that the aircraft being tested sits on) installed in 1936-1937 and a tank extension of 900 feet to 2,960 feet in 1936.[17] Eventually, the need for another tank would arise, leading to the construction of tank two.

Tank number two, operational on 18 December 1942, again had Truscott, along with John B. Parkinson and John R. Dawson, on the design team.[18] The basin was 1,800 feet long by 18 feet wide and 6 feet deep. It also had a 60-MPH carriage.[19] The express purpose of tank number two was ‘to test models of floats for seaplanes and hulls for flying boats by dragging them through seawater.’[20] According to Gray, the significance of tank two was that:

[r]esearchers experimented with radical departures from accepted hull design, trying to find the specifications for a seaplane body that would combine freedom from porpoising and skipping, low water resistance, and superior performance in the air. Out of these experiments came a novel design known as the hull with a planing tail.[21]

Every step in the building of the tanks, from the basin to the tires on the towing carriage, had to be carefully thought out to ensure the best product for research use. Truscott, one of the designers of both tanks, realised that using NACA tanks required certain necessary features solely for use with the seaplanes.[22]

Truscott related that the tank located at Langley was:

[o]f the Froude type; that is, the model which is being tested is towed through still water at successive constant speeds from a carriage spanning the tank. At each constant speed, the towing pull is measured, the trim and the rise, or change of draft, are recorded and, if the model is being towed at a fixed trim, the moment required to hold it there is measured and recorded.[23]

The tank itself was covered by an enclosure meant to protect it from the water itself (so that turbulent water after a test could settle more quickly), wind, and the weather, rather than to provide any comfort to the engineers.[24]

Pneumatic tires were installed and were ‘each driven by an independent electric motor through a single-reduction herringbone pinion and gear. The […] tires are high-speed bus or truck tires, with smooth treads.’[25] The carriage had to have the means to propel itself, which was achieved using ‘our electric motors propelling the car […] nominally of 75 horsepower, but for short periods they may be safely called upon to deliver 220 horsepower each.’[26] ‘Finally, the device used electrical braking to break the current for regenerative braking.’[27]

Given the construction of the tanks, much work had to come together to test seaplanes. Of course, the whole purpose was to test the seaplanes for fundamental problems that could inhibit the aircraft’s performance. Resistance, porpoising, skipping, and performance were why the tanks existed. Solutions to these problems were needed for a more efficient aircraft. NACA engineers sought to reduce resistance; the force encountered when a plane is in the air moving forward or a seaplane in water, to help with take-off and landing.

Porpoising, a dangerous event that often occurs in the water, is something that NACA was tasked to find a solution to. According to Kenneth Davidson and F. W. S. Locke, Jr., writing for the Stevens Institute of Technology in 1943:

[p]orpoising is a self-sustaining oscillatory motion in the vertical longitudinal plane [… ] and can originate in an instability of the uniform longitudinal motion in smooth water […] in the words of one test pilot, it is always unpleasant and it may be catastrophic.[28]

Essentially a seaplane will move up and down in the water out of control of the pilot. So it is easy to understand why the US Navy was interested in the dynamics of porpoising and what needed to be done to eliminate it. If left unchecked, not only could the seaplane not fly, but it could also be damaged, or worse yet, the pilot injured or killed.

Performance was made up of several things. Engine performance, aerodynamics, and propellers were factors in all aircraft, but with the seaplane, there was a demanding service life on the water. In addition, s were composed of thousands of rivets, so corrosion was a considerable fear. It could be disastrous if the corrosion worked through a rivet at the wrong time. The hull of the seaplane was another vital factor. The construction, what it was made of, the aerodynamics, and how to prevent porpoising and skipping of the aircraft were things that NACA still needed to work out.

With the tow tanks available, miniature models could be constructed of the hulls or floats of the seaplanes, put upon the carriage, and pulled at the desired speed. If the results did not achieve the desired results, costly mistakes could be prevented. This opened new doors for aeronautical research that paid huge dividends in the coming years. While NACA was still beginning its seaplane research, progress would come more rapidly with the tow tanks at hand.

Fundamental Research

In 1935, NACA found itself in a position to make future research easier. Engineer Antonio Eula performed tank tests on seventeen different hulls and floats.[29] Eula purposely picked a random number of floats that had been tested in the laboratory over the last few years. He did this because:

[i]t affords an opportunity to draw some general conclusions regarding seaplane floats of given weight, given wing structure, any given position of the center of gravity.[30]

Another reason is that not much data existed to make work easier for future engineers. His most important conclusion drawn from the tests was that ‘the best models have a maximum relative resistance not exceeding 20 percent of the total weight.’[31] Just that information itself was enough to help any future engineers working with the drag tanks to give them a starting point from which to work.

Along with porpoising, skipping continued to be a problem with seaplanes. During the Second World War, the problem of skipping was considered a significant enough problem that needed further research. In 1943, John B. Parkinson at NACA addressed the problem. He began by defining just what skipping was. He reported that ‘skipping is a form of instability encountered in water take-offs and landings, so-called because of the resemblance of the motions of the seaplane to those of a skipping stone.’[32] Rising out of the water before the seaplane achieved flight was hazardous. A plane entirely out of the pilot’s control can lead to injuries, if not death.

One of the critical problems with the testing up to this point was that scientific testing had not occurred. Parkinson explains that ‘investigations of skipping have been mainly qualitative and the data have been based on the impressions of pilots or observers.’[33] Using models and even full-size aircraft for testing, Parkinson established that instability caused most problems. Using measurements taken from the fore and aft of the step-in hull helped determine where the problem for each type of seaplane was located. Once that was established, the engineers could make the corrections. Of course, it could never eliminate all problems because any seaplane on the water is prone to unpredictable water. However, it did go far in helping establish methods to solve the skipping problems.

It was realised that the research had to be compiled to make it easier for future engineers to find the information they were looking for. So, in September 1945, engineers James M. Benson and Jerold M. Bidwell released a bibliography containing information about seaplanes.[34] In this bibliography, many details covering everything from conventional hulls and floats to floating and handling were written about in a way that compiled the common information in past reports. Not only would this make it easier for future researchers, but the bibliography also pointed out areas in which more work needed to be done. Examples such as this are one of the reasons that NACA was able to achieve the success that it had.

Consolidated_PB2Y-3R_Coronado_loads_cargo_at_the_Pan_American_Airways_dock,_Treasure_Island,_California_(USA),_in_January_1943_(80-G-K-1149) — A US Navy Consolidated PB2Y-3R Coronado transport aircraft loads cargo at the Pan American Airways dock, Treasure Island, California in January 1943. (Source: Wikimedia)

NACA Water Tank Research and its Impact on Second World War Seaplanes

The Consolidated PB2Y Coronado is an example of how this research aided in Seaplane use during the war. In its original design, when fuelled for a long-range mission, this seaplane had a gross weight of 46,000 pounds of which 3,000 pounds was the payload. The US Navy wished to increase the payload.[35] Using models of the Coronado in Tank No. 1, the NACA changed the line of the step of the hull and installed ducts for ventilating the bottom area aft of the step. This increased the gross weight to 68,000 pounds, of which 12,000 pounds was payload. It’s stability was so assured that the plane, during its war service in the Pacific Islands was repeatedly used to make landings on dark nights when the seeing is poor, and the craft must descend on a steady glide path until water is touched, a more hazardous procedure than daylight landing.[36]

Conclusion

The success of NACA was based on hard work and dedication to research. Working alongside government agencies such as the US Navy and even civilian aircraft manufacturers, NACA helped the United States evolve from a country far behind Europe in aeronautical research to the world’s leader in aeronautical research. The research conducted on seaplanes, long overlooked, helped refine the seaplanes, and even today, seaplanes are still in use.

Jay C. Shaw graduated with a bachelor’s in history from Columbia College in Columbia, Missouri, in 2016. He began work on his PhD in History with the University of Missouri – Columbia in 2022. He retired in 2016 from the US Air Force as an Aerospace Ground Equipment Craftsman in support of both the C-130 Hercules and the B-1B Lancer airframes. He volunteered at the Army Engineer School History Office at Fort Leonard Wood for over a year, where he worked more than 350 hours proofing sources for a book on the history of the Army Engineer School.

Header image: Digging the channel for Tank No. 1. In the late 1920s, the NACA decided to investigate the aero/hydro dynamics of floats for seaplanes. A Hydrodynamics Branch was established in 1929 and a special towing basin was authorized in March of that same year. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] University of North Texas (UNT), UNT Digital Library, Annual Report of the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, Administrative Report Including Technical Reports Nos. 1 to 7, 1915.

[2] While modern definitions of seaplanes, flying boats and float plane are more clearly defined. At the time NACA was formed, the language used was less clearly defined. As evidence by Richardson’s article cited beloew, it is clear that the types of aeroplanes discussed would, by modern defintion be considered flying boats. However, he refers to them as seaplanes.

[3] H. C. Richardson, ‘Airplane and Seaplane Engineering,’ SAE Transactions 14 (1919), p. 334.

[4] Richardson, ‘Airplane and Seaplane Engineering,’ p. 365.

[5] Richardson, ‘Airplane and Seaplane Engineering,’ pp. 333-4.

[6] Richardson, ‘Airplane and Seaplane Engineering,’ p. 338.

[7] Richardson, ‘Airplane and Seaplane Engineering,’ p. 338.

[8] James Schultz, Crafting Flight: Aircraft Pioneers and the Contributions of the Men and Women of NASA Langley Research Center (Washington, D.C.: National Aeronautics and Space Administration, 2003), p. 25.

[9] Michael H. Gorn, ‘The N.A.C.A. and its Military Patrons during the Golden Age of Aviation, 1915-1939,’ Air Power History 58, no. 2 (2011), p. 25.

[10] George W. Gray. Frontiers of Flight (New York: Knopf, 1948), p. 67.

[11] Gray, Frontiers of Flight, p. 67.

[12] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Starr Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank: A High-Speed Towing Basin for Testing Models of Seaplane Floats, Technical Report, June 9, 1933, p. 4.

[13] Gray, Frontiers of Flight, p. 65.

[14] Gray, Frontiers of Flight, 65.

[15] James, R. Hansen, Engineer in Charge: A History of the Langley Aeronautical Laboratory, 1917-1958 (Washington, D.C.: National Aeronautics and Space Administration, 1987), p. 450.

[16] Hansen, Engineer in Charge, p. 450.

[17] Hansen, Engineer in Charge, p. 450.

[18] Hansen, Engineer in Charge, p. 466.

[19] Hansen, Engineer in Charge, p. 466.

[20] Hansen, Engineer in Charge. P. 466.

[21] Gray, Frontiers of Flight, p. 80.

[22] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[23] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[24] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[25] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[26] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[27] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Truscott, The N.A.C.A. Tank, p. 5.

[28] Kenneth S.M. Davidson and F.W.S. Locke, ‘Some Systematic Model Experiments on the Porpoising Characteristics of Flying-Boat Hulls,’ NASA, June 1943.

[29] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Antonio Eula, Hydrodynamic Tests of Models of Seaplane Floats, Technical Memorandum, May 1935, p. 1.

[30] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Eula, Hydrodynamic Tests of Models of Seaplane Floats, p. 1.

[31] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Eula, Hydrodynamic Tests of Models of Seaplane Floats, p. 1.

[32] UNT, UNT Digital Library, John B. Parkinson, Notes on the Skipping of Seaplanes, Wartime Report, September 1943, p. 1.

[33] UNT, UNT Digital Library, Parkinson, Notes on the Skipping of Seaplanes, p. 2.

[34] UNT, UNT Digital Library, James M. Benson and Jerold M. Bidwell, Bibliography and Review of Information Relating to the Hydrodynamics of Seaplanes, Wartime Report, September 1945, p. 1.

[35] Gray, Frontiers of Flight, p. 74.

[36] Gray, p. 74.

Call for Submissions – From Balloons to Drones

Featured

Established in 2016, From Balloons to Drones is an online scholarly platform that analyses and debates air power history, theory, and contemporary operations in their broadest sense, including space and cyber power. To date, with have published over 250 articles on various air power-related subjects.

Since its emergence at the start of the 20th Century, air power has increasingly become the preferred form of military power for many governments. However, the application and development of air power are controversial and often misunderstood. To remedy this, From Balloons to Drones seeks to provide analysis and debate about air power through the publication of articles, research notes, commentaries, book reviews, and historic book reviews – see below for a description of the range of articles published.

The study of air power is to be understood broadly, encompassing not only the history of air warfare, including social and cultural aspects but also incorporating contributions from related fields, such as archaeology, international relations, strategic studies, law and ethics. Possible subjects to be explored might include, but are not limited to:

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From Balloons to Drones welcomes and encourages potential submissions from postgraduates, academics, and practitioners involved in researching the subject of air power.

C-119B_Flying_Boxcar_drops_supplies_near_Chungju_1951 — A US Air Force Fairchild C-119B Flying Boxcar air-dropping supplies near Chungju, Korea, in 1951. (Source: Wikimedia)

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From Balloons to Drones publishes informative peer-reviewed articles on air power that range from historical pieces to the analysis of contemporary challenges. These well-researched articles should attempt to bridge a gap between the specialist and the non-specialist reader. They should be around c.3,000 words, though From Balloons to Drones will accept larger pieces. We reserve the right to publish them in parts.

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From Balloons to Drones publishes a series of review articles that examine the top ten books that have influenced writers on air power. See more here.

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From Balloons to Drones publishes opinion pieces on recent news on either contemporary or historical subjects. These should be no longer than c.1,000 words.

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Header image: A Panavia Tornado GR4 of No. IX(B) Squadron on a training sortie in preparation for deployment to Afghanisation, c. 2012. (Source: Wikimedia)

Love At First Sight? US Army Aviation before the First World War

By Alexander Reineke

After the Wright Brothers made their first flight in December 1903, it took the US Army several years to start paying attention to heavier-than-air aviation.[1] While lighter-than-air platforms, in the form of observation balloons, had been in use with the US military since the US Civil War, the novelty of heavier-than-air aviation in the form of aeroplanes eventually engaged the minds of military thinkers around the United States and all three combat arms – infantry, cavalry, and the field artillery.^[2] Officers from these combat arms offered similar but often diverging takes on the new invention. By examining articles published in professional journals of the period, this article considers how the US Army received and thought about the aeroplane’s application before the outbreak of the First World War.

The Infantry

For the infantry branch, the aeroplane introduced the possibility of lifting the fog of war from the battlefield in the form of easier, faster, and more reliable scouting opportunities. In 1909, Captain John R.M. Taylor, an infantry officer and prolific military theorist of the period, wrote in the Journal of the United States Infantry Association – later the Infantry Journal – that combat had changed little since the US Civil War two generations earlier. Primarily, artillery still functioned as artillery, cavalry as cavalry, and infantry as infantry. Ranges and lethality had increased, but the overall way wars were fought had, he argued, largely remained similar – American theorists at this time tended to look to the experience of the US Civil War as the first modern war, excluding European definitions, which often included the Crimean War and the Franco-Prussian War.^[3] However, the aeroplane offered a third dimension to the battlefield in the way that ground-based scouts – be it a group of skirmishers or a cavalry troop – could not replicate.^[4]

Taylor’s article, using a counterfactual based on Major-General George McClellan’s campaigns in 1862, suggested that the former might have won the war if he had had reconnaissance aeroplanes. Taylor believed that while the aeroplane was still in its infancy, the same had been said about the automobile a decade prior. Moreover, he envisioned the aeroplane and the airship taking their place in the order of battle as soon as the next great war alongside automobiles in the aid and support of the three combat arms as screening and attack forces.^[5]

While Taylor theorised about mechanised warfare broadly, the Massachusetts National Guard experimented with its application during their manoeuvres in 1909. Importantly, as Captain John Sherburne reported in the Infantry Journal’s pages, the Massachusetts National Guard improvised the use of ‘two automobile trucks as mounts for two light guns of naval type.’[6] Moreover, these were used as part of an ‘auto truck platoon’ by one opposing force during the manoeuvres. These experiences led Sherburne to hypothesise about the possibility of guns on such vehicles as potential anti-air assets, thus showing how even in the early years of aviation, officers were already thinking through the challenge of countering the threat from the air.^[7]

In 1910 and 1912, respectively, Captain G.L. Townsend, a career infantry officer, and Captain Paul W. Beck, one of the US Army’s first pilots, summed up the mood in the infantry in the pages of the Infantry Journal by arguing for a compromise between enthusiasts and critics of early aviation. They argued that while aeroplanes and airships had not yet matured as platforms, it was the job of the peacetime army to pay attention to new developments and create doctrine and institutions. This was so that aeroplanes might be used in war both through trial and error and through observations of potentially hostile nations’ use of aviation, with particular attention paid to the zeppelins of Imperial Germany even as they remained in their infancy.^[8]

The Infantry Journal’s editorial board, presided over by US Civil War veteran and former US Army Chief of Staff Lieutenant General John C. Bates and made up of reform-minded career officers who wished to modernise and professionalise the Army, broadly agreed with the ideas and proposals of these Townsend and Beck. Moreover, they believed that once fully developed, the aeroplane would become a great asset to infantry soldiers as a scouting force where cavalry could not reach. Nevertheless, they tempered the mood of aviation enthusiasts by recommending that any work on aviation be postponed to a time when war would be on the horizon. Aviation, as they argued, was too costly at the time. In the end, it all came down to funding. For the price of a squadron of aeroplanes or airships, machinery operating on the bleeding edge of technological progress, the US Army could fund and outfit several regiments or even divisions of infantry:

In the time required for us to create a field army after the declaration of war, and until such an army were in readiness both aeroplanes and aeroplanists would be useless, we should have time to build more aeroplanes and train more aeroplanists than probably any nation will ever use in war. The aeroplane can do us no greater military harm than driving out of mind again that our need now is the same as always — merely men, not machines, even though they be new machines with all the fancied terrors that superstition and ignorance give to things unknown. The invention of gunpowder was once expected to end war (as were the torpedo and the submarine).^[9]

Given this attitude, the infantry, always searching for more funding, applied the same logic to aeroplanes as critics of standing armies had done to the infantry: aviation units did not require costly training. They could be raised at a moment’s notice. This obfuscated the real reason: the US Army had no money to investigate the potential of aviation.^[10] Despite being stretched thin in manpower and funding; numerous infantry officers had become advocates for aviation. First among them was First Lieutenant Benjamin Foulois, the US Army’s first official aviator and a lifelong air power advocate and pioneer, who wrote in 1908 that in ‘all future warfare, we can expect to see engagements in the air between hostile aerial fleets.’^[11]

110303-D-LN615-005 — Signal Corps No. 1 in front of its hanger at Fort Sam Houston in 1910. (Source: United States Air Force)

The Cavalry

The cavalry, by contrast, saw its role as the US Army’s eyes and ears threatened by the invention of the aeroplane. Having already acknowledged that its days of charging enemy positions and dispersing troops were long over, the American cavalry had reinvented itself first as a frontier constabulary, a scouting force, and, in its current iteration, a force of mounted infantry ready to fight as infantry, to protect the flanks of the advancing army, and to chase fleeing enemy infantry.^[12] Already criticised by the infantry and artillery branches who doubted the viability of horse cavalry against modern weapon systems, the cavalry were determined to keep their role as scouting and routing forces. It was no wonder that in the Journal of the United States Cavalry Association in 1909, the well-respected horsemanship expert Edward L. Anderson dubbed the Wright Brothers’ aeroplane and automobiles as abominations.’^[13]

In a 1911 article in the Journal of the United States Cavalry Association on the reorganisation of the cavalry branch, Brigadier General Walter Schuyler, a long-serving cavalry commander since the American Indian Wars, saw the aeroplane and any other form of modern technology like the radio or the automobile as auxiliary forces that would help the cavalry increase its reaction time on the battlefield.^[14] However, on the other hand, others, such as retired officer E.L. Gilpin saw the cavalry as more than capable of taking on the aeroplane in single combat, believing that while the aeroplane might offer a bird’s eye view of the battlefield, the horse cavalry was the superior scout for detailed information even as they used their carbines to shoot down reconnaissance aeroplanes with superior marksmanship.^[15] Even the supporters of the aeroplane among the cavalry belittled aviation enthusiasts as having a ‘child-like faith.’^[16] They believed that the maturation of the technology would, eventually, lead to it becoming a great support system. Nevertheless, like its peer, the infantry, the cavalry could not – and would not – see the aeroplane as revolutionary in its current state.^[17]

The Artillery

The artillery, meanwhile, precisely saw that. Colonel John P. Wisser, a coastal artillery officer and an accomplished West Point educator and military attaché, became a staunch supporter of the aeroplane, as did many other artillery officers at the time. Reviewing the events of the Russo-Japanese War, Wisser echoed many views held by the infantry’s Taylor. He also believed that the US Army’s overall make-up had not changed since the US Civil War except for longer ranges and increased firepower. By contrast, aviation was still advancing exponentially to the point that an army fighting in the 1910s would have identical infantry and cavalry assets to the previous decade. However, its aviation assets would set it apart from any army of the last 50 years.^[18] By 1912, the artillery community concurred with Wisser’s original conjecture and believed they had found in aviation the best tool for mastering indirect artillery fire.

It was also an artillery officer, Isaac Lewis, whose light machine gun, the Lewis Gun, was first tested by the US Army as an aircraft-mounted weapons system. In 1912, Captain Charles Chandler and Lieutenant Roy Kirtland took a Wright Model B Flyer up in the sky. They tested the Lewis Gun as an air-to-ground weapon, scoring adequate hits against paper targets and collecting valuable data about air-to-air and air-to-ground combat.^[19]

While the artillery arm welcomed the aeroplane and the airship most enthusiastically among the three combat arms, this was likely due to its position as a largely technical and engineering-driven arm that was not in direct competition with the changes military aviation later brought to the battlefield. Indeed, artillery was already seen as an auxiliary to cavalry and infantry operations and relied on accurate reconnaissance to provide just that. While the infantry could not justify the cost at the time and the cavalry felt threatened in its role as the reconnaissance arm of the US Army, the field artillery accepted the aeroplane as another tool that would help them accomplish their mission more quickly as well as more precisely.^[20]

Conclusion

US Army aviation remained in its infancy after the outbreak of the First World War. While military aviation faced criticism as a novelty across the US Army, it largely enjoyed at least some measure of support across all combat arms who saw in it a valuable new tool for scouting, transportation, and even what would eventually be called close air support. The American military was quick to experiment with arming aeroplanes and creating ad-hoc anti-aircraft guns, showing they were quick to comprehend, use, and adapt to modern technology. However, fear of change and budgetary concerns remained, sabotaging efforts to experiment with aviation to its fullest extent. Additionally, the combat arms essentially saw aviation as a support arm, severely limiting the military theory that could be developed around the new invention.

Alexander Reineke is a PhD candidate in the North American History Department at Ruhr University Bochum. His thesis, provisionally entitled, ‘Prussia Envy? Alienation and War Preparedness in the Peacetime US Army, 1900-1941, focuses on the peacetime US Army before and after the First World War. He received his MA in History from Ruhr University Bochum in 2019. Since 2020, he has been a member of the editorial staff at AKM Portal für Militärgeschichte.

Header image: A Wight Model A arrives at Fort Myer, Virginia aboard a wagon for testing by the US Army, attracting the attention of children and adults, 1 September 1908. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] On the development of US Army aviation in this period, see: Herbert A. Johnson, Wingless Eagle: US Army Aviation through World War I (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Laurence Burke II, At the Dawn of Airpower: The U.S. Army, Navy, and Marine Corps’ Approach to the Airplane, 1907-1917 (Baltimore, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2022).

^[2] F. Stansbury Haydon, Military Ballooning during the Early Civil War (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000), passim. First published in 1941 as Aeronautics in the Union and Confederate Armies: With a Survey of Military Aeronautics Prior to 1861 by Johns Hopkins University Press.

^[3] A.D. Harvey, ‘Was the American Civil War the First Modern War?’ History 97, no. 2 (2012), pp. 272-280.

^[4] Captain John R.M. Taylor, ‘Cavalry and the Aeroplane,’ Journal of the United States Infantry Association VI, no. 1 (1909), p. 84; Lori Henning, Harnessing the Aeroplane: American and British Responses to a New Technology, 1903-1939 (Norman, OK: Oklahoma University Press, 2019), p. 35.

^[5] Taylor, ‘Cavalry and the Aeroplane,’ pp. 85-7.

[6] Captain John H. Sherburne, ‘Automobile Guns in the Massachusetts Maneuvers,’ Journal of the United States Infantry Association VI, no. 3 (1909), p. 375.

^[7] Sherburne, ‘Automobile Guns in the Massachusetts Maneuvers,’ pp. 380-81.

^[8] Captain G.L. Townsend, ‘The Use and Effect of Flying Machines on Military Operations,’ Infantry Journal VII, no. 2 (1910), pp. 246-55; Captain Paul W. Beck, ‘Military Aviation in America. Its Needs,’ Infantry Journal VIII, no. 6 (1912), pp. 796-817.

^[9] Anonymous, ‘Concerning Aeroplanes for the Army,’ Infantry Journal VII, no. 3 (1910), p.461.

^[10] First Lieutenant Benjamin D. Foulois, ‘Military Aviation and Aeronautics,’ Infantry Journal IX, no. 3 (1912), pp. 314-6; Harvey M. Spaolsky et al., U.S. Defense Politics. The Origins of Security Policy (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010), p. 116.

^[11] Benjamin D. Foulois with Carroll V. Glines, From the Wright Brothers to the Astronauts. The Memoirs of Major General Benjamin D. Foulois (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company 1968), p. 44.

^[12] Louis A. DiMarco, War Horse. A History of the Military Horse and Rider (Westholme, PA: Yardley 2008), pp. 289-298.

^[13] See Anonymous, ‘Editorial,’ Infantry Journal I, no. 3 (1905), pp. 174-81 and similar analyses of the use of cavalry in the Russo-Japanese War published in the service journals between 1904 and 1906. Edward L. Anderson, ‘Horses and Riding,’ Journal of the United States Cavalry Association XIX, no. 72 (1909), p. 729.

^[14] ‘Cavalry Reorganization,’ Journal of the United States Cavalry Association, Vol. XXII, No. 85, p. 23; Henning, Harnessing the Aeroplane, pp. 33-4.

^[15] E.H. Gilpin, ‘Armament and Equipment of the Cavalryman,’ Journal of the United States Cavalry Association XXII, no. 85 (1911), p. 82.

^[16] First Lieutenant Daniel L. Roscoe, ’The Effect of Aeroplanes Upon Cavalry Tactics,’ Journal of the United States Cavalry Association XXIV, no. 101 (1914), p. 856.

^[17] Roscoe, ’The Effect of Aeroplanes Upon Cavalry Tactics,’ p. 857.

^[18] Colonel John P. Wisser, ‘German Ideas on Tactics,’ Infantry Journal VII, no. 3 (1910), pp. 377-80.

^[19] C.H. Powell, ‘The Lewis Automatic Gun,’ Infantry Journal IX, no. 1 (1912), p. 44.

^[20] Colonel John P. Wisser, ‘The Tactical and Strategical Use of Dirigible Balloons and Aeroplanes,’ Cavalry Journal XXI, no. 81 (1910), p. 414.

#DesertStorm30 – Electric Avenue: Electronic Warfare and the battle against Iraq’s air defences during Operation Desert Storm

By Dr Thomas Withington

In January 1991, a US-led coalition launched Operation DESERT STORM to evict Iraq from Kuwait, which the former had invaded six months earlier. DESERT STORM was a combined operation involving a major air campaign. At the time, Iraq had one of the world’s most sophisticated air defence systems. The radars and communications necessary to spot hostile aircraft and coordinate their engagement were integral to this. As a result, the coalition correctly determined that the air campaign would only succeed by establishing air superiority and supremacy. This would be achieved through an Offensive Counter Air (OCA) campaign against the Iraqi Air Force (IQAF). A crucial part of this was an electronic war waged against Iraqi air defence radars and communications. This article explains the extent to which Iraq’s air defences threatened coalition air power, how the electronic war against these air defences was fought and why they were not able to overcome the coalition’s electromagnetic supremacy.

When Operation DESERT STORM began on the morning of 17 January 1991, Iraq possessed one of the world’s most fearsome Integrated Air Defence Systems (IADS). At 02:38, its demise began. Task Force Normandy, an armada of US Army AH-64A Apache gunships and US Air Force (USAF) MH-53J Pave Low helicopters attacked a group of IQAF radars. These were positioned a few miles behind the midpoint of the Saudi-Iraqi border within the Iraqi 1^st Air Defence Sector’s area of responsibility. The radars consisted of P-18 Very High Frequency (VHF), P-15 Ultra High Frequency (UHF) and P-15M2 UHF ground-based air surveillance radars.[1] This attack left a large swathe of Iraq’s southwest airspace without radar coverage. As a result, Iraq’s IADS failed to detect waves of incoming aircraft tasked with hitting strategic targets. These planes followed USAF F-117A Nighthawk ground-attack aircraft which had slipped through Iraqi radar coverage earlier to hit targets in Baghdad.

…The Story so Far: From Vietnam to DESERT STORM

The United States had learned about well-operated air defences the hard way during the Vietnam War. Vietnam’s air war saw the United States lose over 3,300 fixed-wing aircraft across all services. Rotary-wing and uninhabited aerial vehicle losses pushed this figure to over 10,000.[2] In addition, the North Vietnamese IADS, consisting of Anti-Aircraft Artillery (AAA) and SA-2 high-altitude Surface-to-Air Missiles (SAMs), reaped a grim toll on American aircraft. The experience led to the development of the USAF’s Wild Weasel concept.

Republic F-105G ‘Wild Weasel’ in flight on 5 May 1970. External stores include QRC-380 blisters, AGM-45 Shrike and AGM-78B Standard Anti-Radiation Missile. (Source: Wikimedia)

First seeing service in the summer of 1965, customised F-105F Thunderchief fighters outfitted with radar detectors, listened for transmissions from an SA-2’s accompanying radar. The purpose of locating the accompanying radar was that it helped locate the associated SAM battery. The aircraft would then attack the radar, initially with gunfire and rockets and later with specialist Anti-Radar Missiles (ARMs). These attacks destroyed the radar site and blinded the SAM site, thus reducing the threat to incoming attack aircraft. These aircraft were eventually upgraded to F-105G standard. The Wild Weasel concept was progressively honed during and after the Vietnam War with ever-more capable radar sensors, ordnance, and platforms. When the USAF deployed to Saudi Arabia in 1990, the Wild Weasels used F-4G Phantom-II jets with sophisticated radar-hunting equipment and AGM-88 high-speed anti-radar missiles.

The skies over Southeast Asia gave the US armed forces, and their North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) allies a taste of the potency of Soviet and Warsaw Pact air defences as they had for the Israeli Air Force during the Six-Day War of 1967 and the Yom Kippur War of 1973. No sooner had the last US units left Vietnam than the so-called ‘New Cold War’ began to unfold. Both NATO and the Warsaw Pact prepared for a confrontation that might engulf East and West Germany. Part of the Warsaw Pact’s role was to ensure that air approaches into the European USSR were heavily defended. This required robust IADSs of fighter defences and an umbrella of short-range/low-altitude, medium-range/medium-altitude SAM systems covering the altitudes NATO aircraft were likely to use. This SAM umbrella protected everything from dismounted troops on the front line pushing through the Fulda Gap on the Inner German Border to strategic politico-military leadership targets in the Soviet Union.

The Wild Weasel units were not the only assets involved in degrading Soviet air defences. Also important were SIGINT (signals intelligence) platforms, such as the USAF’s RC-135U Combat Sent ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) gathering aircraft. These aircraft allowed NATO to develop an understanding of where the radars supporting Soviet and Warsaw Pact air defences were situated. Understanding where the radars were located allowed NATO to build up an electronic order of battle of the ground-based air surveillance radars and Fire Control/Ground-Controlled Interception (FC/GCI) radars the air defences depended upon to detect and engage targets with SAMs or fighters. Many aircraft configured to collect SIGINT and prosecute Soviet/Warsaw Pact air defences were the same that deployed to the Persian Gulf. After arriving, they soon discovered similar defences to those on the eastern side of the Inner German Border.

KARI: Defending Iraqi Airspace

The US Department of Defence’s official report on DESERT STORM did not mince its words regarding the potential ferocity of Iraq’s IADS:

The multi-layered, redundant, computer-controlled air defence network around Baghdad was denser than that surrounding most Eastern European cities during the Cold War, and several orders of magnitude greater than that which had defended Hanoi during the later stages of the Vietnam War.[3]

The components of Iraq’s air defence system were sourced from the USSR and France. In the wake of the 17 July Revolution in 1968, which brought the Iraqi affiliate of the Arab Socialist Ba’ath Party to power, France steadily deepened its relationship with Iraq. As a result, France sold some of its finest materiel to Iraq during the 1970s and 1980s. For Iraq’s President Saddam Hussein, who had seized power in July 1979, this was ideal.

With tensions growing between Iraq and Iran, the Iraqi armed forces needed as much support as the regime could muster. They were not disappointed. Paris supplied Roland Short-Range Air Defence (SHORAD) SAM batteries. The Soviet Union, meanwhile, furnished Iraq with SA-2 batteries, SA-3 medium-range/medium-altitude, SA-6A low/medium-altitude/medium-range, SA-8, and SA-9 SHORAD SAM batteries. Additional SHORAD coverage was provided by a plethora of ZSU-23-4 and ZSU-57-2 AAA systems and SA-13 Man-Portable Air Defence Systems (MANPADS). The SAMs were mainly to protect Iraqi strategic targets. Divisions of the elite Republican Guard also had some organic SA-6 and Roland units. AAA was used for corps and division air defence, along with the point defence of strategic targets. These units would also have MANPADS coverage, some SA-8s and Rolands. These provided air defence coverage over the manoeuvre force.[4]

These air defences received targeting information from Chinese-supplied Type-408C VHF ground-based air surveillance radars with a range of 324 nautical miles/nm (600 kilometres/km). Iraq received five of these radars between 1986 and 1988. France also supplied six TRS-2215/2230 S-band ground-based air surveillance radars between 1984 and 1985. These had a range of 335nm (620km).[5] Iraq supplemented these with five French TRS-2206 Volex ground-based air surveillance radars transmitting on an unknown waveband with a range of 145nm (268.5km). The Soviet Union also supplied several ground-based air surveillance and height-finding radars for use with Iraq’s SAM batteries and independently. These included six P-12 and five P-14 VHF ground-based air surveillance radars with ranges of 135nm (250km) and 216nm (400km), respectively, plus ten P-40 radars with a 200nm (370km) range and five PRV-9 height-finding radars with a 162nm (300km) range.[6]

The IQAF’s radars, fighters, airbases, SAM batteries and supporting infrastructure that provided operational/strategic level air defence were networked using the French-supplied KARI Command and Control system.[7] The nerve centre of the IADS was the Air Defence Operations Centre in downtown Baghdad. This was responsible for Iraq’s operational/strategic air defence, particularly industrial and political installations.

Iraq’s airspace was segmented into four sectors (see figure 1).[8] Each was commanded from a Sector Operations Centre. Subordinate to the Sector Operations Centres were the Intercept Operations Centres. The Intercept Operations Centres would control a segment of airspace in a specific sector using organic radars. Their radar pictures would be sent to the Sector Operations Centre. There they would be fused together creating a Recognised Air Picture (RAP) of the sector and its air approaches. The recognised air picture was sent up the chain of command to the Air Defence Operations Centre using standard radio, telephone, and fibre optic links. A ‘Super RAP’ of Iraq’s airspace and approaches was created at the Air Defence Operations Centre. KARI used several means of communication to provide redundancy. If radio communications were jammed, communications with the Air Defence Operations Centre could be preserved using telephone and fibre optic lines. If telephone exchanges and fibre optic nodes were hit, radio communications could be used.

Iraq Air defence — Figure 1 – Iraqi Air Defence Sectors, Sector Operations Centres, and Intercept Operations Centres

Cooking up a Storm

Coalition air planners had two critical Iraqi threats to contest in the bid to achieve air superiority and air supremacy; the Iraqi IADS and deployed Ground-Based Air Defences (GBAD) protecting the Iraqi Army and Republican Guard units. The IADS/GBAD had to be degraded to the point where they would effectively be useless if coalition aircraft enjoyed relative freedom in the skies above the Kuwait Theatre of Operations. Electronic Warfare (EW) was intrinsic to this effort. The IADS and GBAD relied on air surveillance, battle management and weapons control.[9] Air surveillance was dependent on radar, battle management was dependent on communications, and both depended on the electromagnetic spectrum.

The concept of operations for coalition electronic warfare to support the air campaign was to attack the two electronic elements of the IADS/GBAD, namely radar and radio communications, without which situational awareness and command and control would be badly degraded if not neutralised altogether. Alongside electronic warfare, kinetic attacks on radars were made using anti-radiation missiles and against key nodes and targets in the IADS using conventional ordnance. Following Kuwait’s occupation, the coalition’s immediate task was to build an electronic order of battle of the radars and communications intrinsic to the IADS and GBAD. Space and airborne assets were instrumental to this effort. Although much information regarding the specifics of the US Central Intelligence Agency/National Reconnaissance Office Magnum SIGINT satellite constellation remains classified, they were almost certainly employed to collect raw signals intelligence germane to the IADS/GBAD. This would have been analysed at facilities in the US before being disseminated to allies.[10]

SIGINT collection followed a hierarchical approach. The Magnum satellites made a ‘broad brush’ collection of Iraqi electromagnetic emissions, discerning potential signals of interest from radars or communications from the prevailing electromagnetic noise generated by the country.[11] Further investigation of these signals of interest would be done using airborne SIGINT assets.[12] For example, the USAF based two RC-135Us at King Khalid International Airport, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.[13] These jets flew close to Iraq’s borders to ‘hoover up’ as much ELINT as possible.[14] This served two purposes. First, the collection of ELINT allowed the coalition to determine which radars were used by Iraq’s IADS/GBAD and where they were located. This allowed potential gaps or more weakly defended areas in Iraqi air defence coverage to be identified. Second, regular ELINT collection allowed SIGINT experts to determine the pattern of electromagnetic life. This would have helped answer pertinent questions about whether Iraqi SA-2 batteries switched their radars off every evening or every weekend. By identifying geographical or temporal gaps in radar coverage, coalition planners could take advantage of weak coverage.

American SIGINT aircraft were joined by Royal Air Force Nimrod RMk.1s flying from Seeb airbase in Oman, and Armée de l’Air (French Air Force) C-160G Gabriel and DC-8F Sarigue SIGINT planes based at King Khalid International Airport. However, the Iraqis knew they were being watched. Iraqi air defenders had correctly deduced that coalition SIGINT efforts would extract as much usable SIGINT as possible. As a result, they tried to keep their radar and radio use to a minimum while coalition warplanes relentlessly probed Iraqi air defences to tempt radar activation and communications traffic for collection by SIGINT aircraft hanging back from the fighters.[15]

Support was also provided by the US Navy’s Operational Intelligence Centre’s Strike Projection Evaluation and Anti-Air Research team, better known as SPEAR. This unit helped build a comprehensive order-of-battle of the Iraqi IADS/GBAD.[16] In cooperation with the USAF and national US intelligence agencies, SPEAR identified key nodes in the Iraqi IADS that would badly degrade its efficacy if destroyed.[17] In addition, the process helped draft simulation programmes that built an increasingly detailed model of the Iraqi IADS/GBAD system. These programmes were continually updated as new intelligence arrived, allowing analysts to perform ever-more detailed replications of the expected potency of Iraqi air defences.[18]

An RC-135V/W Rivet Joint from the 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing approaches a KC-135 Stratotanker from the 1700th Air Refueling Squadron Provisional during Operation DESERT SHIELD. (Source: Wikimedia)

Alongside the RC-135Us discussed above, USAF RC-135V/W Rivet Joint and US Navy EP-3E Aries planes primarily collected Communications Intelligence (COMINT) on Iraq’s IADS/GBAD. Although the Rivet Joints were primarily configured to collect COMINT from radios and telecommunications transmitting on V/UHF wavebands of 30 megahertz to three gigahertz, these frequencies were also used by several Iraqi early warning and ground-based air surveillance radars. This allowed the Rivet Joints to assist their Combat Sent counterparts in gathering ELINT.[19]

Determining Iraq’s electronic order of battle allowed the radars to be attacked kinetically by USAF F-4G Wild Weasels using the AGM-88B/C missiles. Radars were also engaged electronically by USAF EF-111A Raven EW aircraft. Likewise, radio communications were attacked electronically with USAF EC-130H Compass Call planes. However, the USAF was not the only custodian of the suppression of enemy air defence mission. The US Navy was an avid user of the AGM-88 and, together with the US Marine Corps (USMC), flew EA-6B Prowlers. These jets could electronically and kinetically target hostile radars and gather ELINT.

Now in the streets, there is violence

‘The attack on the Iraqi electronic order of battle affected every aspect of the air supremacy operation,’ noted the official record of Operation DESERT STORM.[20] The initial focus of the electronic warfare battle was to destroy critical radars and communications nodes in the Iraqi IADS to paralyse the air defence network at strategic and operational levels.[21] At the tactical level, deployed SAM systems were then attacked with anti-radiation missiles when they illuminated coalition aircraft. This was done by patrolling F-4Gs and EA-6Bs, waiting for these radars to be activated or having the same aircraft and other anti-radiation missile-armed warplanes, such as the Royal Air Force’s Tornado GR.1 ground attack aircraft with their ALARMs (Air-Launched Anti-Radiation Missiles) accompany strike packages of aircraft. This had the dual purpose of helping keep these aircraft safe and continually attritting the kinetic elements of Iraq’s air defence.[22]

As noted earlier in this article, plans for attacking Iraq’s IADS/GBAD system became a reality in the early morning of 17 January. While Task Force Normandy laid waste to Iraqi radars, F-117As hit the Sector Operations Centres and Intercept Operations Centres in the 1^st and 2^nd Air Defence Sectors.[23] The actions of the Nighthawks and Task Force Normandy opened gaps in southern and western Iraqi radar coverage and air defence command and control network, which was then exploited.[24] Stealthy and non-stealth aircraft alike ingressed into Iraqi airspace to reach their strategic targets with electronic attack assistance provided by EF-111As and EA-6Bs. These platforms effectively jammed Iraqi early warning/ground-based air surveillance radars transmitting on V/UHF frequencies and FC/GCI radars transmitting in higher wavebands.[25] Typically, the EF-111As and EA-6Bs flew jamming orbits to protect air operations in a particular segment of the Kuwait Theatre of Operations. For example, USAF EF-111As flew orbits in western Iraq, providing jamming support to strikes in that part of the country, performing similar missions in the vicinity of Baghdad.[26] The EF-111As and EA-6Bs also relayed near-real-time updates on the Iraqi Electronic Order of Battle in their locale using radio and tactical datalink networks. Air campaign planners then adjust the air campaign’s electronic dimension accordingly.[27]

EA-6B DESERT STORM — EA-6B Prowlers of VAQ-130 refuelled by a KC-135 Stratotanker en-route to an attack during Operation DESERT STORM. (Source: NARA)

With one part of its radars destroyed and jamming afflicting the others, coalition aircraft headed into Iraq, clearing a path through the IADS, and hitting IADS targets with anti-radiation missiles and air-to-ground ordnance.[28] As well as hitting these targets, BGM-109 cruise missiles hit transformer yards dispersing carbon fibre filaments. This caused short circuits in the power supply.[29] Air defence facilities without backup power went offline. Even those with generators would still see their systems shut down before being reactivated, costing valuable time.[30]

Influenced by Israeli Air Force operations over the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon close to that country’s border with Syria in June 1982, another tactic used by the coalition was the use of USAF launched BQM-74C Chukar drones to mimic coalition combat aircraft ingressing Iraq’s 1^st Air Defence Sector. The intention was for Iraqi air defenders to illuminate the drones and engage them. This allowed anti-radiation missile-equipped aircraft to determine the position of SAM batteries engaging the drones and attack their radars. The US Navy performed similar missions with their ADM-141A/B Tactical Air-Launched Decoys This was an effective tactic as it not only revealed the location of Iraqi SAM batteries, but it forced them to expend missiles.[31]

The Continuing Campaign

Initial overtures in the air defence suppression campaign were aimed at attritting Iraqi long and medium-range/high and medium-altitude SAM systems to help sanitise the airspace for following coalition strikes.[32] Typically, AAA would be effective up to altitudes of circa 15,000 feet/ft (4,572 metres/m), with Iraqi SAM batteries effective up to circa 40,000ft (12,192m).[33] The controlled kinetic and electronic violence unleashed against the Iraqi IADS/GBAD during the first 24 hours of the war was palpable. The official record notes that almost 48 targets, including an array of air defence aim points, were hit: ‘This was not a gradual rolling back of the Iraqi air defence system. The nearly simultaneous suppression of so many vital centres helped cripple Iraq’s air defence system.’[34] This inflicted a level of damage from which the Iraqi IADS/GBAD could not recover.

As the campaign unfolded Iraqi air defenders learnt that activating their radar invited an AGM-88 or ALARM attack. By the end of the first week of combat operations, the Iraqis realised that a significant dimension of the coalition air campaign focused on destroying their air defences.[35] SAMs would still be fired ballistically in the hope of a lucky strike, but sans radar, SAM capabilities were severely degraded. Switching off the radars did not stop the attacks. AAA or SAM sites that kept their radars switched off were engaged with conventional air-to-ground ordnance.[36] Life was increasingly unpleasant for Iraqi air defenders who realised that switching off their radars did not stop the attacks. One can only imagine the demoralisation this must have caused.

Assessment

Benjamin Lambeth correctly asserted that DESERT STORM exemplified the decisive migration of electronic countermeasures and EW in general ‘from a supporting role to a direct combat role.’[37] Quite simply, without EW, the coalition would not have succeeded in degrading the Iraqi IADS/GBAD to a point where it could no longer meaningfully challenge coalition air power in such a short space of time. One of the major successes of the electronic warfare aspect of the air campaign was its dislocation of Iraqi IADS/GBAD command and control. Despite the technological sophistication of KARI, it could not mitigate the hierarchical nature of Iraqi air defence doctrine. The Intercept Operations Centres struggled to operate when their Sector Operations Centre and the Air Defence Operations Centre was neutralised.[38] There appeared to be little redundancy within KARI by which these centres could assume the responsibilities of their destroyed or badly degraded counterparts. For instance, the Air Defence Operations Centre was destroyed as a priority target at the start of the air campaign. It does not appear that Iraqi air defenders could rapidly replicate Air Defence Operations Centre functions at either a back-up facility or at one of the Sector Operations Centres. Likewise, when Sector Operations Centres were taken out of the fight, their functions were not immediately assumed by Intercept Operations Centres in their area of responsibility or adjacent sectors.

While KARI was a sophisticated system, Iraq possessed radars and SAM systems already known to the US and its allies on the eve of DESERT STORM. The US had encountered similar SAM systems in the skies over Vietnam and during Operation Eldorado Canyon in 1986 when the US attacked strategic targets in Libya in retaliation for the sponsorship of political violence by its leader Colonel Muammar Gaddafi. Likewise, Israel had faced similar defences during numerous conflicts with its neighbours. Although Israel remained outside the US-led coalition, it is all but certain that intelligence germane to Iraq’s air defence systems would have been made available to the US.[39] The French are also thought to have shared intelligence regarding Iraq’s Roland and KARI systems in a similar fashion.[40] Egypt, an avid user of Soviet-supplied air defence equipment and member of the US-led coalition, was also believed to have been furnished the latter with intelligence.[41] Some of Iraq’s air defence equipment may have lacked Electronic Counter-Countermeasure (EECM) protection to exacerbate matters. Some of Iraq’s radars, notably early versions of the SNR-75 S-band and C-band 65nm (120km) to 75nm (140km) range fire control radars accompanying the SA-2 batteries may not have been fitted with ECCM.[42]

Once the war commenced, the Iraqis fell for the US ruse of using drones to seduce radars into revealing themselves, only to receive an ARM for their trouble. A glance at the history books would have revealed that given the success the Israeli Air Force had enjoyed using this tactic a decade previously, there was every chance the coalition may follow suit. This tactic was recently revisited during the 2020 conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia. The Azeri armed forces skilfully exploited Uninhabited Aerial Vehicles (UAVs). UAVs were used to tempt Armenian GBADs to activate their radars. By activating the radars their location could be determined, and the GBADs then struck with suicide UAVs equipped with explosives.

Furthermore, Iraq’s air defence doctrine lacked flexibility. Indeed, it has been argued that Iraq’s air command and control writ large during the preceding Iran-Iraq War was characterised by over-centralisation and rigid planning.[43] This may have resulted from two factors; the authoritarian nature of Saddam Hussein’s regime and the procurement of Soviet materiel not only for air defence but across the Iraqi armed forces with a similar acquisition of Soviet doctrine not known for its flexibility.[44] There are significant questions to ask regarding the degree to which subordinates in the IADS believed they had latitude and blessing for individual initiative in the tactical battle. Similar questions apply to higher echelons. Did operational commanders in the air force and air defence force feel emboldened to take decisions as the battle unfolded? Saddam Hussein presided over a totalitarian state where insubordination, real or perceived, could be punished harshly. This raises the question as to whether the fear of taking the wrong decision paralysed decision-making. The result being that the Iraqi IADS lost the initiative in the coalition’s electronic battle. An initiative it never recovered. The net result of a lack of doctrinal flexibility, and against the backdrop of Saddam Hussein’s regime, meant that Iraq’s air defences did not respond and adjust to the electronic battle. Tactical and operational flexibility did not extend beyond radar operators switching off their systems to avoid an attack by an ARM.

However, the coalition’s success was underpinned by a vitally important factor, the luxury of time. DESERT STORM was not a ‘come as you are’ war. The US and its allies had 168 days between Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait and the commencement of the air campaign to plan the electromagnetic scheme of manoeuvre that supporting the air war.

DESERT STORM underlined a truism in air power: Air superiority as a prerequisite for air supremacy must be achieved over an opponent as early as possible. OCA was central to this effort. Electromagnetic superiority and supremacy are central to OCA. One must ensure one can manoeuvre in the spectrum with minimal interference from one’s adversary while denying their adversary use of the spectrum. Working towards electromagnetic superiority and supremacy reduces red force access to the spectrum, denying its use for situational awareness and command and control. Denying Iraqi air defenders’ situational awareness and command and control blunted the efficacy of the kinetic elements of Iraq’s IADS/GBAD, which were then attritted using ARMs and conventional ordnance.

DESERT STORM ended on 28 February. Electronic warfare was intrinsic to the air campaign’s success. Iraq’s IADS and GBAD were prevented from meaningfully interfering with the coalition’s actions. However, this was not the end of the story. The US and the UK would continue to confront the rump of Iraq’s air defences for several years to come until the final showdown with Saddam Hussein’s regime in 2003.

Dr Thomas Withington specialises in contemporary and historical electronic warfare, radar, and military communications, and has written numerous articles on these subjects for a range of general and specialist publications. He holds a PhD from the University of Birmingham.

Header image: EF-111A Raven aircraft prepare to take off on a mission during Operation Desert Shield. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] C. Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm: The Electronic Battle, Part-2’ @http://www.ausairpower.net/Analysis-ODS-EW.

[2] J. Schlight, A War Too Long: The USAF in Southeast Asia 1961-1975 (Washington DC: Air Force History and Museum Programme, 1996), p. 103.

[3] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final Report to Congress, (Alexandria, VA: US Department of Defence, 1992), p. 15.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Author’s proprietary information.

[6] Ibid.

[7] KARI is the French name for Iraq spelt backwards.

[8] ‘Iraqi Air Defense – Introduction’.

[9] P.W. Mattes, ‘Systems of Systems: What, exactly, is an Integrated Air Defense System?’, The Mitchell Forum No.26, (Arlington VA: The Mitchell Institute, June 2019), p. 3.

[10] Confidential interview with US electronic intelligence expert, 17/3/21.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Ibid.

[15] S. Morse (ed), Gulf Air War Debrief, (London: Aerospace Publishing, 1991), p. 37.

[16] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 124.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm’.

[19] Morse (ed.), Gulf Air War Debrief, p. 37.

[20] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 220.

[21] Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm’.

[22] Ibid.

[23] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 153.

[24] Ibid.

[25] Ibid, p. 172.

[26] Ibid, p. 220.

[27] Ibid.

[28] Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm’.

[29] Ibid.

[30] Confidential interview with US electronic intelligence expert.

[31] Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm’.

[32] Ibid.

[33] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 202.

[34] Ibid, p. 156.

[35] C. Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm: The Electronic Battle, Part-3’ @http://www.ausairpower.net/Analysis-ODS-EW.html consulted 12/2/21.

[36] Ibid.

[37] B. Lambeth, The Winning of Air Supremacy in Operation Desert Storm, (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993), p. 5.

[38] ‘Iraqi Air Defense – Introduction’.

[39] Confidential interview with US electronic intelligence expert.

[40] Ibid.

[41] Kopp, ‘Operation Desert Storm: The Electronic Battle, Part-1’.

[42] Ibid.

[43] A.H. Cordesman, A.R. Wagner, The Lessons of Modern War Volume-II: The Iran-Iraq War, (London: Mansell, 1990).

[44] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 9.

#DesertStorm30 – On the Brink of Combat: The Women Aviators of DESERT SHIELD and DESERT STORM

By Eileen Bjorkman

At one minute past midnight on 17 January 1991, US Air Force Major Kathy Rambo-Cosand prepared to take off in a Lockheed C-141 Starlifter from Ramstein Air Base, Germany. It was snowing, and her aircraft was packed with 44,000 pounds of cluster bombs headed for Saudi Arabia. The aircraft was severely overweight: she was authorised to fly at ‘emergency war weights.’ If the C-141 lost an engine on take-off from Ramstein’s short runway, they would most likely crash. She worried about what the cluster bombs might do if that happened. Moreover, an accident was a realistic possibility: A Lockheed C-5 Galaxy had crashed, taking off from Ramstein just a few months earlier, killing 13 of the 17 people on board.

As Rambo-Cosand and her crew waited for their take-off clearance, a call came on the radio: “All missions are cancelled.” The airspace over Saudi Arabia had been shut down as coalition fighters and bombers kicked off Operation DESERT STORM, the coalition effort to remove Iraqi forces from Kuwait. Rambo-Cosand and her crew waited in their aircraft as planners decided what to do. Finally, at 2:30 a.m., she received the call to take off. With the C-5 crash and the enormity of her cargo weighing heavily on her, Rambo-Cosand pulled onto the runway and lumbered into the sky. Unfortunately, the most stressful take off of her career was for naught: when they arrived over Italy, they were turned back to Ramstein.^[1]

At that point, Rambo-Cosand had been flying in and out of Saudi Arabia for the past four months, and it would be many more months before she finally returned home to her family. Indeed, the rapid build-up, sustainment, and eventual employment of forces in the Middle East as part of Operation DESERT SHIELD/STORM was only possible because of support aircraft that did everything from hauling cargo to communications jamming.^[2] Moreover, it was these aircraft that women like Rambo-Cosand flew since they were not allowed to fly in combat; a provision within the Women’s Armed Services Integration Act passed by Congress in 1948 prohibited that. This article explores the experience of some of those women during DESERT SHIELD/STORM and details some of the challenges faced by US females operating in a combat environment.

Major Stephanie Wells and her C-5 crew delivering tanks to Al Jubayl, Saudi Arabia on 19 January 1991 (Source: Stephanie Wells)

The Women Aviators of Operation DESERT SHIELD/DESERT STORM

Despite the combat restrictions, women soon arrived in Saudi Arabia. Some of the first women were pilots, like US Army Captain Victoria Calhoun, a Boeing CH-47 Chinook helicopter pilot at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, who deployed on 9 August, two days after Operation DESERT SHIELD began in response to the invasion of Kuwait by Iraq. Calhoun had asked to be stationed at Fort Bragg the previous year because she figured if any action happened, it would happen there. She was right, but shortly after arriving, her unit deployed to support the 1989 invasion of Panama, and her operations officer would not let her go, replacing her with a less-experienced male pilot. A year later, she feared the same thing might happen. However, when someone questioned her battalion commander about whether women would deploy to Saudi Arabia, he said, “They have to go. If they don’t go, we’re not mission capable as a unit!”

Calhoun arrived at Dhahran Air Base with an advance party to conduct reconnaissance and prepare the base for more arrivals. At first, there was not much flying for the Chinooks, mainly because the sand in Saudi Arabia caused maintenance nightmares. The missions Calhoun flew transported parts and supplies around to other units, a mission nicknamed “Desert Express.”^[3]

Reserve units began activating on 24 August. All C-5 reserve squadrons were activated as the massive cargo aircraft hauled most of the Army’s tanks and larger helicopters to the theatre. Major Stephanie Wells, a C-5 pilot from Kelly Air Force Base, Texas, was activated on 29 August. She was thrilled to be part of the team: when she had initially called her unit on 6 August to inquire about deploying, she was told that women would not be allowed to go.^[4] Nevertheless, Wells was soon flying C-5s all over the world. At first, she never knew where she would be going on any given day, but then things settled down, and she began flying missions out of Dover Air Force Base, Delaware.^[5]

Technical Sergeant Donna Davis, a C-5 flight engineer in a reserve unit at Travis Air Force Base, California, soon wound up in Germany. When a crew landed, after eight hours of crew rest, Davis says they were normally assigned to an aircraft brought in by another crew. The crews stopped to rest, but the aeroplane kept going. The crews often pulled 24-hour shifts before going back into crew rest, and Davis found it hard to sleep more than about four hours at a time. She was not alone; most of the crews were exhausted all the time and, as she says, “Thank goodness for autopilot.”^[6]

Wells 2 — Major Stephanie Wells in the cockpit of a C-5 at the beginning of Operation DESERT STORM. (Source: Stephanie Wells)

As the initial troops and equipment flowed to Saudi Arabia, Rambo-Cosand, who was in a reserve unit at McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey, debated what to do. She had met her husband when she had been one of the first ten women to attend US Air Force pilot training in 1976, and they had just settled with their two children into new quarters after a move to Honduras. She hated to leave her 2-year-old and 7-year-old at home, but she decided to volunteer to fly some missions, thinking that if enough reservists volunteered, her unit would not be activated. However, before she could arrive to begin her volunteer tour, her unit was activated on 9 September. Rambo-Cosand moved heaven and earth to get to McGuire in less than 24 hours, begging the US Embassy to get her on a 6:00 a.m. flight out of Honduras the following day. Even living overseas, she beat several airline pilots in her squadron to McGuire.

After arriving at McGuire, Rambo-Cosand flew first to Zaragoza, Spain, and then began flying shuttles to Saudi Arabia. Working 30-hour days, she and her crew flew 150 hours in 16 days compared to the normal 75 hours they might fly in a month. She recalls, “We were like zombies.” But like most pilots, Rambo-Cosand enjoyed what she was doing. She found aeromedical evacuation flights of wounded personnel to be the most special. Whenever she carried patients, she always went back to talk to them and hold their hand before returning to the cockpit, hoping they would make it.

By early October, enough forces were in place to defend Saudi Arabia should the Iraqis attack. An additional a build-up of forces began in early November to prepare for an offensive operation.^[7] In November, the United Nations Security Council also set a deadline for Iraq to withdraw forces by 15 January 1991. The deadline passed, and the air war started on 17 January.

On the first day of the war, US Air Force Captain Sheila Chewing helped two McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle fighter pilots shoot down two Iraqi Mikoyan MiG-29 Fulcrums. She was a weapons controller onboard a Boeing E-3 Sentry, an Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft distinguished by a gigantic disc-shaped radar antenna mounted on top of the aircraft and used for tracking both friendly and enemy aircraft. She spotted the MiG-29s on her radar screen onboard the AWACS and then directed the F-15 pilots until their own radars could track the enemy aircraft and launch missiles at them. Chewing later said, “When that happened [bringing down an enemy plane], we really felt like we were doing our jobs.”^[8]

While airlift crews shuttled endlessly among the US, Europe, and the Middle East, some women who flew refuelling tankers and other support aircraft settled at Incirlik Air Base in Turkey. Air Force Captain Christina Vance Halli, a Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker pilot, was happy to deploy to support DESERT STORM. She was tired of being at Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota, where she mostly sat alert with bomber crews and rarely flew. Instead, she and the rest of her crew flew as passengers to get to Incirlik. During a stop in Greece, it was obvious they were getting closer to the action: a man wearing a flak jacket met them at the aircraft and instructed them to low crawl across the ramp to his vehicle.

The aircraft that launched from Incirlik did so as part of a large strike package of tankers, communications jammers (EC-130s), tactical reconnaissance aircraft (RF-4Cs) and the fighter aircraft that would be striking targets deep into Iraq. For most missions, the slower Lockheed EC-130s launched first to get into position to provide jamming protection for the striking aircraft. At the same time or shortly after, McDonnell Douglas RF-4C Phantom aircraft took off and finally, the KC-135s departed, followed by the striking aircraft. A typical strike package had three to five tankers, each servicing four to eight fighters. The refuelling’s were a bit of an adventure, done in radio silence and mostly at night, but the skill of all crews involved prevented any mishaps. The fighters followed the tankers to Iraq’s northern border, refuelling as needed and getting a top-off before entering Iraq. At that point, the tankers did a U-turn and held in orbit, waiting for the strikers to return.^[9]

In the meantime, the EC-130s orbited nearby to provide jamming support. Captain Amy Hermes Smellie was an EC-130 co-pilot. She recalls sometimes seeing anti-aircraft artillery in the distance as the strikers reached their targets; on other occasions, she wore night vision goggles look for targets. Unlike the other support aircraft that might carry one or two women aviators on a mission, the EC-130s were often packed with women linguists in the back of the aeroplane. Smellie says the linguists were the driving factor in EC-130s; the Air Force might have been able to fly EC-130 missions without women pilots, but they did not have enough male linguists.^[10]

The ground campaign began on early 24 February. That day Major Marie Rossi, the company commander of one of Calhoun’s sister units, appeared on CNN, saying, “[T]his is the moment that everybody trains for – that I’ve trained for – so I feel ready to meet the challenge.”^[11] To prepare for the assault, coalition ground forces had quietly moved hundreds of miles to the west, including Calhoun’s CH-47 unit, which moved from Dhahran to Rafha. Instead of flying to Rafha, Calhoun was put in charge of a convoy for the move. However, once at Rafha, she got in on the action. On the second day of the ground war, she flew Chinook missions to move elements of the US 101^st Airborne Division to Forward Operating Base Cobra, 93 miles inside Iraq, to provide a logistics base for the 101^st as they conducted their assault. Overall, Calhoun flew 22 hours of combat, flying into Iraq and coming within 90 miles of Baghdad.^[12]

DS Map — Map depicting Army unit locations at Dhahran and Rafha; FOB Cobra is north of Rafha. (Source: Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final Report to Congress)

Offensive operations ended at 08:00 on 28 February, but that did not stop the danger. Marie Rossi, the pilot who had appeared on CNN, died on 1 March, the day after the cease-fire, when her helicopter hit an unlit radio tower.

US Navy women did not get as many opportunities to fly during the war as their Air Force and Army counterparts. A handful of women, mostly in helicopter combat support squadrons, carried personnel and equipment around the Persian Gulf and flew other support missions, including search and rescue.^[13] Lieutenant Commander Lucy Young, who had qualified to fly Douglas A-4 Skyhawk strike aircraft and was the US Navy’s first female strike instructor, nevertheless was not allowed to fly in combat. By 1991, she had left the Navy and was in a reserve unit in Atlanta, flying McDonnell Douglas C-9s, a small cargo aircraft like the commercial DC-9. Young’s squadron was never activated, but she spent three weeks flying people and cargo around the Middle East during the build-up in September 1991 while male strike pilots she had trained headed for the war on aircraft carriers.^[14]

Captain Peggy Phillips, a C-141 pilot in the reserves at McChord Air Force Base, Washington, says that the women transport pilots were the ‘first in and last out’ of the theatre. This was especially true of the reservists; many were activated in August or September of 1990 and not deactivated until May or June 1991. Another aspect of being an airlifter was that the crews received no parades or big welcomes when they returned home like many of the combat units, who deployed and returned as a group. Instead, the airlifters dribbled over and back, activating, and deactivating on individual timelines. Phillips had a two-day notice to deactivate. She quietly went home with no fanfare.^[15]

The Dangers faced by Female Aviators

Going up against the fourth largest army in the world, planners expected the overall battle to be short but potentially very bloody, with as many as 30,000 casualties.^[16] Given that the all-volunteer force in place since the mid-1970s was 15% female, at least some of those casualties were expected to be women.

Although the aircraft flown by women aviators largely kept them away from enemy fire, the missions weren’t risk-free. Tankers occasionally flew over hostile territory with their strike package. For example, Captain Ann Weaver Worster reportedly flew her tanker 250 miles inside Iraq on one mission.^[17] In another instance, an SA-8 surface-to-air missile exploded above a KC-135 flying out of Incirlik.^[18]

Once the Iraqis started launching SCUD missiles during Desert Storm, the transport and other support crews were vulnerable when they landed in Saudi Arabia. For example, Rambo-Cosand received word of a ‘black flag’ SCUD alert during one flight, and the crew donned their chemical warfare gear before landing. Once on the ground, the crew dashed to a bunker in their gear, where they stayed for several hours until their aircraft could be refuelled and reloaded for their return flight.^[19]

In addition to dealing with hostile forces, the women aviators also dealt with a hostile environment from their hosts. For example, Saudi ground crews refused to take fuel orders from women crewmembers and women who stayed in Saudi Arabia overnight had to cover up if they wanted to go off base.^[20]

Family Issues

Naysayers had predicted that women would become pregnant to avoid going to war. Some pregnant women could not deploy, but it was not only women who wanted to stay home for family reasons. Halli, the KC-135 pilot, recalled that her navigator did not want to deploy because his wife was pregnant; he was replaced with another navigator.^[21]

During their deployments, men and women left behind families, including small children. For example, C-5 flight engineer Donna Davis left her son with her parents, although she made it home for Christmas.^[22] Unlike crewmembers who lived near McGuire, Rambo-Cosand found it difficult to get home whenever she had a few extra days in the US, although she did make it back to her family in Honduras for a few days about every six weeks.^[23] Sometimes childcare took creative juggling. For example, C-141 pilot Peggy Phillips had three small children and an airline pilot husband who was also an activated reservist. The couple served in the same unit at McChord, and their commander allowed them to work their schedules so that while one was flying on a trip, the other worked in the squadron.^[24]

Conclusion – An Opportunity for Change

Carolyn Becraft, a significant player in the fight to overturn the archaic combat exclusion law, says activating the reserves had a huge impact on the public’s acceptance of women going into hostile territory. Unit activations turned into local stories, and people saw their neighbours, both men and women, heading to war.^[25]

The women aviators in Desert Shield and Desert Storm and other women who served in the Middle East, collectively proved they could participate in combat. After legislation and a Presidential Commission to further study the issue, women aviators finally earned the right to fly combat aircraft on 28 April 1993. However, for most women who flew in Desert Storm, the change came too late in their careers. Tanker pilot Christina Vance Halli left the Air Force and applied to fly General Dynamics F-16s at the Air National Guard unit in Fresno, California. The unit seemed receptive, allowing her to go through a process of visits and interviews before turning her down. Their reason? She did not have any fighter experience.^[26]

Eileen A. Bjorkman is a former flight test engineer in the USAF with more than thirty-five years of experience and over 700 hours in the cockpits of F-4s, F-16s, C-130s, and C-141s. Her most recent book is Unforgotten in the Gulf of Tonkin: A Story of the U.S. Military’s Commitment to Leave No One Behind (2020) She is also the author of The Propeller under the Bed: A Personal History of Homebuilt Aircraft and has published articles in the Smithsonian’s Air & Space Magazine, Aviation History, Sport Aviation, the Everett Daily Herald, and the Herald Business Journal.

Header image: Members of the US.’ Air Force disembark from a Lockheed C-141B Starlifter aircraft upon their arrival in support of Operation DESERT SHIELD. This is the type of aircraft flown by Major Kathy Rambo-Cosand and Captain Peggy Phillips as mentioned in this article. (Source: Wikimedia)

^[1] Interview with Kathy Rambo-Cosand, 21 April 2021.

^[2] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final Report to Congress (Washington, D.C.: US Department of Defense, 1992), p. 45

^[3] Interview with Victoria Calhoun, 2 May 2021.

^[4] Jeanne Holm, Women in the Military: An Unfinished Revolution, Revised Edition (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 1993), p. 450.

^[5] Interview with Stephanie Wells, 29 April 2021.

^[6] Interview with Donna Davis, 22 April 2021.

^[7] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. 83

^[8] Joby Warrick, ‘AWACS Proves to be Gulf ‘Trump Card,” Air Force Times, 26 March 1991, p. 11, as quoted in Holm, Women in the Military, p. 452.

^[9] Interview with Christina Vance Halli, 30 April 2021.

^[10] Interview with Amy Hermes Smellie, 21 April 2021.

^[11] Holm, Women in the Military, p. 460.

^[12] Calhoun interview.

^[13] Jean Ebbert and Marie-Beth Hall, Crossed Currents: Navy Women from WWI to Tailhook (McClean, VA: Brassey’s, 1993), p. 264.

^[14] Interview with Lucy Young, 29 April 2021.

^[15] Interview with Peggy Phillips, 2 May 2021.

^[16] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, p. ii; Richard P. Hallion, Storm over Iraq: Air Power and the Gulf War (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992), pp. 2-3.

^[17] Holm, Women in the Military, p. 449.

^[18] Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, pp. 234-235

^[19] Rambo-Cosand interview.

^[20] Multiple women mentioned these issues to me during interviews.

^[21] Halli interview.

^[22] Davis interview.

^[23] Rambo-Cosand interview.

^[24] Phillips’ interview.

^[25] Interview with Carolyn Becraft, 21 April 2021.

^[26] Halli interview.

Who Ruined the F-16? The Fighter Mafia’s Battle against the United States Air Force

By Dr Michael W. Hankins

Editorial note: This article is adapted from an excerpt from Flying Camelot: The F-15, the F16, and the Weaponization of Fighter Pilot Nostalgia, by Michael W. Hankins. Copyright (c) 2021 by Michael Wayne Hankins and Smithsonian Institution. Used by permission of the publisher, Cornell University Press.

On January 20, 1974, test pilot Phil Oestricher began a high-speed taxi test of the General Dynamics YF-16 prototype. When the plane went into an oscillating roll that slammed the left-wing into the ground, he decided it was safer to just take off for what became the aircraft’s first flight. The YF-16 was a passion project for many people across the aerospace defense community, especially a group known as the ‘Fighter Mafia,’ led by US Air Force (USAF) Colonel John Boyd. The group also included General Dynamics engineer Harry Hillaker, analyst Pierre Sprey, fighter pilot Everest Riccioni, analyst Thomas Christie, among many others. The YF-16 was the realization of their dream of a lightweight, ultra-specialized dogfighter – what Oestricher called ‘a pure air-to-air fighter airplane […] the Camelot of aeronautical engineering.’[1]

Yet, when USAF began the process of turning the YF-16 into the production model F-16A Fighting Falcon, the Fighter Mafia became bitterly opposed to the process. Their extreme frustration with the changes to the airplane set the stage for later debates as the group expanded and morphed into the Defense Reform Movement.

YF-16_and_YF-17_in_flight — An air-to-air right side view of a YF-16 aircraft and a YF-17 aircraft, side-by-side, armed with AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles. (Source: Wikimedia)

After winning a flyoff competition in January 1975 against Northrop’s YF-17 Cobra, the F-16 design went to the Configuration Control Committee, headed by former fighter pilot General Alton Slay, to produce an operational version of the plane. The Fighter Mafia nicknamed this group the ‘Add-On Committee,’ assuming Slay’s role was to exact the Air Force’s revenge by making sure the F-16 did not threaten the F-15 Eagle program. That meant turning the Fighting Falcon into a multi-role craft emphasizing ground attack.[2]

Christie, and his subordinate Robert J. Croteau, tried to stop this process before it started with a memo to Leonard Sullivan, Jr., the Director of Defense Program Analysis and Evaluation. They warned that moving away from the focus on air superiority would ‘subvert the purpose of the entire LWF/ACF [Lightweight fighter/Air Combat Fighter] program.’ The radar was the largest point of contention. They argued that a small radar such as the APQ-153 used in the F-5 was plenty. They wanted a configuration ‘based on primary commitment of the ACF to intense high frequency dogfights.’[3]

Instead, the production version of the F-16 put on almost 1,000 pounds. The landing gear was strengthened, the fuselage, wings, and tail area grew, and a tailhook was added. Chaff and flare systems and improved avionics also appeared. The production model added more pylons for ground-attack ordnance, with the existing pylons strengthened for heavier weapons. The loading capacity almost doubled, from 7,700 pounds to 15,200. Although the acceleration and agility of the operational F-16 was slightly less than the prototype YF-16, the production model did have increased range, thrust, and load factor, able to pull 9 Gs.[4]

The Air Force added a ground-looking, all-weather, night-capable, medium-range radar to the F-16, the Westinghouse AN/APG-66. The company maintained that this system was ‘The Fighter Pilot’s Radar,’ that would ‘allow the pilot to keep his head up and his hands on the throttle and stick throughout a dogfight engagement.’ With the flick of a switch, the radar provided ground mapping, improved with a Doppler beam, for both navigation and weapons delivery.[5] The avionics systems incorporated Boyd’s ‘Energy Maneuverability Theory’ into the cockpit via an ‘Energy-Maneuverability Display’ that gave pilots visual cues to indicate their current available energy, how to maximize their turn rates, the level of G-forces available, altitude and airspeed limits, and how to gain maneuvering energy quickly.[6]

The YF-16 displayed alongside the ground attack armament it can carry, Edwards AFB, California, 12 February 1975 (Source: US Air Force)

Slay thought that the F-16 could complement the F-15 best if it was a multi-role aircraft. As he told the Senate in 1976:

The F-16 has a capability that the F-15 does not have, deliberately so. We did not choose to burden the F-15 radar with a significant air-to-ground capability. We have engineered the F-16 radar to have very good ground mapping [and] to do an extremely good job of air-to-ground missions.[7]

Slay appreciated the F-16’s maneuverability, noting ‘I almost had a heart attack watching the F-16 do a split ‘S’ from 2,700 feet. It was fantastic as far as maneuverability is concerned.’ He argued this made it useful in roles beyond dogfighting:

[t]he things that made [the F-16] good in an air-to-air role […] were extremely good in [an] air-to-ground context […] We got more than we paid for in having a multipurpose capable airplane.[8]

Boyd was unhappy with these changes and wrote to Slay several times in the opening months of 1975, arguing that ‘F-16 maneuvering performance has diminished significantly because of engineering necessity and conscious decisions that resulted in a substantial weight increase.’ Boyd said that the wing area, which had already been increased from 280 to 300 square feet, must be increased further to 320 to preserve the plane’s agility. This plan was rejected due to increased cost and a perception of increased risk with a larger wing.[9]

Boyd remained cordial in his correspondence with Slay, but privately, he and the rest of the Fighter Mafia seethed. Major Ray Leopold, Boyd’s assistant and mentee, described the group as worried that the F-16 would be ‘a disastrous compromise’ and ‘fall prey to the same vagrancies of the bureaucracy’ that the F-15 had. Leopold recalled Boyd complaining about the addition of armor plating, arguing that ‘it was mor[e] important to be maneuverable and less likely to get hit in the first place.’ He railed against the increase in bombing capacity, claiming that ‘the original concept of designing for energy maneuverability was compromised.’ Sprey was frustrated as well, claiming that the Air Force ‘degraded’ the F-16 more than they had the F-15 by increasing its size and adding equipment, most of all the radar.[10]

Hillaker, however, was not against some of the changes. Although he said that Boyd and Sprey’s frustration was reasonable, he recognized that the mafia’s original design was perhaps too limited: ‘If we had stayed with the original lightweight fighter concept,’ he explained, ‘that is, a simple day fighter, we would have produced only 300 F-16s.’[11]

On February 4, 1975, Croteau and Christie wrote to Sullivan, arguing that the changes to the F-16 were ‘unacceptable.’ They believed that the aircraft should have ‘a minimum of sophistication,’ that the additional avionics and radar capabilities were too complex and expensive, and that the added weight reduced performance in air combat. They charged: ‘Extensive air-to-ground capability of [the] proposed configuration compromises air-to-air capability.’ Croteau’s memo did present a potential design that offered the compromise of accepting some avionics, a radar, and limited ground-attack capability, but not including all the Air Force’s changes.[12] This model was not adopted.

By February 21, test pilot Chuck Myers sent a memo to Defense Secretary James Schlesinger’s special assistant, Martin Hoffman, arguing that the changes made to the plane made it ‘a far cry from the austere FIGHTER’ that the Fighter Mafia had envisioned, and that USAF needed to ‘restore the character of the airplane.’[13] He gave instructions for fixing the plane, titled ‘F-16 (LWF/ACF) PROGRAM RESTORATION.’ It excoriated the inclusion of ground attack and radar capability, then charged: ‘The expansion of mission spectrum is accomplished with an associated increases [sic] in weight, complexity, support burden and a loss of air combat maneuvering capability, the one mission for which the original design had been optimized.’ The paper concluded: ‘This mutilation of the character of the LWF through the ACF missionization process is a management travesty which cannot go unchallenged.’[14]

Members of the Fighter Mafia tended to assume that the changes made to the F-16 were retaliation for their challenges to the Air Staff. However, the Air Force had understandable reasons for adding additional capabilities to the F-16. The Air Staff argued that if the F-16 had no ground attack capability, then it could not truly replace the F-4 Phantom, which USAF wanted to phase out while preserving mission capabilities. If the F-16 conformed to the Fighter Mafia’s vision, then 30 percent of the Air Force inventory would be incapable of attacking ground targets. The Air Staff found that unacceptable. Although the F-16 could achieve air superiority, the aircraft would be useless once that superiority had been achieved in a conflict. By adding ground-attack functions, the Air Staff argued, the F-16 could be used in a ‘swing role’ to attack ground targets after air superiority had been won.[15]

An austere F-16 likely would have faced challenges without substantial radar capability. The inability to operate at night or in low-visibility weather conditions would render the aircraft problematic at best. Given that US planners expected a potential Soviet mass attack to occur in Europe, known for its often-cloudy weather conditions, deploying large numbers of such a clear sky, day-only fighter in that scenario would leave US forces particularly vulnerable. No amount of maneuverability could overcome the inability to see through clouds or in the dark against other aircraft that could. It is possible that some Air Force officials could have sought some sort of retaliation against the Fighter Mafia’s pet project, but the case for multi-role requirements had logical arguments behind it and came from a wide group.

This cartoon from a 1977 General Dynamics briefing depicts the ‘myth’ that the F-16 production model had inferior performance to the original YF-16 prototype (Source: Lockheed Martin photo via Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum).

The F-16 modifications were a breaking point for Boyd and the Fighter Mafia. During the late 1970s, Boyd frequently gathered with his acolytes, complaining that the Air Force’s ‘goldplating’ was destroying the ‘pure’ fighter he had designed. After this point, Boyd focused entirely on his intellectual activities. He and others set their sights on different issues, sometimes regarding military hardware, but also doctrine, education, and procurement. These efforts expanded his movement. The Fighter Mafia soon took their arguments beyond the halls of the Pentagon and directly to the public.

Dr Michael Hankins is the Curator for US Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps post-World War II Aviation at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum and the author of Flying Camelot: The F-15, the F-16, and the Weaponization of Fighter Pilot Nostalgia (2021). He is a former Professor of Strategy at the USAF Air Command and Staff College eSchool, and former Instructor of Military History at the US Air Force Academy. He earned his PhD in history from Kansas State University in 2018 and his master’s in history from the University of North Texas in 2013. He has a web page here and can be found on Twitter at @hankinstien.

[1] Quoted in Wade Scrogham, Combat Relevant Task: The Test & Evaluation of the Lightweight Fighter Prototypes (Edwards AFB: Air Force Test Center History Office, 2014), p. 67.

[2] James Fallows, National Defense (New York: Vintage, 1982), p 105; Grant Hammond, Mind of War: John Boyd and American Security (Washington, Smithsonian Books, 2001), p. 97.

[3] US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Quantico, VA, Robert Coram Personal Papers, Box 3 Folder 13, Robert J. Croteau, Memorandum for Mr. Sullivan, through Mr. Christie, ‘F-16 Air Combat Fighter DSARC II,’ January 27, 1975.

[4] Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum (NASM) Archives, General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon Series, Briefing Packets, AG-033100-03. General Dynamics, ‘F-16 Program Summary,’ August 15, 1977, ASD 771456.

[5] NASM Archives, General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon Series, Avionics Systems, AG-033100-02, Westinghouse Pamphlet, ‘AN/APG-68, The New Standard for Fighter Radar,’ no date; NASM Archives, General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon Series, Avionics Systems, AG-033100-02, Westinghouse Public Relations Release, ‘Westinghouse Starts Full-Scale Development of the F-16 Radar,’ no date.

[6] NASM Archives, General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon Series, Briefing Packets, AG-033100-02, General Dynamics, ‘F-16 Energy Management Displays,’ pamphlet, no date.

[7] Hearings before the Committee on Armed Services, United States Senate, 94th Congress, 2nd Session, S.2965, Part 6: Research and Development, February 25-26, March 2, 4, 9, 1976, 3739-3740.

[8] Ibid, Part 9: Tactical Airpower, March 8-12, 1976, 4896.

[9] US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, John Boyd Personal Papers, Box 13 Folder 1, John Boyd, Memorandum for General Slay, ‘F-16 Wing Area Selection,’ March 31, 1975; US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Boyd Papers, Box 13 Folder 1, John Boyd, Memorandum for Maj Gen Slay, ‘F-16 Wing Area,’ March 4, 1975; US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Boyd Papers, Box 13 Folder 1, John Boyd, Memo to Major General Slay, ‘ACF Wing Area,’ January 23, 1975.

[10] US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Coram Papers, Box 6 Folder 7, Email, Thomas Christie to Robert Coram, February 5, 2001; US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Coram Papers, Box 6 Folder 7, Email, Ray Leopold to Robert Coram, January 31, 2001; US Marine Corps Archives and Records Division, Coram Papers, Box 5 Folder 1, Sprey Interview notes, August 2000.

[11] ‘Interview Part II: Harry Hillaker: Father of the F-16,’ Code One (July 1991), p. 9.

[12] President Gerald Ford Presidential Library, Martin R. Hoffman Papers, Box 21, folder ‘Lightweight Fighters (Navy & Air Force), 1974-75 (5),’ Memo, Robert J. Croteau, to Mr. Sullivan, through Mr. Christie, ‘F-16 DSARC II Position Recommendation,’ February 4, 1975, p. 1, 3.

[13] President Gerald Ford Presidential Library, Hoffman Papers, Box 21, folder ‘Lightweight Fighters (Navy & Air Force), 1974-75 (4),’ Chuck Myers, Memo to Hoffman, 21 February 1975.

[14] President Gerald Ford Presidential Library, Hoffman Papers, Box 21, folder ‘Lightweight Fighters (Navy & Air Force), 1974-75 (4),’ ‘F-16 (LWF/ACF) PROGRAM RESTORATION,’ Myers Memo to Hoffman, 21 February 1975, pp. 2-3.

[15] President Gerald Ford Presidential Library, Hoffman Papers, Box 21, folder ‘Lightweight Fighters (Navy & Air Force), 1974-75 (5),’ ‘Air Combat Fighter DSARC-II, General Counsel,’ 11 March 1975, ‘Air Force Response to the OSD List of Questions on ACF (F-16).’

Clearing the Skies for the Red Army – Part 2: The Destruction of Luftflotte IV

By Dr Luke Truxal

Editorial Note: In the conclusion of a two-part series on the contribution of US air power to the conduct of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive, Dr Luke Truxal examines the role of the US Fifteenth Air Force in the destruction of Luftflotte IV in the lead up to the launch of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive by the Red Army in August 1944. You can read the first part of this article here.

On 6 June 1944, the same day that the Allies landed in Normandy to begin the liberation of western Europe, the US Fifteenth Air Force attacked Galati airfields. This represented a new phase of the air war over Romania, one where Luftflotte IV came under direct attack because of an American air superiority campaign. This article will contend that the American attacks against Luftflotte IV, at the request of the Soviets, contributed to the success of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive.

When American bombers flew from Soviet bases against Axis forces in Romania on 6 June 1944, it marked the first time in the war that they took off from behind Soviet lines to attack Axis targets. This mission was a part of Operation FRANTIC I, the first shuttle bombing missions from western Allied bases to Soviet bases. After leaving their bases in Ukraine, American bombers struck the primary Axis airfield in Romania at Galati. One hundred and four American B-17s and 42 P-51s of the Fifteenth Air Force attacked the German and Romanian air facilities at Galati. Fourteen Axis fighters along with another 25 spotted near the airfield engaged the strike force. During the ensuing air battle, American fighters accounted for six Axis fighters at the loss of two American fighters. The 104 B-17s dropped 155.3 tons of explosive bombs and 51.3 tons of incendiary bombs on the airfield and its facilities. Much of the buildings, hangers, and facilities at Galati were destroyed or damaged during the bombing. Of the 40 aircraft still on the ground during the attack, the Fifteenth Air Force destroyed eight and damaged 11.^[1] FRANTIC I’s final mission was an attack on the Focsani airfield on 11 June and a return to the American airfields in Italy. Flying from the Soviet bases, 121 B-17s dropped 223.9 tons of bombs on the Focsani airfield escorted by 52 P-51s. The bombers struck the barracks and workshops along with additional facilities. The attacking force engaged 15 to 20 ME 109s and FW 190s over Focsani.^[2]

FRE_008681 — A P-51 Mustang nicknamed ‘Tempus Fugit’ of the 31st Fighter Group, Fifteenth Air Force in 1944. (Source: IWM (FRE 8681))

In another attempt to weaken Axis air power over Romania, the Americans executed Operation FRANTIC III, the first fighter sweep shuttle mission to the Soviet Union. According to the FRANTIC III plan on 11 July 1944, the purpose of the mission was to send 72 P-38s and 48 P-51s from the 306^th Fighter Wing of the Fifteenth Air Force to execute counter-air operations from the American airfields located behind the Soviet lines in Ukraine. The three tactical objectives of FRANTIC III included: strafing of aircraft at Mielec, Poland; strafing of aircraft airfield and dive-bombing of the facilities at Lviv; strafing of targets that are identified through photo reconnaissance while in the Soviet Union.^[3] At 7:45 AM on 22 July 1944, the 82^nd and 31^st Fighter Groups of the 306^th Fighter Wing took off from their bases in Italy to attack the Romanian airfields near Zilistea and Buzau. When approaching the target, the American fighters dropped to an altitude of 5,000 feet. When they reached 4,000 feet, they passed several Axis aircraft flying near the airfield. The 82^nd Fighter Group bypassed them to attack the airfields, while the 31^st Fighter Group provided air cover. Once below 4,000 feet, Romanian anti-aircraft fire engaged the formations. The city of Ploesti began to deploy a smokescreen as they noticed the incoming American fighters. The 82^nd Fighter Group attacked five airfields: Zilistea, Buzau, and three satellite fields. The 82^nd Fighter Group destroyed 41 aeroplanes on the ground. Both the 82^nd Fighter Group and 31^st Fighter Group destroyed another 15 aeroplanes in the air at the loss of five P-38s. After the attack, the two groups reassembled and proceeded to their airbases located in Ukraine at Piryatin, Poltava, and Mirgorod.^[4]

The next day the 306^th Fighter Wing received orders to attack the German airfield at Mielec. One problem that the 306^th Fighter Wing ran into was the fact that the Soviet offensive against German Army Group Center, codenamed Operation BAGRATION, had driven within 88 miles of the airfield, and there was concern that the Americans might accidentally strafe a Soviet ground formation. Additionally, poor weather delayed the attack until 25 July. By that time, the Soviet advance was 48 miles away from the airfield.^[5] On 25 July, 36 P-38s and 36 P-51s of the 306^th Fighter Wing attacked the airfield at Mielec, destroying anywhere from nine to 16 German aircraft on the ground. South of Mielec the fighters spotted a train and column of trucks which were also attacked destroying four locomotives and 14 trucks. On their way back to their bases in Ukraine, the fighter formation stumbled across a German bomber formation of 36 German JU-87 bombers without an escort. The American fighters engaged and destroyed 29 of the bombers. By the end of the day, the American fighters returned to their bases without suffering a loss.^[6] The 26 July mission was a low-level fighter sweep of Ploesti and Bucharest and then a return to the Fifteenth Air Force bases in Italy. Poor weather forced the formation to divert to the Galati and Zilestea area. This led to an engagement with German fighters that resulted in 20 German fighters being shot down at the loss of two P-38s. ^[7]

The Red Army requested more follow up counter-air operations on the eve of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive. The Red Army General Staff sent a request to Deane’s counterpart in Moscow, Major General Robert L. Walsh, who oversaw all American air operations on the Eastern Front. Walsh sent an urgent message to the commander of the United States Strategic Air Forces in Europe, Lieutenant General Carl Spaatz, on 2 August. He wrote, ‘The Soviets requested that we concentrate our attacks on the following: enemy airdromes just south of the Iasi-Akkerman front.’ This included at least twelve airfields near the front lines. The Soviets provided a list, which Walsh transmitted directly to Spaatz. ^[8] The Americans had already carried out three fighter-bomber missions against German airfields in July.^[9]

Operation Frantic — Russian officers chat with Colonel Barton, Commanding Officer of the 483rd Bomb Group, and Colonel Rice of the 2nd Bomb Group at Mirgorod. The girl in the center is an interpreter. (Source: National Museum of the USAF)

This request led to FRANTIC IV, the second all fighter shuttle mission of the war conducted by the 306^th Fighter Wing. On 4 August, 45 P-38s of the 82^nd Fighter Group took off to strafe the airfields around Focsani, while 45 P-51s of the 52^nd Fighter Group provided air cover. The attack destroyed four Axis aircraft, three locomotives, and one tank car. Additionally, the P-38s strafed the hangers, buildings, and troop trains. Afterwards, the 306^th Fighter Wing proceeded to Poltava. On 6 August, 30 P-51s and 30 P-38s of the 306^th Fighter Wing took off from Poltava for the return fighter sweep. The 306^th Fighter Wing destroyed 30 railway cars, 11 locomotives, four tank cars, and one aircraft at Cariova and Ploesti.^[10]

After 2 June, the Luftwaffe’s sorties declined to 1,347 sorties.^[11] This data is also backed up by Fifteenth Air Force studies done after the fall of Romania of the air defences in the Ploesti and Bucharest area. The study estimated that in April 1944, Axis aircraft deployed around Bucharest and Ploesti numbered 200 to 255. Those numbers declined after the counter-air operations began. By May 1944, the number of Axis aircraft deployed to the area was anywhere between 125 to 145. In June, the numbers further decreased to 95 to 110 aircraft located in that same area. By August, Axis air power had declined in the Bucharest-Ploesti area to approximately 40 to 45 aircraft.^[12] According to an American assessment of the decline, the Fifteenth Air Force concluded that the decline resulted from American counter-air operations and a redeployment of Luftwaffe forces to other theatres.^[13] American counter-air operations and additional attacks against vital parts of Romania, significantly reduced Axis air power in the country during the summer of 1944. This, in part, explains part of the reason for the success of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive. Axis air power in the region had been, for the most part, eliminated.

In conclusion, the successful air superiority campaign against Axis air in Romania reveals a lot about the Allied offensives in Romania. First, the American Fifteenth Air Force played a pivotal role in the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive by clearing the skies of Axis air power. Next, this is an excellent example of successful joint operations. The Fifteenth Air Force worked in conjunction with the Red Army to attack targets of importance to the Soviet ground war in a timely fashion. Finally, from a historiography standpoint, more needs to be written about this subject. Preliminary research into these air operations indicates that American air operations in the Balkans were not confined strictly to attacking targets related to oil production.

Dr Luke Truxal is an adjunct at Columbia State Community College in Tennessee. He completed his PhD in 2018 from the University of North Texas with his dissertation ‘Command Unity and the Air War Against Germany.’ His previous publications include ‘Bombing the Romanian Rail Network,’ in the Spring 2018 issue of Air Power History. He has also written ‘The Politics of Operational Planning: Ira Eaker and the Combined Bomber Offensive in 1943’ in the Journal of Military Aviation History. Truxal is currently researching the effectiveness of joint air operations between the Allied air forces in the Second World War. He can be reached on Twitter at: @Luke_Truxal.

Header Image: American and Russian soldiers in 1944 during Operation FRANTIC. In the background is a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber and a C-47 Dakota transport aircraft. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] United States Air Force Historical Research Agency (USAFHRA), Montgomery, AL, Call 622.430-6, Headquarters Eastern Air Command, ‘Eastern Command Narrative of Operations: 2^nd Italy-Russia Shuttle Operation – 2 June 1944.’

[2] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, MASAF, “Excerpt-MASAF Intops Summary No. 325, 11 June: Foscani North Aerodrome Installations 5^th Wing,” 11 June 1944.

[3] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, Headquarters Fifteenth Air Force, ‘Fifteenth Air Force Plan for Operation Frantic III,’ 11 July 1944.

[4] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, Headquarters 306^th Fighter Wing, ‘Narrative Report of Frantic III Operation,’ 28 July 1944.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Library of Congress (LoC), Papers of General Carl Spaatz, Robert L. Walsh to Spaatz and Eaker, 2 August 1944.

[9] LoC, Spaatz Papers, George McDonald to Anderson (“Frantic”), 21 August 1944.

[10] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, 306^th Fighter Wing, “INTOPS No. 381,” 7 August 1944.

[11] Hardesty and Ilya Grinberg, Red Phoenix Rising: The Soviet Air Force in World War II (Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press, 2012), p. 292

[12] Ike Skelton Combined Arms Research Library, Army Air Force Evaluation Board, ‘Army Air Force Evaluation Board Report VI: Ploesti,’ n.d., p. 21.

[13] Ibid, p. 19.

Clearing the Skies for the Red Army – Part One: Learning from Failure

By Dr Luke Truxal

Editorial note: On 20 August 1944, the Soviet Union launched two army group sized formations, the Second and Third Ukrainian Fronts, against Axis Army Group South Ukraine. Army Group South Ukraine had been tasked with defending Romania. During this offensive, known as the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive, the Soviets routed the Third and Fourth Romanian Armies and destroyed the German Sixth Army. By the end of the offensive on 29 August, the Romanian fascist government under Prime Minister Ion Antonescu was overthrown, and Romania defected to the Allies. In the first of a two-part series on the contribution of US air power to the conduct of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive, Dr Luke Truxal examines some of the lessons and issues that emerged from the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive between April and June 1944.

Few historians have delved deeply into the history of the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive. Those who have written about the campaign typically only analyse the ground war. The foremost authority on the ground war on the Eastern Front, David Glantz, has covered the fighting in Romania in two of his books. In Red Storm Over the Balkans, Glantz analyses the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive. He also writes about the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive in his overview of the fighting on the Eastern Front. Neither work referred to the air war that influenced the outcome of the fighting on the ground. Rob Citino, in his analysis of the fighting in Romania, excludes the air war.^[1] Likewise, much of the historiography of the air war has overlooked the role of American air support provided to the Soviets during the invasion of Romania and focused more on the attacks against the Romanian oil industry. James Lea Cate and Wesley Frank Craven, in the official history of the United States Army Air Forces in the Second World War, focus strictly on the bombing of Romanian oil at the exclusion of the interdiction and air superiority campaigns. As a result, their narrative remained unchallenged for years.[2] In the 1990s, historians began to examine other aspects of the air war over Romania, including attacks against Romanian civilians and an air interdiction campaign.^[3]

FRE_000860 — Personnel of the 96th Bomb Group and the 452nd Bomb Group receive briefing against the wall of a bombed-out railway building in Poltava, Russia during Operation FRANTIC in summer 1944. (Source: IWM (FRE 860))

This first article examines the lessons learned from the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive and the Soviet-American planning that led to an aggressive air suppression campaign against Axis air forces in Romania. As a result of this work, the US Fifteenth Air Force, under the command of Major General Nathan Twining, was able to execute a successful air superiority campaign that aided the Soviet advance into Romania in August 1944 during the Second Iași-Chișinău Offensive from 20 to 29 August 1944. The success of this air campaign was due to the considerable level of coordination between the Fifteenth Air Force and the Red Army before launching the offensive against the Luftwaffe. The architect of this coordination was none other than the commander of the United States Strategic Air Forces in Europe (USSTAF), Lieutenant General Carl Spaatz. In establishing air superiority over Romania, the Fifteenth Air Force ground down German and Romanian air assets from as high as 255 aircraft deployed in the Bucharest area in April 1944 to as low as 40 aircraft in that same area by August 1944.[4]

The unsuccessful first attempt to seize Romania came during the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive between 8 April to 6 June 1944. The Second and Third Ukrainian Fronts aggressively pressed forward after their success in Ukraine. Despite initial breakthroughs, the German and Romanian forces counter-attacked and held the frontier, then known as Bessarabia. Soviet forces suffered setbacks both on land and in the air.

Perhaps the only positive to come from the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive for the Allies was the establishment of a system to coordinate the operations of the Fifteenth Air Force with Soviet ground forces. The system, established over the course of March and April 1944, coordinated Fifteenth Air Force air operations through the Red Army General Staff in Moscow. This laid the groundwork for future coordination when the Soviets resumed their invasion of Romania. United States Army representative in Moscow, Major General John R. Deane, worked tirelessly during March and April to establish a system to coordinate Fifteenth Air Force operations with the Red Army. Ultimately, the Soviets only agreed to an indirect communication system through Moscow to the Second and Third Ukrainian Fronts. On 20 April, General Aleksei Antonov, Deputy Chief of Staff of the Soviet Armed Forces, made it clear to Deane that any such coordination had to be done through Moscow. Antonov went on to say that his superior, Field Marshal Aleksandr Vasilievsky, Chief of Staff of the Soviet Armed Forces, did not believe that the Soviet forces advancing into Romania needed an air liaison officer.^[5] This created a slow process when it came to coordinating air attacks with Soviet forces. According to Deane, without the liaison officers, coordination passed from Spaatz to Deane. Afterwards, Deane scheduled a meeting with his counterpart, Major General N. V. Slavin, who then sought approval of the air attacks from his superior Antonov. Antoniv communicated with Soviet field commanders to determine if the American missions interfered with their operations. Antonov then relayed everything back through the same chain. This was not the ideal means of coordinating air missions with the Red Army.^[6] Nevertheless, while deeply flawed, the system did allow for the Soviets and Americans to coordinate a bombing campaign in Romania.

Starting in June 1944, the Fifteenth Air Force began to carry out air support operations once again for the Red Army in Romania at the direction of Spaatz. The first area of focus was the Luftwaffe in Romania. One of the critical factors for German success in the First Iași-Chișinău Offensive was that German air power had checked the Red Air Force. From May to June 1944, the Luftwaffe regained a level of air superiority in the skies over northern Romania. A series of intense air battles took place over the town of Iași between German and Soviet airmen for control of the skies. In Red Phoenix Rising, Von Hardesty and Ilya Grinberg state that the air battles over Iași were some of the most intense of the air war on the Eastern Front. Due to the strategic importance of the Romanian oil refineries, the Luftwaffe transferred some of their most experienced air units to aid in defence of Iași. On 28 April alone the Luftwaffe flew 807 sorties over Iași. The following day the Germans flew another 1,181 sorties against the Soviets. During the entire week, the Germans launched 4,000 sorties against Soviet troops located in the Iași sector. By comparison, the Soviets only carried out 1,970 sorties of their own during that same period.^[7]

The Soviet Fifth Air Army tried to enlarge its own air operations to counter the Germans throughout May. Starting on 28 May, forward units of the Soviet Fifth Air Army attempted to reverse the gains made by the Luftwaffe. They attacked German and Romanian airfields located at Roman and Khushi. The goal was to destroy 200 Axis aircraft located at these two locations. Romanian and German forces located the attacking force. The raid only destroyed 35 German and Romanian aircraft. The Germans responded on 30 May. The Luftwaffe flew 2,082 sorties against the Second Ukrainian Front, countered by only 703 sorties flown by the Soviet Fifth Air Army. Throughout the fighting over Iasi, German fighters continued not only to carry out close air support missions of their own but also disrupted those of the Soviet Fifth Air Army.^[8]

As this was happening, the Soviets relayed their struggles against Luftflotte IV to the Americans. On 13 May, the head of USSTAF intelligence, Colonel L.P. Weicker, and Red Air Force General D.D. Grendal met as a part of a conference between the USSTAF air staff and the Red Army to discuss the air war on the Eastern Front. The Soviets provided the Americans with their analysis of the deployment of the Luftwaffe on the Eastern Front. According to Soviet air intelligence, the Germans had concentrated 500 of their 900 bombers on the Eastern Front in the south-facing the Second and Third Ukrainian Front. Additionally, the Luftwaffe deployed 240 of its 650 fighters on the Eastern Front in the south. At the same time, approximately half of the German aerial reconnaissance aircraft were also deployed on the Soviet Southwest Front. In total, 970 of the 2,090 aircraft deployed on the Eastern Front were arrayed against the Soviet Second and Third Ukrainian Front.^[9] During the same meeting, Grendal informed the Americans that many German aircraft began operating from Romania after they retreated from the Ukraine. Those at the meeting recalled: ‘The Soviets estimate that at present the Germans have in excess of 1,000 aircraft on the Roumanian territory.’^[10] With this information, the Soviets and Americans were now able to eliminate the threat that Luftflotte IV presented to ground operations.

One means of providing more direct aid to the Soviet advance was through shuttle bombing missions, codenamed Operation FRANTIC. During these missions, American bombers from bases either in the United Kingdom or Italy would fly attack a German target on the Eastern Front, then continue east and land at Soviet airfields. FRANTIC I’s planning and execution was designed to aid the Soviet air power in the Iasi-Chișinău sector. In the 22 May draft of FRANTIC I, the Americans contemplated ‘an operation from Foggia against airfields in the Galatz area, followed by 3 operations from Russian bases against targets selected by the Russians.’^[11] The Americans believed that attacking Axis airfields in Romania could alleviate the pressure on the Second and Third Ukrainian Fronts. On 27 May, the commander of the Mediterranean Allied Air Force (MAAF), Lieutenant General Ira Eaker, laid out the proposed plan to Twining. He wrote: ‘Fifteenth Air Force will conduct its first FRANTIC bombing operation on the first day weather permits after June first. Force will consist of 130 B-17s and 70 P-51s.’ Eaker then briefed Twining on the preferred targets that the USSTAF wanted to strike, which included the Galatz airfields, an aircraft factory at Mieléc, and an aircraft factory at Riga.^[12] While the factories at Mieléc and Riga were on the list, the Galatz airfields had a more immediate effect on air operations in Romania. According to a briefing memo dated 28 May 1944 for the Fifteenth Air Force: ‘The German Air Force in the Southeast, Luftflotte IV, has been forced to withdraw its aircraft to a small number of fields in the Foscani-Galatz area. While recent coverage of this area is not complete, latest photography indicates over 550 aircraft (principally fighters, ground support and bombers) on five fields in the area, of which 450 are on the two Foscani landing grounds and Zilistea.’^[13] The primary objective of FRANTIC I was the destruction of these airfields.

On 2 June 1944, the Fifteenth Air Force carried out FRANTIC I. The 2nd, 97th, 99th, and 483rd Bomb Groups, struck the Debreczen marshalling yards before continuing to the Russian airfields located at Poltava in modern-day Ukraine. This had been a last-minute request by the Soviets. Therefore, the Americans added to their first mission as a part of FRANTIC I.^[14] With the first leg complete, the Fifteenth Air Force then prepared to strike at the target that American and Soviet planners wanted to get in Romania, Axis air power.

We can take two lessons away from the failures of the First Iași-Chișinău and the period afterwards. First, the Allies recognised the reasons for the shortcomings of the offensive in the air and on the ground. Remarkably, they were able to figure out what went wrong with the offensive in a matter of days and weeks. As a result, the Allies spent the following month, May 1944, working to fix the problem. That problem, the threat posed by Luftflotte IV, became the main topic of discussion when planning the FRANTIC shuttle missions between the Americans and the Soviets. At the end of these planning sessions, both sides agreed that the Fifteenth Air Force needed to pour more resources into defeating Luftflotte IV before the next major ground offensive. This set the stage for the air superiority campaign that would begin on 2 June 1944.

Header Image: American and Russian soldiers in 1944 during Operation FRANTIC. In the background is a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber and a C-47 Dakota transport aircraft. (Source: Wikimedia)

[1] For a comprehensive history of the First Iasi-Chișinău Offensive, see David Glantz, Red Storm Over the Balkans: The Failed Soviet Invasion Spring 1944 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2006), pp. 60-70, 76-100. Glantz is the first historian provide a detailed analysis of the Red Army’s failed first attempt to take Romania. He argues that the history of the campaign was forgotten because of its shortcomings. Glantz also covers the Second Iasi-Chișinău Offensive in David Glantz and Jonathan House, When Titans Clashed: How the Red Army Stopped Hitler (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1995), pp. 218-21. See also Rob Citino, The Wehrmacht’s Last Stand: The German Campaigns of 1944-1945 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2017), pp. 307-12.

[2] Wesley F. Craven and James L. Cate (eds.), The Army Air Forces in World War II, Volume 6: Europe, Argument to VE Day, January 1944 to May 1945 (Chicago, IL: The University Press of Chicago, 1951), pp. 280-7. Examples of other historians who have also focused only on the oil bombing in Romania include Donald Miller, Masters of the Air: America’s Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War Against Nazi Germany (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2006), pp. 312-21. While Miller is a popular historian, the influence of his book on the public at large has influenced how many outside the academic community view the air war against Romania. Tami Davis Biddle, Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare: The Evolution of British and American Ideas About Strategic Bombing, 1914-1945 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002), pp. 236-43.

[3] For more scholarship that covers the bombing of Romania outside the spectrum of oil see Mark Conversino, Fighting with the Soviets: The Failure of Operation FRANTIC, 1944-1945 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1997). For an analysis of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces’ attacks against Romanian rail targets and the mining of the Danube see Robert S. Ehlers Jr., The Mediterranean Air War: Air Power and Allied Victory in World War II (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2009), p. 364 and pp. 373-7; Conrad Crane, Bombs, Cities, and Civilians: American Air Power Strategy in World War II (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1993), pp. 95-8. To date, the best analysis of the attacks against Romanian civilians is Richard Overy, Bombers and the Bombed: Allied Air War Over Europe, 1940-1945 (New York: Penguin Books, 2004), p. 8, 404, and 413. For further analysis of attacks against the Romanian infrastructure see Luke Truxal, ‘Bombing the Romanian Rail Network,’ Air Power History 65, no. 1 (2018). For a short summary of American and Soviet coordination during the Second Jassy-Chișinău Offensive see Luke Truxal, ‘Forgotten Fights: The Second Jassy-Chișinău Offensive and the Destruction of German Sixth Army,’ National World War II Museum, 14 September 2020.

[4] Ike Skelton Combined Arms Research Library Digital Library, US Army Command and General Staff College, Army Air Force Evaluation Board, ‘Army Air Force Evaluation Board Report VI: Ploesti,’ n.d., , p. 21.

[5] US Library of Congress, Personal Papers of General Carl Spaatz, 30 Mission Moscow to AFHQ, Combined Chiefs of Staff, and British Chiefs of Staff, 20 April 1944. See also Truxal, ‘Bombing the Romanian Rail Network,’ pp. 17-8.

[6] John R. Deane, The Strange Alliance (London: John Murray, 1947), pp. 127-8. See also Truxal, ‘Bombing the Romanian Rail Network,’ p. 18.

[7] Von Hardesty and Ilya Grinberg, Red Phoenix Rising: The Soviet Air Force in World War II (Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press, 2012), pp. 286-7.

[8] Hardesty and Grinberg, Red Phoenix Rising, pp. 287-9.

[9] United States Air Force Historical Research Agency (USAFHRA), Call 622.430-6, Fred Anderson to Carl Spaatz, ‘Report on visit to Russia by Mission of USSTAF Officers,’ Exhibit D. Williamson Murray places Luftflotte IV’s numbers at 390 ground attack aircraft, 160 single-engine fighters, and 45 twin-engine fighters. William Murray, Strategy for Defeat: The Luftwaffe, 1933-1945, (Montgomery, AL: Air University Press, 1983), p. 285.

[10] USAFHRA, Anderson to Spaatz, ‘Report on visit to Russia by Mission of USSTAF Officers,’ Exhibit B.

[11] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, To Spaatz, ‘Plan for Operation “Frantic,”’ 22 May 1944.

[12] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, Ira Eaker to Nathan Twining, 27 May 1944.

[13] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, 1. Headquarters Fifteenth Air Force, ‘Annex No. I Combat Operation Enroute Fifteenth Air Force Plan for Operation ‘Frantic Joe’ Part One,’ 28 May 1944.

[14] USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, ‘Debreczen-Damage Assessment’; USAFHRA, Call 622.430-6, Headquarters Eastern Air Command, ‘Eastern Command Narrative of Operations: 1^st Italy-Russia Shuttle Operation-2 June 1944.’

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Air Power throughout the Ages

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