The United States Air Force Centennial of Flight Office

Presents

Significant Milestones

By

Phillip S. Meilinger

in Air Force History
The concept of flight has fascinated man for millennia. The minds

of the ancients invented winged gods and goddesses who lived in the

heavens or who traversed it in chariots of gold. The restless brilliance

of Leonardo da Vinci designed a flying machine five centuries ago; but

his vision, as well as those of many who followed, relied on the muscle

power of man to make it work. That would not be enough. A mechanical

engine would be necessary. Flight would have to be a byproduct of the

industrial revolution.

In the meantime, man turned to an alternative means of reaching

into the sky—balloons. The first balloon ascent occurred in Paris in

1783—the same year the United States gained its independence from

Britain, ratified, coincidentally, by a treaty signed in Paris. Over the

next century and a half, balloons and their more steerable brethren,

dirigibles or rigid airships, were designed and flown in various countries

worldwide.

But the notion of heavier-than-air flight in a winged vehicle would

not go away. Throughout the latter half of the nineteenth century a number

of aviation pioneers studied the problem of flight from an increasingly

scientific viewpoint. All recognized that two primary problems needed

to be overcome—power and directional control. Someone would have

to build an engine that was both powerful enough and light enough to lift

an airplane and its pilot into the air and sustain it.

The internal combustion engine was the obvious solution, but early

motors that were made for automobiles and dirigibles were too heavy—

they delivered too little horsepower for their weight. Related to this

issue was the need for a suitable airscrew, or propeller, to attach to the

engine that would propel the craft through the air. The second problem,

controlling an airplane in flight, seemed even more difficult.

Introduction
Both of these problems were solved by two hard-working and

taciturn bicycle mechanics from Dayton, Ohio. (Their bicycle shop

has since been restored and moved to Greenfield Village near Detroit).

Orville and Wilbur Wright, sons of a minister, designed and built

their own gasoline engine that was not a spectacular device, but

adequate for their purpose. It weighed about 200 pounds and delivered

12 horsepower. Just enough.

Also important, the brothers designed and built their own

propellers. Their solution to the directional control issue was more

ingenious. Learning from the flight of birds, the brothers saw that

birds made subtle changes in their wingtips, bending them up or down

slightly, and this allowed them to turn quickly and gracefully. The

Wrights therefore rigged up a series of cables and pulleys that

connected the wings of their craft to levers where the aviator would

lie (later sit). When manipulating the levers, the pilot would actually

twist the shape of the wings themselves—much like a bird alters the

shape of its wings—allowing the craft to turn. This “wing warping”

method was soon replaced by more practical devices—movable

rudders and ailerons. The latter consisted of a separate airfoil usually

attached to the outer portion of a wing: but the basic principle the

Wrights invented was sound.

On Dec. 17, 1903, at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, the Wright

brothers made history’s first powered flight in a heavier-than-air

machine that incorporated their two scientific breakthroughs. Their

invention, the airplane, changed the world.

As the centennial of their momentous achievement approaches,

the United States Air Force has established the Centennial of Flight

Office, whose mission is to celebrate airpower and the Wright brothers’

historic event. One of their projects is this pamphlet series, which

will trace the most significant people, events, technologies and ideas

in the history of the United States Air Force.

The goal of the series is to educate, motivate and entertain the

reader—to teach him or her about airpower; and, if they aren’t careful,

to enjoy themselves while doing so.
Devising a set of criteria for inclusion into such a series has not

been easy. Many significant items could be included, but space

constraints demanded a winnowing process. As a consequence, we

have decided upon the following as the general criteria for all

pamphlets:

• The focus will be on U.S. Air Force people, places, technologies

and events, although there may be minor exceptions.

• Emphasis will be on military rather than commercial or private

aviation. Exceptions may include, however, individuals who either

had a foot in both camps or whose influence dramatically affected

military aviation.

• Many entries will be eligible in more than one category. Our

intent will be to look at the pamphlets in totality to include a broad

range of entries, thus giving the reader an overview of Air Force airpower

history, without focusing too heavily on any particular time period.
Contents

Our First Military Aeroplane, The Wright Flyer, 1909.............. 1

The Opening of the Air Corps Tactical School, 1920 ............... 5

The Air Corps Act of 1926......................................................... 9

Establishing the GHQ Air Force, 1935 ................................... 13

Formation of the Army Air Forces, 1941-42 ........................... 17

AWPD-1, August 1941 ............................................................ 21

FM 100-20, “Command and Employment of Air Power”

 July 1943 ............................................................................. 25

Hiroshima, August 1945 .......................................................... 29

Air Force Independence, September 18, 1947 ......................... 33

The Flight of the “Luck Lady II,” 1949 ................................... 37

The Decision to Build the Hydrogen Bomb, 1950 .................. 41

America’s First ICBM Launch, December 17, 1957 ............... 45

Achieving Unity of Air Command–the JFACC ....................... 49

About the Author ..................................................................... 55
1

Our First Military Aeroplane,

The Wright Flyer,

1909

Man had dreamed of flying for centuries, but it was not until Dec.

17, 1903 that Orville and Wilbur Wright, bicycle mechanics from

Dayton, Ohio, achieved the feat of powered, controlled flight. It would

be nearly three years before anyone else in the world was able to

duplicate the achievement. Even so, few knew of the brothers’ flights,

partly due to their extreme secretiveness; they feared unscrupulous

competitors would steal their ideas. As a result, little publicity attended

the Wright brothers and their airplane. But word got out.

In late 1904, the French government contacted the Wrights

regarding the possibility of buying one of their airplanes. Being good

patriots, the brothers decided to approach their own government first

and offer them the new invention. In January 1905, they wrote their

congressman about their accomplishments and asked that he pass

them on to the War Department. Perhaps the Army would be

interested in buying one of their machines? (Note how quickly the

airplane was considered a potential military weapon). Later that

month, the Army replied with a form letter stating there were no funds

for sponsoring research into such activities. Nine months later, the

Wrights tried again, this time writing directly to the Secretary of War

(in today’s parlance, the Secretary of the Army). Again, they received

another form letter saying’“no thanks;” there was no money for

experimentation on wild ideas. Realizing they were failing to

communicate, the Wrights wrote back, stressing that they did not

want any research funds—their airplane already worked! They merely

were asking if the Army was interested in buying one before they

were forced to take their business elsewhere. The conservative Army

hierarchy was unmoved, replying, “The Board does not care to

formulate any requirements for a flying machine.”
2

Time passed and the Wright Brothers explored the European

connection while also continuing to refine their machine and its

engine. In the spring of 1907, the Aero Club of America intervened

and went directly to President Theodore Roosevelt with news of the

Wrights and their remarkable invention. Roosevelt told his Secretary

of War, William Taft, to look into it. This time the Army expressed

some interest, but complained that they had no funds to buy such a

machine even if it did work as advertised. Fortunately, industrious

officials in the Aeronautical Division of the Army’s Signal Corps

found money and wrote a “specification” asking for interested parties

to submit designs for a flying machine. The machine must attain 40

mph in level flight, be controllable in any direction, carry one

passenger for a duration of at least one hour and 125 miles, and be

sufficiently compact for transportation in an Army wagon. (The law

prohibited the Army from simply extending a contract to the Wrights;

the offer had to be open to all, and a competition would be necessary

to determine the winning entry).

The Army received 41 responses to their specification; most were

frivolous. One hopeful individual assured the Army he could build

such an airplane, but they would have to spring him from jail first.

Besides the Wrights, two other bidders looked promising, but they

eventually dropped out of the running. The Wrights were alone, so if

their airplane could indeed meet the requirements and demonstrate it

before a Board of Examiners at Ft. Myer, Virginia, they would be

paid $25,000 for their machine.

The “Wright Flyer” was delivered to Ft. Myer on Aug. 20, 1908.

After several days to unpack, assemble and ground test the machine, the

craft was not ready for flight until Sept. 3. Orville was at the controls—

Wilbur was in France flying another one of their planes—and the “Flyer”

was airborne for a scant one minute and eleven seconds on its first hop.

Over the next several weeks, however, Orville flew on dozens of

occasions, setting numerous world records for duration—on Sept. 11,

he stayed aloft for one hour, ten minutes and twenty-four seconds. Orville

also carried passengers; the first was Army Lt. Frank Lahm.
3

The Wright Brothers with the Military Flyer at Ft. Myer in 1909

Orville, like his brother, was extremely careful and conscientious.

He never flew unless he was convinced the plane was in perfect

working order and the weather, especially the wind, satisfactory. Even

so, on Sept. 17, disaster struck. On that afternoon, Orville Wright

took off with Lt. Thomas Selfridge as his passenger. At an altitude of

150 feet, one of the propellers struck a bracing cable and snapped it.

The tail end broke and the aircraft crashed. Selfridge was killed—

the first fatality in America’s history of powered flight—and Orville

spent seven weeks in the hospital. The tests were postponed.

The following June, the Wrights had rebuilt their machine, made

some improvements, and were ready to fly again. Upon returning to

Ft. Myer, they were even more grim and uncommunicative than usual.

They ignored reporters and onlookers begging for interviews or

conversation. Orville, perhaps because he liked to finish what he

started, insisted on doing all the flying for the new trials. After a

month of “warm up flights,” the official trials began again on

July 27. Orville took off with Lt. Lahm as his passenger and flew for

one hour and twelve minutes—one major requirement was fulfilled.

At the same time, they performed a number of “figure 8s” to
4

demonstrate the aircraft’s maneuverability. Scratch requirement

number two. On July 30, they went for the speed trials. Orville selected

Lt. Ben Foulois as the passenger. The young officer was delighted,

and was certain his military bearing and serious mien were the reason

for this honor. Later he learned that it was merely his small size and

weight—126 pounds dripping wet—that made him the best choice.

Foulois eagerly slung two stopwatches around his neck, strapped a

compass on one leg and a barometer on the other, stuffed a map into

his belt, and climbed into his seat.

Taking off from the Ft. Myer parade field, the “Flyer” headed

south to where the Masonic Temple now stands in Alexandria, turned

around and climbed to a record 400 feet, and then went into a gradual

descent to pick up speed for the sprint back to Ft. Myer. They crossed

the finish line at a blistering 42 mph. President Taft was on hand to

congratulate the brothers for their astonishing achievement. The Army

had just bought themselves an airplane.

Over the next century the airplane would revolutionize war, but

even at the beginning there were those who foresaw that things had

changed dramatically and irreversibly. Alexander Graham Bell,

inventor of the telephone, said simply that the airplane made armies

“an impertinence” and battleships “so much junk.” Time would test

his judgments.
5

The Opening of the

Air Corps Tactical School,

1920

A collection of airplanes is not airpower. For a country to possess

true airpower it must have not only first-rate military aircraft, but

also an industrial infrastructure to develop and manufacture the aircraft

and their power plants. Airpower also includes the commercial

aviation structure of airfields, navigation aids, weather reporting/

forecasting facilities, airway network, and a pool of trained pilots

and mechanics to support them. Finally, airpower requires ideas—

ideas on how aircraft should best be employed in war. This intellectual

framework, generally referred to by the military as—“doctrine,” is

essential to utilizing a weapon system effectively and efficiently.

Following the World War, the Air Service realized it needed to

establish a formal process for writing and refining airpower doctrine

and then educating its personnel so they understood that doctrine.

Often, those actually using a given weapon in the field devise the

best tactics and procedures for employing it. These individuals are

the ones who must actually make things work on a day-to-day basis.

On the other hand, operators are usually ill suited to envision the use

of a weapon in the broadest sense simply because they are too close

to it. Such broad thinking on strategy or on warfare in a general

sense usually is best left to those who are able to think, write and

argue—and have the time set aside to do so. Air Service leaders

realized this, and as a consequence, pushed the Army to establish an

Air Service Tactical School at Langley Field, Virginia. This was in

fact done in August 1920, and the mission of the Tactical School was

to formulate a doctrine of airpower employment, and then to teach

that doctrine to a select group of officers each year. Over time, the

ideas taught at the school would permeate the entire Air Service officer

corps. Virtually every senior American air commander of World War

II had attended the Tactical School, and many had taught there,

including six who reached four-star rank.
6

For the first decade of its existence, the Air Corps Tactical School

(ACTS as it was known after 1926 when the Air Service became the

Air Corps) focused on fairly mundane administrative matters and

staff work, as well as on the use of airpower to support ground

commanders. Partly, this conservatism was due to an Army hierarchy

that constrained the airmen from straying too far a field doctrinally,

and partly because the aircraft available at the time were still slow,

fragile and little improved from what had been used in the war. By

the end of the decade, however, things began to change.

A dedicated and vocal group of officers began populating the

faculty at ACTS, now located at Maxwell Field in Alabama. These

officers, intellectual descendents of Billy Mitchell, believed that

airpower offered far more capability than merely being used to support

ground forces. At the same time, new aircraft were emerging that

enjoyed important technological advances: metal construction,

cantilever wings, retractable landing gear, enclosed cockpits, and

improved streamlining. These new aircraft, the Martin B-10 and

Boeing B-9, also sported more powerful engines for increased speed

and load-carrying capacity. More importantly, the Boeing B-17 made

its maiden flight in 1935. As—“Hap” Arnold said, “This was airpower

you could put your hands on.”

The mid 1930s were the golden age of ACTS. It was during this

period that the doctrine of high altitude, daylight, precision, formation

bombing of industrial targets took firm root in the Air Corps. The

instructors studied the industrial and economic systems and networks

that made up a modern nation and then sought ways to break those

systems. Students ran war games against the industrial northeastern

United States, speculating on what would happen if bombers were to

hit electrical power plants, bridges, rail yards, docks and key factories.

They concluded that such massive air attacks would cause near

paralysis to the entire region. Assuming that potential enemy nations

would be similarly affected, ACTS predicted that strategic bombing

attacks could neither be halted nor endured by a country—if those

attacks were heavy and persistent.
7

The Air Corps Tactical School at Langley Field, 1930

The airmen realized that in truth, it was not necessary to destroy a

nation’s entire industrial infrastructure. With each system or network

there were key nodes or bottlenecks that bore a disproportionate share

of that system’s load. In theory, if these nodes were destroyed, the

effects would cascade throughout the entire system.

The instructors at ACTS came to this conclusion, what was termed

the “industrial web theory,” when one day they learned that all the

aircraft on base were grounded. It seems one of the planes had lost

an engine due to the failure of a propeller governing spring. Upon

inspection of other aircraft, it was determined that other springs were

faulty as well. Yet, there were no spare parts available. The factory

in Ohio that made the springs for the Air Corps had been flooded by

recent rains and was out of commission temporarily. The officers at

ACTS realized the significance of this event. If an enemy wanted to

neutralize the air defenses of the U.S., it was not necessary to fight a

great aerial battle or destroy a host of airfields; rather, they merely

needed to destroy a single factory in Ohio.

This was simplistic thinking, but the principle behind the industrial

web had great implications. Although this theory was attempted to
8

some extent during World War II and found wanting, air planners

today still seek targets causing repercussions throughout the industrial

system, with the least effort and risk to the attacker.

There were certainly many problems with the theories devised at

ACTS. The German and Japanese economies were not mirror images

of the U.S. economy, and they proved far stronger than anyone

expected. Moreover, the bombers were not as invincible as airmen

thought—although it must be noted that one officer at ACTS, a fighter

pilot named Claire Chennault, had been warning of this probability

for several years. Fast and nimble fighter aircraft, aided by radar and

a centralized command network, proved very serious obstacles to the

bombers. Moreover, ground defenses, antiaircraft artillery (AAA or

“flak”), proved even more deadly to the bombers. Even so, the theories

of ACTS grew into the doctrine of the AAF, and this provided the

polestar that led the airmen to ultimate victory in World War II.

Today, the Air University, still located at Maxwell AFB in Alabama, is the direct descendent of the illustrious Air Corps Tactical

School. Like its predecessor, Air University serves as the

intellectual center of the Air Force.
9

The Air Corps Act of 1926

When the U.S. Army bought its first airplane in 1909, it assigned

it to the Aeronautical Division of the Signal Corps. At the time, that

made a great deal of sense, as the aircraft of that period were

considered to be most suitable for reconnaissance, observation and

communications missions.

By the time of America’s entry into World War I in April 1917,

aircraft had progressed dramatically. Germany had begun conducting

long-range bombing missions against Britain, aircraft were patrolling

the coast and attacking ships, fighters (“pursuits” as they were called

then) dueled for air superiority, and attack planes strafed and bombed

front line positions. As a result, the Army elevated the status of its

air arm in Europe into an Air Service.

After the Armistice and Treaty of Versailles, however, the Air

Service fell on hard times. Funds were scarce throughout the Army,

and aviation took more than its share of the cuts. It was at this time

that radicals within the Air Service, led by Brig. Gen. William “Billy”

Mitchell, began lobbying for more autonomy within the Army, perhaps

even independence. Their arguments were partly philosophical and

partly bureaucratic. Philosophically, airmen strongly believed that

the airplane had revolutionized war. The traditional way of making

war on land, where armies fought other armies over the possession

of territory, led to a vicious and bloody stalemate in the World War.

Aircraft could fly over those armies and strike directly at the heart of

an enemy nation.

This was a totally different way of viewing war that airmen

understood, but soldiers, presumably, did not. Airmen feared that if

soldiers continued to control airpower they would use it merely as

another weapon in support of the land campaign. Airpower’s unique

ability to conduct strategic attacks would be wasted.
10

In addition, the U.S. Army was dominated by a seniority system

that saw time-in-grade as the determining factor in who was promoted.

Because aviation was so new, very few airmen had the opportunity to

advance to senior rank. As late as January 1939, of the 68 “generals

of the line” in the Army, not one was from the Air Corps. As a result,

virtually all of the senior generals of the Army were men who served

in the infantry, cavalry or artillery. Yet, it was these “ground” officers

who commanded the units to which aircraft were assigned; they

determined which officers were sent to the branch schools—a

stepping-stone for command in the army—and they approved the

doctrine of how airpower should be employed. In late 1919, for

example, the Chief of the Air Service, the infantryman Maj. Gen.

Charles T. Menoher, stated, “not a dollar is available for the purchase

of new aircraft.” The Army had other priorities.

A variety of commissions and boards were convened in the 1920s

to examine whether or not the Air Service should be granted

independence from the Army. Most concluded that such a move was

premature. Nonetheless, some change was deemed necessary,

especially after Billy Mitchell’s court-martial in late 1925 had raised

public awareness of air issues. As a consequence, Congress passed

the Air Corps Act of 1926.

The Air Corps Act did several positive things for airpower. First,

and most obviously, it raised the status of the air arm to a full combat

“branch” of the Army—a corps—equal, in theory if not reality, to the

infantry, cavalry and artillery. The Act also called for a new position,

an Assistant Secretary of War for Air to aid in “fostering military

aeronautics.” For the first time a high-ranking civilian in the War

Department would serve as a spokesman for air interests. Other

provisions of the Act were also significant. Two new brigadier

generals were authorized for the Air Corps, making a total of three.

More importantly, two of these three had to be airmen. (However,

these positions were “temporary.” When an officer left the general

officer position, he reverted to his “permanent” rank, usually one or

two grades lower). Each division on the War Department Staff would

also have an air section composed of air officers. Previously, although

airmen may have been assigned to these prestigious staff posts, there
11

Curtiss P–6E, painting by Luther Gore, Air Force Art Collection

was no requirement for such representation. Finally, the Act required

that all Air Corps flying units be commanded by flying officers;

indeed, it stipulated that at least 90 percent of all Air Corps officers

be flyers.

As important as these administrative moves were, however, an

even more significant aspect of the Air Corps Act was its call for a

five-year plan to greatly increase the size and capability of Army

airpower.

In 1926 the Air Corps had barely 900 officers and 8,750 enlisted

personnel. The Act authorized a buildup to 1,650 officers and 15,000

enlisted, while also calling for increased pay for mechanics. As for

aircraft, the Air Corps had a total of 1,254 airplanes in 1926; Congress

proposed a buildup to 1,800. Such a buildup would cost money.

Unfortunately, the funds were never appropriated to fully carry out

the Act’s provisions due to the economizing tendencies of the Coolidge

and Hoover administrations. Moreover, Army leaders were loath to

give the money and personnel mandated by Congress. During the
12

Randolph Field,

Texas in 1939,

“The West Point

of the Air”

five-year plan, the Air Corps requested $260 million but received

only $147 million. The Stock Market crash in October 1929 dashed

all hopes of a continued buildup.

Nonetheless, the Air Corps had certainly improved by 1932.

Although short of the goals set by the Air Corps Act, the numbers

had grown to 1,250 officers and over 13,000 enlisted. The number of

aircraft also increased; moreover, a hot new fighter, the Boeing P-12,

joined the inventory. In addition, necessary facilities were added to

the Air Corps infrastructure, such as beautiful Randolph Field near

San Antonio, Texas, that became the primary pilot training base.

Overall, the Air Corps Act was a major stepping stone in the

advancement of American airpower. The Army, grudgingly, was

forced to show more respect to airmen and allow them to serve in

key command and staff positions, but it also increased friction between

the new Air Corps and ground officers. The Act also gave airmen

more autonomy to plan their own destiny and to begin formulating a

doctrine of airpower employment. Finally, the Air Corps Act increased

the size of the air arm, while also improving its quality. As the country

descended into the Great Depression, these proved to be important

considerations. It was not what airmen desired or thought necessary

for the country’s security, but it was a significant step forward.
13

The Air Corps Act of 1926 was a step forward for American

airpower, but there was still a long path ahead. The Air Corps was

divided into two basic types of aviation. The “air service” consisted

of observation aircraft that conducted visual and photo

reconnaissance, artillery spotting, and combat patrols for the ground

forces. Its mission was defensive, to assist the ground commander in

his operations. “Air force” aviation consisted of the bulk of the combat

aircraft of the Air Corps—the bombers, fighters and attack planes

that would carry out offensive operations. The fighters would ensure

air superiority; the bombers would strike targets within the theater

and perhaps deep in enemy territory; and the attack planes would

conduct low-level strikes on enemy troop formations and positions.

Generally, around 80 percent of the Air Corps consisted of “air force”

assets.

However, these air force assets were neither centrally located nor

controlled. Instead, combat units were parceled out to the overseas

possessions and to the various geographically located Army corps

areas in the U.S. In all cases, the combat air units were under the

control of local ground commanders. There were no provisions for

the air force assets from one corps to join together with those of

another corps to conduct a large, strategic air attack. In fact, the

Chief of the Air Corps was not technically even a commander in the

sense that he had no direct authority over his units in the field.

Airmen disliked this organizational concept because it violated

the principle of unity of command. It also denied airpower one of its

great strengths—the flexibility of aircraft based in different locations

to converge over a single distant target. In this view, range was a key

factor in determining the level at which a weapon should be controlled.

Artillery, for example, had a range of twenty to thirty miles; therefore,

Establishing the GHQ Air Force,

1935
14

it made sense to centralize its control at a brigade or division level so

that it could support the entire division whenever and wherever the

division commander thought appropriate. In short, centralized control

of long-range weapons permitted its concentration over a wide area,

giving it far greater impact than if it were dispersed to individual

tactical units. This was the model used to some extent by all Allied

nations, including the American Expeditionary Force in World War I,

where army corps were left with some defensive pursuit squadrons,

but most of the pursuit and bombardment were “pooled” at the Army

level to conduct offensive operations.

Using such a model, airmen similarly argued for the centralized

control of airpower above the corps level. Fuel was added to the fire

as a result of yet another commission that met in 1934, headed by the

former Secretary of War Newton Baker, to study the issue of American

airpower. It agreed with much of the airmen’s thinking regarding

centralized control, although it stopped short of advocating a separate

service. Army maneuvers in 1931 and 1933 had tested a concept

where all the air force assets were centralized under an air commander

who reported directly to the theater commander. The results were

Maj. Gen. Frank Andrews and the GHQ Air Force Staff, 1935
15

excellent, and this, combined with the recommendations of the Baker

Board, prompted the Army Chief of Staff, Gen. Douglas MacArthur,

to establish a General Headquarters Air Force (GHQ Air Force).

During peace, the GHQ Air Force would report to him directly. When

deployed overseas in time of war, it would report to the theater

commander. It took some time to work out the operational details,

but the new organization was formally established on March 1, 1935.

For commander of the GHQ Air Force, MacArthur chose Lt. Col.

Frank Andrews, who was immediately promoted to temporary brigadier

general. Andrews set up his headquarters at Langley Field, Virginia.

(This building today houses the headquarters of Air Combat Command).

Andrews took command of all Air Corps “air force” units in the

U.S. The observation squadrons (the “air service” assets) remained

assigned to the individual corps commanders. In addition to the

combat units, the GHQ Air Force also took over a number of service

squadrons to support and maintain this air force. Andrews organized

his forces into three wings—one on the west coast, one on the east

and the third in Louisiana. Altogether, the air force consisted of nine

combat groups or thirty squadrons. He then reorganized the flying

units themselves by making them self-contained squadrons with their

own maintenance, supply and administration. This allowed them to

deploy more quickly to a crisis area. This in turn led Andrews to

push for a large number of promotions for air personnel, who had

been held back in the Army’s system. As a result, group commanders,

for example, would have the rank (normally lieutenant colonel)

commensurate with their responsibility. As a result of this initiative,

hundreds of officers were quickly promoted and became more equal

to Army officers in the other branches who had similar rank and

responsibility.

The GHQ Air Force was a major breakthrough organizationally,

administratively and philosophically. This last was perhaps the most

significant because it signaled the Army’s recognition that airpower

had far more potential in war than merely serving as an arm for tactical

support of ground forces. The air force could conduct long-range air

operations independent of the ground forces, subject to the approval

of the theater commander. It could conduct strategic air warfare.
16

The Martin B–10, the Air Corps’ first all-metal, monoplane bomber

Problems still remained. In 1935 the front-line bomber was the

Martin B-10. This was an all-metal monoplane with retractable

landing gear and enclosed cockpits, a major technological advance

over the ungainly biplane bombers it replaced. Unfortunately, it was

still not enough. In order to conduct a true strategic bombing

campaign the air force needed something far larger with greater range

and a greater bomb load. The answer would be the Boeing B-17,

which made its maiden flight in 1935, but would not be procured in

quantity for another five years.

In addition, the air force needed a doctrine for employing its new

bomber assets most effectively. That doctrine was then being

formulated at the Air Corps Tactical School at Maxwell Field. The

GHQ Air Force was a compromise. In fact, Billy Mitchell labeled

the whole idea a “fraud” designed to keep airpower in an inferior

position within the Army. True, airmen did not gain the independence

they thought was necessary, but they were given more latitude to

organize, plan and train for major combat operations. The

combination of organization (the GHQ Air Force), doctrine, and the

B-17 would be the weapon for waging strategic air warfare that

America took into World War II.
17

Formation of the Army Air Forces,

1941-42

When the United States went to war in December 1941, debate

over whether or not we should become involved in the affairs of “the

old country” evaporated overnight. Military buildup, the draft, and

mobilization of industry for war were no longer contentious political

issues, and all began in earnest.

There were also a host of lessons to learn from the war that had

been on going in Europe for two years. There were stark differences

in the way this war was being conducted compared to the First World

War. Blitzkrieg, rather than stalemate, characterized military

operations. France, which had stood implacable for four years in the

previous war, fell in a mere six weeks to a fast-moving German

military machine.

More importantly, airpower was also playing a far more significant

role than many had expected. It was quickly realized, for example,

that air superiority was absolutely crucial to the success of military

operations—on land, at sea or in the air. Because the Royal Air Force

controlled the skies over its homeland and the English Channel, its

victory in the Battle of Britain meant that no German invasion could

take place. Conversely, when the British were not able to wrest control

of the skies over Norway from the Luftwaffe in 1940, the Royal Navy

had to withdraw, as did the Allied ground forces attempting to operate

there. And of course, Pearl Harbor showed what airpower could do

to a supposedly unsinkable fleet.

The U.S. Army Air Corps was pitifully small when war clouds

began gathering over Europe in 1939, having only 1,700 aircraft of

all types, most of which were clearly outclassed by European designs,

and some 1,600 officers and 18,000 enlisted personnel. During the

interwar years the air arm had received on average a mere 18 percent

of the Army’s budget, and the effects of that neglect were obvious.
Expansion was imperative, but it took time and money to build

the factories and train the skilled workers before any aircraft could

be produced. By mid-1940 the Air Corps was projecting a force of

4,000 combat planes and some 200,000 people; a year later, those

numbers had nearly doubled. Even so, it was clear that such a force

would still be inadequate by European standards. In 1941, a mere

373 strategic bombers (B-17s and B-24s) joined the Air Corps

inventory.

The Air Corps was also ill prepared organizationally to meet the

demands of modern war. The GHQ Air Force had been a significant

step forward, but problems remained. As late as 1939, the Army’s

airpower, already woefully small, was still divided between two power

centers. The Chief of the Air Corps, Maj. Gen. Oscar Westover (and

Maj. Gen. “Hap” Arnold after September 1938) was in charge of

recruitment, individual training, research and development, procurement,

supply and administration. The GHQ Air Force commander, Maj. Gen.

Frank Andrews, reported to the

Army Chief of Staff, not

Westover, and he controlled the

Air Corps combat aircraft and

their personnel. Lines of

responsibility between these two

officers, each dependent on the

other but with no authority over

the other, were unclear.

The situation improved

somewhat when Maj. Gen.

“Hap” Arnold was placed in

the chain of command above

the GHQ Air Force, while

also assuming the title of

Deputy Chief of Staff for

Air. This arrangement

improved the situation, but was still insufficient—it was not

always clear just who was in charge of what. As a result, in

Maj. Gen. Oscar Westover, Chief of the

U.S. Army Air Corps, 1935

18
19

the Army to ensure unity of command of air assets. The resulting

organization, termed the Army Air Forces (AAF) became official in

June 1941.

By the middle of 1942, the AAF was placed on a par with the

Army Ground Forces and the Army Services Forces. However,

because Arnold—whose new title was Commanding General of the

AAF—retained his position as Deputy Chief of Staff, he was actually

primus inter pares among the three branches. This seniority was

highlighted when the Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS) were formed

in 1942 consisting of the heads of the British and American military

services. Because the Royal Air Force was a separate service and its

head was therefore a member of the CCS, Arnold was designated to

sit as the U.S. counterpart, even though he was technically only a

deputy. In essence, throughout the war Arnold was treated as an

equal of the other chiefs at the grand strategic level of war even though

strictly speaking he and the AAF were still subordinate to the Army

Chief, Gen. George Marshall.

Arnold’s authority and

prominence were enhanced

when he was promoted to fivestar rank in December 1944—

the only American airman ever

to achieve that rank.

Internally, Arnold had almost

total control over all aspects of

training, procurement, doctrine,

personnel selection, and

administration within the AAF.

He greatly expanded his own

staff along the War Department

model, thus having functional

divisions such as Personnel,

Intelligence, Operations,

Logistics, and Plans that

mirrored their Army counterparts. At the same time, air officers

continued to serve on the War Department staff, thus giving the AAF

Gen. Joseph T. McNarney
20

even greater influence. In 1942, for example, Lt. Gen. Joseph

McNarney was selected by Marshall as his primary deputy, and Maj.

Gen. Clayton Bissell was the Army’s G-2.

Although Arnold had no actual command authority over air

commanders in the field—they reported directly to their theater

commander—his personal influence with these commanders remained

enormous. In essence, the AAF was given almost total autonomy within

the Army and was thus able for first time to have the dominant say in

determining its own destiny. Airmen still wore the army uniform, but

they were rapidly moving farther away from their ground roots.
21

AWPD-1,

August 1941

In August 1941, the United States was not yet at war, but President

Roosevelt believed it prudent to plan for war in the event our

involvement became unavoidable. The War Department General Staff

therefore began drawing up plans for a war that assumed Germany

would be the main enemy, and included Britain as our main ally.

Gen. “Hap” Arnold, the commanding general of the newly formed

Army Air Forces (AAF), asked if his own planners could prepare the

air annex to the war plan. Ordinarily, the Army’s Plans Division

(composed of a mix of army officers from several branches), had this

responsibility. Arnold argued that it was only logical that air planners

be tasked to write an air plan. His request was granted.

To write this annex, Arnold turned to four of his brightest young

staff officers: Lt. Col.’s Hal George and Ken Walker, and Maj.s

Haywood “Possum” Hansell and Larry Kuter. This was an interesting

quartet. All four of these officers had been instructors in the Air

Force or Bombardment Sections at the Air Corps Tactical School at

Maxwell Field, Alabama. In fact, all four had played key roles in

formulating the doctrine of high altitude, daylight, formation,

precision bombing of an enemy’s industrial centers. (Note: there

were two officers named Hal George in the AAF at the time. To

distinguish between them, one was called “Bomber George”—the

head of the Air Plans Division—and the other was “Fighter George”).

Now they were being tasked to put their ideas into practice.

Things did not always go smoothly. The Munitions Building where

they worked was oppressively hot and tempers flared. Hansell and

Walker, two of the more volatile members of the planning team,

engaged in shouting matches that threatened to become more serious.

(Hansell’s nickname of “Possum” was not a result of a sleepy

personality; rather, he looked like one). But the work was
22

accomplished, and over the next nine days these four men, with the

assistance of others on Arnold’s staff, drew up what was to be the

blueprint for the air plan to defeat Hitler—AWPD-1.

These officers faced an enormous task, under a tight deadline.

They approached it by relying on their own limited experiences, their

beliefs in the effectiveness of strategic bombing (which had yet been

put to a serious test), and their academic studies at Maxwell.

Their first task was to gather information on the German economy

to determine what made it tick. Once they understood how the enemy

economy worked, it would be easier to figure out how to break it.

Hansell had recently been assigned to the intelligence section of the

Air Staff and in that capacity had traveled to Britain to observe the

RAF’s bombing campaign against Germany. The British were

certainly helpful and shared much critical and sensitive information.

The reservoir of knowledge Hansell gained in these duties was to

prove extremely useful. In addition, the planners turned to American

industrialists and bankers for assistance in understanding the U.S.

economy, assuming that the operation of modern industrialized

societies were similar. If they understood, for example, how the

electrical power grid in the U.S. operated, they believed they would

have a good idea on how the German power grid worked as well.

The air officers also knew that many of Germany’s factories had

been financed or built by American banks and companies. As a result,

they were able to obtain detailed blueprints of many of Germany’s

most important industrial facilities from patriotic sources on Wall

Street.

The planners then sorted and prioritized this data to produce a list

of the 154 most important targets in Germany. Using the studies

from their own experiments at Maxwell regarding bombing accuracy,

the weight of ordnance needed to destroy a variety of structures, and

projected loss rates in planes and crews, they were able to estimate

how many aircraft of all types would be needed to conduct such a

war. They included bombers, fighters, transports and trainers, as well

as the number of personnel to fly, maintain and support such an air

force. The numbers they arrived at seemed enormous: over 68,000
23

The AWPD-1 Planners: Maj. Harold George, Lt. Col. Ken Walker, Lt. Col.

Haywood Hansell and Maj. Laurence S. Kuter
24

aircraft, more than 100,000 pilots and over 2 million total personnel.

Considering that the AAF had ordered only some 300 heavy bombers

for all of 1941, the vision and audacity of these four planners can be

better appreciated. Even so, AWPD-1, which excluded operations

against Japan and Italy, significantly underestimated the numbers of

aircraft that would be needed for World War II. By the end of the

war, the AAF had purchased over 230,000 planes, of which nearly

35,000 were strategic bombers.

As for targets, the planners recognized that the AAF’s first priority

was to gain air superiority over Germany. Without it, a bomber

offensive would be long and bloody. As a consequence, they listed

the German air force and its factories as the “intermediate objective

of overriding importance.” While the air superiority campaign was

on going, however, the bombers would also be attacking the vital

centers of the German economy. In order of priority these target

systems were electricity, transportation (specifically the railroads),

oil, and the morale of the German population.

AWPD-1 was completed and briefed up the chain of command

and approved by the Secretary of War, Henry Stimson, on Sept. 11,

1941. Soon after, a near-disaster struck. An exact copy of the plan

was published in the newspapers, causing a major uproar. After all,

the U.S. was still at peace, so why was it making plans for a war on

Germany? Fortunately, that storm passed.

The blueprint laid out in AWPD-1 was an excellent starting point,

although the priority assigned to specific target systems would

fluctuate during the war. In one of its more prescient statements, the

plan warned that long-range escort fighters might be necessary to

ensure the safety of the bomber forces. This would prove all too true.

There were, however, other errors in the planners’ thinking—German

industry and morale were far tougher and more resilient than

anticipated, and bombing accuracy under fire and in poor weather

was much poorer than expected. Nonetheless, AWPD-1—a direct

descendent of the ideas formulated at the Air Corps Tactical School—

remained a surprisingly accurate forecast of the U.S. strategic bombing

effort against Germany in World War II.
25

The proper role of airpower in war was a thorny subject in the

U.S. Army prior to World War II. Ground officers tended to see the

air weapon as a useful, even necessary, tool to help them gain their

tactical objectives. As a consequence, they insisted on controlling

those air assets themselves, and apportioning them out to various

ground commanders for their specific use.

Airmen, on the other hand, saw aircraft as an inherently strategic

weapon that should be used not only to assist ground operations, but

to operate at the strategic level of war as well. They, therefore, favored

a centralized system in which a single airman would control theater

air assets. Some would be designated for use in strategic air

operations, and others for tactical cooperation. The GHQ Air Force,

established in 1935, was a compromise between these two positions,

but it did not fully resolve the problem. War would make their

differences very apparent.

The experience of both the British and the U.S. in the North Africa

campaign of 1942-43 brought matters to a head. Airpower was not

viewed as having been overly responsive or flexible in that campaign.

In one case, Maj. Gen. George Patton complained that airpower was

simply not responsive, and an allied air commander, Air Vice Marshal

Arthur “Mary” Coningham, retorted that the American troops failed

not because of insufficient air support, but because they were simply

not battle-worthy. Before the men could escalate their words to blows,

cooler heads prevailed and the men made peace. Even so, it was

soon apparent after six months of combat experience, reinforced by

contact with British forces that had been at war far longer, that change

was necessary. Somewhat surprisingly, it was the view of the airmen

that tended to dominate. Gen. Bernard Montgomery, the British

commander in the campaign, wrote for example:

FM 100-20, “Command and

Employment of Air Power”

July 1943
26

Nothing could be more fatal to successful results than

to dissipate the air resources into small packets placed

under command of army formation commanders, with

each packet working on its own plan. The soldier must

not expect, or wish, to exercise direct control over air

striking forces.

The U.S. experience echoed Montgomery’s observations, so the

War Department directed that a new doctrine manual be written. The

task was given to two airmen and an armor officer, and their product

was War Department FM 100-20, “Command and Employment of

Air Power,” published in July 1943.

FM 100-20 began by stating in bold capital letters: “LAND

POWER AND AIR POWER ARE CO-EQUAL AND

INTERDEPENDENT FORCES; NEITHER IS AN AUXILIARY OF

THE OTHER.” The manual then stated that flexibility was airpower’s

greatest asset, and that success could only be assured if airpower was

centralized and controlled by the air commander. It directed a

command arrangement in which the theater commander exercised

authority through two component commanders—one for air forces

and one for ground forces. The manual warned that the theater

commander should not attach air units to ground commanders except

Gen. Bernard Montgomery and Air Vice-Marshal Arthur Coningham: the airground team that served as the example for American forces in North Africa
27

in rare cases. Thus, in the first two pages of the new manual, one of

the main areas of contention—who should control air assets— was

addressed and decided in terms that favored airmen. Perhaps in an

attempt to soften the message, the manual then stated that because

air and ground operations were interdependent, joint planning and

joint training were absolutely essential to success.

The basic tasks of airpower were listed as the destruction of hostile

air forces; denying the establishment of hostile airbases; operations

against land and sea forces; offensive air operations against an enemy’s

sources of military and economic strength; serving in joint task forces;

and operating in conjunction with or in lieu of naval forces. It is

important to note that then, as now, both airmen and soldiers saw the

attainment of air superiority as the first priority.

The manual described strategic air operations as those aimed to

defeat the enemy nation by striking at its’ “vital centers.” An airman

would control strategic air forces, but the selection of their objectives

would be the responsibility of the theater commander. Thus, in certain

circumstances, strategic air forces could be used to achieve tactical

objectives. This occurred on several occasions during the remainder

of the war.

When discussing the role of tactical air forces, the manual listed

three functions in order of priority. The first was to gain and maintain

air superiority over the theater. This was an intensive and continuous

process that required both offensive actions against the enemy’s air

force and aviation infrastructure, as well as strong air defenses. The

second was to isolate the battlefield by preventing the movement of

hostile troops and supplies—in today’s parlance, “air interdiction”.

The third priority was the destruction of selected objectives in the

battle area; generally, in the immediate front of friendly ground forces.

Today this is termed “close air support”.

Air and ground officers alike saw FM 100-20 as a “declaration of

independence” by the air arm. Although the Army hierarchy, including

the Chief of Staff, Gen. George C. Marshall approved the manual,

most ground officers thought it went too far. They feared it would

result in a decrease in the amount of tactical air assets committed to
28

the ground battle. Conversely, many airmen felt the manual did not

go far enough and objected to the statement of interdependency—

strategic air operations, they believed, could be conducted separately,

and indeed simultaneously, with tactical air operations as well as with

operations on the ground. In addition, some airmen rejected the

designation of strategic and tactical air forces. There were, after all,

no such things as strategic and tactical armies and navies. Airpower

was “indivisible,” and to divide it arbitrarily into separate forces would

result in a loss of flexibility—airpower’s greatest attribute.

Subsequent events would give fodder to both views. Despite its

controversial nature, FM 100-20 remained official Army doctrine for

the remainder of the war. Seen in the broader context, FM 100-20

was a major stepping stone to an independent Air Force.
29

Hiroshima,

August 1945

Theoretically, it had been known for decades that splitting the atom

(fission) would release enormous power—far greater than any explosive

ever invented. In the 1930s the theories of nuclear fission began to take

more definite shape as scientists in Germany, the U.S. and elsewhere

began experiments that revealed the secrets of the atom.

In early 1939, it was apparent that war was coming in Europe. It was

also apparent to a group of scientists in America, some of whom had

recently fled from Nazi domination, that Germany was working towards

an atomic bomb. This was a frightening possibility. As a consequence,

a number of these scientists, led by Albert Einstein— himself a Jew who

had emigrated to the U.S. from Germany— wrote to President Roosevelt

warning him of the peril represented by German research. The U.S.

must beat the Nazis to the atomic bomb, but it would take immediate

action and vast funds to do so. In October 1939, one month after war

erupted in Europe, FDR directed the Army to study the matter.

For the next five years the Army managed what was codenamed “The

Manhattan Project” to explore the possibilities of nuclear fission and the

feasibility of building an atomic bomb. This project was the most secretive

and also the most costly weapon development program of the war. Later,

however, it was discovered that it was not secretive enough, as spies

working for the Soviet Union infiltrated the program and passed crucial

information to Moscow. The size of the Manhattan Project was enormous,

requiring not only secretive laboratories, but also mining operations to

obtain the required uranium and plutonium, “heavy water” plants, even

vast amounts of silver to produce the required electrical coils. (When

the Army asked the Treasury Department for silver, the Under Secretary

wanted to know how much. When the reply was “about fifteen thousand

tons,” a visibly shaken Daniel Bell replied, “I would have you know that

when we speak of silver we speak in terms of ounces”).
30

The Army got its silver, as well as most everything else it asked

for, and research and production moved forward quickly. On Dec. 2,

1942, a team of scientists led by Nobel Prize winner Enrico Fermi,

huddled in a secret lab beneath the bleachers of the football stadium

at the University of Chicago and produced the world’s first selfsustaining nuclear reaction. A year later, scientists in Los Alamos,

New Mexico, under the leadership of J. Robert Oppenheimer, began

working out how to make an actual weapon from Fermi’s achievement.

On July 16, 1945, the first atomic device was detonated at Trinity

Site in the New Mexico desert. The blast was seen as far away as

Albuquerque and El Paso and entailed the now familiar ball of fire

and mushroom cloud. One observer described the blast as’

“unprecedented, magnificent, beautiful, stupendous and terrifying.”

President Harry Truman, who had succeeded FDR, was in

Potsdam, Germany, discussing the postwar settlement of Germany

with Soviet Premier Joseph Stalin and British Prime Minister Clement

Atlee when he learned of Trinity. According to Truman, there was

never any question in his mind that he would use the atomic bomb

against Japan. (Germany had already surrendered two months earlier).

The issue now became one of delivery and the appropriate target.

The bomb could only be carried in the largest bomber then in

existence, the B-29. Even so, the bombers had to be specially modified

and the crews specially trained to handle the new weapon. In the

summer of 1944, Gen. “Hap” Arnold chose Col. Paul Tibbets, a superb

pilot with a distinguished combat record, to head the group that would

deliver the bomb. After training in the U.S., Tibbets moved his unit,

the 509th Bomb Group, to the island of Tinian in the Marianas chain.

After undergoing normal theater orientation, the 509th flew a number

of combat missions against Japan, utilizing large conventional bombs

that resembled the atomic bombs in size and shape. (These bombs

were fat and painted bright orange and thus were nicknamed

“pumpkins.”)

The target question involved several factors. President Truman

and his advisers decided to hit an actual military target, rather than

attempt a demonstration, such as exploding a bomb off the coast of
31

Col. Paul Tibbets, commander of the

509th Bomb Group

Tokyo. There were too few

bombs available to waste on

empty space. It was also feared

that since the actual bomb had not

yet been tested—Trinity was a

huge, static device tested under

laboratory conditions—the

psychological and political harm

of announcing a demonstration

only to have the bomb fail to

detonate was too great a risk.

This concern was not trivial.

Even the head of the Joint Chiefs

of Staff, Admiral William Leahy

(who fancied himself an

ordnance expert), predicted

failure. In addition, military

planners and scientists wanted a target that had been largely untouched

until then, so that it would be easier to determine the actual effects of

the atomic blast. Secretary of War Henry Stimson then crossed Kyoto

off the target list because of its historical and cultural significance.

After weighing all these factors, the name that came out on top was

Hiroshima—Japan’s eighth largest city, a large seaport, headquarters

of the Second Army, and a major war industry center.

In late July, President Truman warned the Japanese again that they

must surrender or face terrible consequences. He was ignored. On

Aug. 2, Tibbets was given signed orders to drop the bomb. He decided

to fly the mission himself, and the Enola Gay (his aircraft named

after his mother), took off from Tinian at 2:45 a.m. on Aug. 6, 1945.

The flight en route was uneventful, and at 8:15 a.m., the bomb

exploded above Hiroshima at an altitude of 1,900 feet—to maximize

the blast effect. The bomb, codenamed “Little Boy,” was a uranium

bomb, and it detonated with the equivalent force of 12,500 tons of

TNT—a load equivalent to over 3,000 B-29s carrying conventional

bombs. One observer wrote that the bomb exploded “with a blinding

flash in the sky and a great rush of air and a loud rumble of noise that

extended for many miles around the city; the first blast was followed
32

by the sounds of falling buildings and of

growing fires, and a great cloud of dust

and smoke began to cast a pall of darkness

over the city.” Virtually everything within

a one-mile radius of the blast was totally

destroyed.

A second bomb, a more advanced

plutonium design codenamed “Fat Man,”

was dropped on Nagasaki on Aug. 9.

Japan surrendered five days later.

Debate still rages over whether the

atomic bombs were necessary to force

Japanese surrender, but it was not a serious

question at the time. President Truman

was adamant that he had no regrets over

his decision—an invasion of Japan,

already scheduled for November, would

have cost hundreds of thousand of lives, on both sides. He was not willing

to pay that price. Japanese leaders interviewed after the war agreed that

the bombs had been the final straw that had broken their will. The enormous

power of the atomic bombs had as much psychological effect as it did

physical. Virtually everyone, whether military or civilian, believed that

atomic weapons had fundamentally altered the conduct of war. There

would have to be new strategies, new weapons, new organizations and

new doctrine. Time would show that such thinking was not completely

accurate.

It was July 26, 1947 and President Harry Truman was sitting aboard his

aircraft, a special equipped Douglas C-54 named the “Sacred Cow,” that

was on the ramp at Andrews Field, Maryland. The heat was sweltering,

and there was no air conditioning in those days. The President’s beloved

mother was ill, so he was about to fly back to Missouri to see her. But he

wasn’t ready to leave yet, so he sat in his usual double-breasted suit in the

stifling heat and waited. He was expecting a courier to bring him a copy of

very important legislation that he would sign into law. The legislation was

the National Security Act that created the United States Air Force. It seemed

appropriate that he sign this legislation aboard Air Force One.

The atomic bomb over Hiroshima
33

The issue of Air Force independence was tied up with a broader

issue termed “unification.” For nearly two centuries there had been a

War Department and a Navy Department. In Congress, there were

separate committees for Army and Navy affairs. Generals and

admirals seldom had much to do with each other, and frankly, the

nature of war had been such that close cooperation was seldom

necessary.

World War II changed everything. Global war against powerful

enemies made it abundantly clear that the “coordination” loosely

espoused by the Army and Navy was no longer adequate. A more

unified command structure was essential. Moreover, both services

had become utterly dependent on airpower to accomplish their

assigned missions. Airpower was absorbing one-third of the Army’s

budget, and the aircraft carrier had become the backbone of the fleet,

replacing the obsolescent battleship. Confusion over lines of

command and responsibility was dangerous, so the advent of airpower

was another reason to compel change. As a consequence, President

Roosevelt directed the formation of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: the Chief

of Staff to the President would be Admiral William Leahy; the Army

Chief of Staff was Gen. George C. Marshall, the Chief of Naval

Operations was Admiral Ernest King, and the Commanding General

of the Army Air Forces was Gen. “Hap” Arnold. It was these men

who formulated our military strategy during the war.

When the war ended, however, there were strong disagreements

between the services over how things ought to continue. Airmen

believed they had demonstrated the vital importance of airpower, so

they wanted a separate service. The Army was willing to go along

with this if it also meant unification of the three services under a

single Department of Defense, along with a strong Joint Chiefs of

Air Force Independence,

September 18, 1947
34

Staff. The Navy, on the other hand, made it clear they wished to

return to prewar days—they had no desire for unification, and they

especially did not want an independent Air Force.

Stalemate continued for over a year after the war until the President

and Congress began to lose patience. Truman had come to office

with strong feelings about the need for reorganization of the military.

He was an advocate of unification and a separate Air Force, and he

made these views known. As one observer noted, when former

Assistant Secretary of Navy, President Roosevelt—whose Oval Office

was littered with ship models—gave way to Harry Truman, former

U.S. Army artillery officer, change was going to occur. Truman told

the services to quit stalling and reach agreement or he’d reach it for

them.

Maj. Gen. Lauris “Larry” Norstad of the AAF and Vice Adm.

Forrest Sherman, two of the more brilliant officers in their respective

services, sat down to hammer out an agreement that would be

acceptable to all the services, Congress, and the President. After

several months they presented a plan that was eventually accepted,

with minimum alterations, by all parties. It became the National

Security Act (NSA).

The NSA was a compromise. The Air Force did indeed become

independent—the Navy could not prevent that. However, the

underlying reason for the sailors’ concern was the fear that such an

Air Force would take control of naval air assets. Since 40 percent of

the fleet was devoted to aviation, this would essentially scuttle the

Navy. At the same time, the single Department of Defense with a

Cabinet-level secretary was also feared because it might overpower

the Navy. Finally, the Navy feared a Joint Chiefs of Staff organization,

if it included a strong chairman who could compel agreement among

the three services. The Navy feared it would be continually “ganged

up on” and outvoted by the Army and Air Force. As a consequence,

the NSA bent to naval will and included a proviso that naval aviation

would remain part of the Navy. In addition, the act called for three

service secretaries, all of whom would have Cabinet-level rank. There

would also be a Secretary of Defense, but he would be an equal rather

than a superior of the service secretaries. His job was to “coordinate”
their efforts. And finally, there

would be no powerful chairman of the

JCS; rather, there would be a Chief of

Staff to the President—the position

that Adm. Leahy had held during the

war. Like the Secretary, this senior

officer would merely try to coordinate,

not direct. The Navy seemed mollified

by this arrangement, especially when

the first Secretary of Defense was

announced as James Forrestal—then

the Navy Secretary.

Forrestal quickly discovered,

however, that the child he worked so hard to sire was in fact a monster.

He had little control over the services, even though he was given

responsibility for them. Arguments—some petty, some serious—

continued, but Forrestal could do little about them. Increasingly, he

became depressed and morose and in March 1949 he committed

suicide. Several months later the NSA

was amended to correct many of the

deficiencies that had become so

apparent: the service secretaries were

downgraded and no longer sat in the

President’s Cabinet. Instead, the

Secretary of Defense was placed over

them, and he became the President’s

chief advisor on military affairs. In

addition, a Chairman of the Joint

Chiefs of Staff was created who

became a statutory advisor to the

National Security Council. This basic

format has existed ever since—

although the chairman has achieved far

more authority, especially since the

Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986.

President Truman with Gen. Carl

Spaatz

James Forrestal,

The First Secretary of Defense

35
36

After three decades of agitation and a major war, the Air Force

had achieved status as a separate service. The first Air Force Secretary

was Stuart Symington, and the first Chief was Gen. Carl Spaatz. Many

things still needed to be sorted out, ranging from transfers of

administrative personnel from the Army, to writing a basic airpower

doctrine manual, to the design of a new blue uniform to replace the

Army green, to the establishment of an Air Force Academy that, like

West Point and Annapolis, would commission regular officers directly

into the service. Some of these steps took weeks, while others would

take years.

The NSA that President Truman signed on that hot summer day in July

became law on Sept. 18, 1947—the birthday of the United States Air Force.
37

Range is one of an aircraft’s most important characteristics and is

directly related to load-carrying capacity. An aircraft can carry only a

certain amount of weight, and that weight may be composed of either

cargo—bombs, supplies or personnel—or fuel. There is usually a

tradeoff between these two aspects of weight. Planes carrying a full

bomb load will be able to carry that much less fuel and vice versa.

It became obvious early on in flight that an air refueling capability

would be an excellent way to extend an aircraft’s range, while at the

same time allowing it to carry a heavy bomb or cargo load. Alexander

de Seversky, a Russian fighter pilot and ace in the First World War,

recalled that he realized in 1917 how such an air refueling capability

would also have benefited fighter planes by permitting them to escort

the bombers to and from their targets. Seversky emigrated to the U.S.

after the Russian Revolution and began working for the U.S. Air Service

as an engineer. One of his inventions was an air refueling system that

he had conceived during the war. This invention, which consisted of a

hose from one aircraft that could be captured and inserted into the fuel

tank of another aircraft below and behind it, was used successfully by

Air Service aircraft in 1923. Although a great idea, theoretically, there

were practical and technical limitations to such a device.

In 1929, the Air Corps used air refueling to keep the “Question

Mark” airborne above San Diego for over six days, but this too was

seen as more of stunt than a practical capability. (Of note, three

crewmembers aboard the “Question Mark” eventually rose to high

positions in the AAF, and later Air Force: Gen. Carl Spaatz was the

first Chief of Staff of the Air Force; Maj. Gen. Ira Eaker commanded

the Eighth Air Force and then the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces

during the war; and Lt. Gen. Elwood “Pete” Quesada commanded the

IX Tactical Air Command at the time of D-Day and Tactical Air

Command after the war).

The Flight of the “Luck Lady II,”

1949
38

Everything had changed dramatically by the end of World War II.

The advent of nuclear weapons and the onset of the Cold War with

the Soviet Union made long-range bombers essential to ensure

deterrence. Overseas bases were certainly an option, but fears that

such bases would be vulnerable to either a Soviet preemptive strike

or political pressures from host countries made it necessary to find a

workable and effective way to conduct air refueling.

By 1949 the Air Force had the answer. In late February, the Air

Force planned a mission that involved sending a strategic bomber all

the way around the world, non-stop, via air refueling. The bomber

was a Boeing B-50—essentially a B-29 on steroids—by the name of

“Lucky Lady II.” The refuelers would be modified B-29s, and twelve

of them were pre-positioned around the globe. The refueling apparatus

used was an adaptation of a British design (the “flying boom” used

on current KC-135s had not yet been invented).

On the morning of Feb. 26,1949 “Lucky Lady II” took off from

Carswell AFB outside Houston and headed east. Although the guns

were still installed, they carried no ammunition, and instead of bombs,

“Lucky Lady II” after its historic flight around the world
39

the plane carried extra internal fuel tanks. It also carried an augmented

crew of fourteen led by Capt. James Gallagher; this allowed the crew

to take shifts sleeping and flying. Over the next 94 hours and 23, 452

miles, the plane droned on. Over the Azores it completed its first air

refueling; then again over Saudi Arabia, the Philippines and finally

over Hawaii. Upon landing back at Carswell at 9:22 a.m. March 2,

the “Lucky Lady II” still had over seven hours of fuel on board.

On hand to meet the record-breaking aircraft and its crew were

Air Force Secretary Stuart Symington and the Chief of Staff, Gen.

Hoyt Vandenberg. Defense Secretary James Forrestal sent his

congratulations. Also on hand were the plane’s crew chiefs. To a

great extent, they were the people who really made the flight possible.

TSgt Ed Rogers was especially proud and delighted, simply muttering

over and over, “what a crack outfit.” Maintenance necessary after

the flight was minimal—virtually everything worked flawlessly during

the four-day flight. The Lady did, however, need a bath. After all the

time in the air she had picked up a coat of oil coming off the engines

that made her a bit of a mess, although Sergeant Rogers thought she

looked just beautiful.

The crew was tired and hungry but otherwise in high spirits. Capt.

Gallagher, the pilot, was in a bit of hot water at home, however.

Because the entire flight was a secret until it was almost complete,

he had not been able to tell his wife. He simply left for work one day

and didn’t come back. The squadron told her he was flying on a

mission and not to worry, but could say no more. She therefore headed

for New Orleans where they had made plans to attend the Mardi

Gras, expecting him to meet her there when he got home. He didn’t

show up. When he called to explain she demanded to know where

he’d been: “Oh, I just flew around the world.”

Secretary Symington compared the significance of the flight to

that of Kitty Hawk and the “Spirit of St. Louis,” saying it was “an

epochal event.” Senator Millard Tydings, Chairman of the Armed

Services Committee, asserted that the mission demonstrated “the

increasing importance of air power to national defense.” Gen. Curtis

LeMay, the commander in chief of Strategic Air Command, was more
40

blunt. The Air Force could now take off from the U.S. and drop an

atomic bomb any place in the world. A clever reporter then asked if

air refueling could also be used to extend the range of escort fighters

as well. LeMay said there was no reason why not.

No reason indeed. Air refueling was soon extended to fighter

planes, and in the Vietnam War F-4s and F-105s were air refueled to

and from their missions over the North—tactical fighters had become

strategic bombers. Today, virtually all Air Force combat aircraft are

air refuelable, including airlifters, reconnaissance aircraft and radar

surveillance planes. This has generated the need for the largest fleet

of air tankers in the world—nearly 600 planes, and is about threequarters of the world’s total capability. It is this capability that puts

the “global” in the Air Force slogan, “Global Reach, Global Power.”

Tanker refuelingan F–105, 1965
41

When the U.S. ended World War II with the two atomic blasts over

Japan, they enjoyed a monopoly of this awesome new weapon. All realized,

however, that this monopoly would not last forever. At some point, our

erstwhile ally and now Cold War adversary, the Soviet Union, would

undoubtedly get the bomb. Estimates on how long that would take varied,

even among the experts. In 1946, the Air Force briefed the President that

they expected a date of 1949 for “Red Atom Day,” but by 1949 it had

pushed that date back to 1951. The CIA predicted 1953, and Vannevar

Bush, the President’s scientific advisor, stated confidently in 1949 that it

would take the backward Soviets at least another decade to build an atomic

bomb.

Nonetheless, just to be prepared, the Air Force had begun a highly

classified upper-air sampling program as early as 1947. High flying aircraft

and balloons carrying special

sensors would periodically test the

air, looking for traces of elements

that could only occur as the result

of an atomic blast. (In July 1947

one of these balloons crashed in

Roswell, NM. Because of the

highly secret nature of the sampling

mission and technology, the Air

Force quickly gathered up the pieces

of the wreckage and announced that

it was merely a “weather balloon.”

That story was not believed by most,

and ever since Roswell has been

hailed by UFO believers as the site

of an alien flying saucer crash that

was covered up by the Air Force).

The Decision to Build the

Hydrogen Bomb,

1950

“Weather Balloon” Wreckage after

the Roswell Incident, 1947
42

On the morning of Sept. 3, 1949, an Air Force WB-29 sampling aircraft

registered an unusually high concentration of radioactivity over the north

Pacific. Later that day, other aircraft began reporting the same phenomena.

The data was rushed to Washington, D.C. for analysis, and two weeks

later the Air Force Chief, Gen. Hoyt Vandenberg, briefed President

Truman that the Soviets had indeed exploded an atomic bomb sometime

in late August. Worse, the bomb was an advanced plutonium device that

was six times larger than the first U.S. detonation. What was to be done?

First, Vandenberg wrote a sobering memorandum to the other

Chiefs noting that the air defenses of the U.S. had been neglected

since the war because it was not believed there was a serious threat to

the continental U.S. Now there was such a threat, and U.S. air defenses

had to be upgraded, quickly. In addition, war plans had to be modified,

and the growth of our atomic stockpile had to be increased. At that

time there were barely a hundred bombs in the U.S. arsenal. Of even

greater importance, the new thermonuclear weapon, the hydrogen

bomb that existed only in theory, had to be addressed.

The theory of the hydrogen bomb had been discussed since the

1920s when scientists described the evolution of the sun as a

continuous series of massive explosions caused by the conversion of

hydrogen into helium. These explosions resulted from the fusion of

atomic nuclei that released incredible power, but only tremendous

pressure could cause such fusion. Ironically, the fission of atomic

nuclei could provide that pressure—in other words, an atomic bomb,

which resulted from the fission of atomic nuclei, could serve as a

trigger to detonate a fusion, or thermonuclear, bomb. These bombs

could be thousands of times more powerful than atomic bombs.

There was, however, strong opposition to the hydrogen bomb in

the scientific community. Many of those who had worked on the

original Manhattan Project, including J. Robert Oppenheimer, began

to oppose the production and use of such weapons now thinking they

were immoral. Eventually, Oppenheimer was considered such a

security risk because of his strong views opposing nuclear

development, he was stripped of his security clearance.
43

On the other hand, the military strongly supported the development

of such weapons, arguing that if the U.S. failed to develop them, the

Soviets most certainly would—and that was a frightening scenario. Such

fears were given credence when in January 1950 the atomic scientist

Klaus Fuchs confessed to being a Soviet spy. Fuchs had worked at Los

Alamos during the war, while also being involved in early thermonuclear

experimentation as well. When caught, he confessed proudly that his

efforts had saved his Soviet masters years of work. His exposure then

led to the arrest of his controllers, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, who had

managed a number of other Soviet agents in the U.S.

President Truman leaned towards development of the hydrogen bomb,

but was concerned that there were dissenters in his administration. He

therefore summoned his Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, Secretary of

Defense, Louis Johnson, and the Chairman of the Atomic Energy

Commission, David Lilienthal to his office in January 1950. Johnson

had always been the most hawkish, once stating emphatically: “There is

but one nation in the world tonight that would start a war that would

engulf the world and

bring the United States

into war.... We want a

military establishment

sufficient to deter that

aggressor [the Soviet

Union] and sufficient to

kick the hell out of her if

she doesn’t stay

deterred.” Acheson

tended to agree, while

Lilienthal was opposed.

The President sided with the majority and ordered development.

The world’s first thermonuclear detonation occurred on Nov. 1, 1952.

The blast, codenamed “Mike,” was measured at 10.4 megatons and,

essentially, evaporated the Pacific island of Elugelab. (Whereas atomic

bombs were measured in terms of thousands of tons of TNT—

kilotons—thermonuclear bombs were measured in—millions of tons

of TNT—megatons.) This device, however, like the first atomic blast

Secretary of Defense Louis Johnson, left
44

in 1945, was essentially a laboratory experiment, not an operational

weapon. The first actual hydrogen bomb was detonated on March 1,

1954 with a yield of 14 megatons.

The power of the new bomb, combined with its relative cost

effectiveness and efficiency in the use of scarce radioactive

materials, made nuclear weapons useful to all the services, and soon

the Army and Navy “went nuclear.” Over the next two decades

tens of thousands of nuclear bombs, artillery shells, and missile

warheads would be built, but the Strategic Air Command was the

main nuclear strike force of the U.S. with its bomber and missile

force. For many years thereafter it “sat alert” and even had aircraft

constantly airborne—just in case. The SAC mission during the

height of the Cold War remained what the Defense Secretary said it

was in 1949—to deter an aggressor and to render a blistering beating

if he didn’t stay deterred.

The first hydrogen bomb
45

America’s First ICBM Launch,

December 17, 1957

Rockets had been toyed with for centuries; as early as the twelfth

century the Chinese had used them as fireworks during celebrations.

By the Napoleonic era, rockets had become weapons of war, and

the U.S. had used them, sparingly, in both the Mexican and Civil

Wars. Yet, their use was still limited due to their unreliability, cost

and inaccuracy. It was not until the twentieth century that scientists

began to take rocketry seriously. In the U.S., the pioneer of rocket

science was Robert H. Goddard. His launch of the world’s first

liquid-fueled rocket on March 16,1926 at Auburn, Massachusetts,

heralded a new era.

Goddard continued his work, and other U.S. scientists such as

Theodore von Kármán at Cal Tech experimented with rockets and

their propulsion and guidance systems over the next two decades.

It was Germany, however, who seemed to take the greatest interest

in this new science and who made the greatest technological leaps.

Part of this interest in rocket experimentation existed because the

Versailles Treaty that ended the First World War did not prohibit

rockets. The development and acquisition of airplanes and other

weapons of war had been severely restricted by that treaty, so

Germany’s best scientists looked to other fields to expand their

knowledge.

At Peenemünde on the Baltic coast these scientists and engineers

made tremendous advances, developing the world’s first practical

cruise missile, the V-1 “buzz bomb.” More importantly, they also

built the world’s first operational ballistic missile weapon, the V-2.

(A missile is, essentially, a guided rocket). The prototype of the V-2

was launched in October 1942. Two years later, in September 1944,

they began falling on Allied targets. The V-2 was 46 feet tall and 5

feet in diameter. The 14-ton weapon could deliver a 1,650-pound

warhead a distance of two hundred miles. In all, some 3,700 V-2s
46

were launched by

Germany, about 1,100 of

which fell on England.

The V-2s caused

widespread fear among

the Allies because the

missile impacted with no

warning and could not be

stopped once launched..

It was not until the

launching sites were

continuously bombed

and then overrun by

ground forces that the

menace was finally

eradicated.

Both the U.S. and the

Soviet Union, years

behind the Germans in missile research, rushed to grab as many of these

weapons, research facilities and even the scientists as quickly as possible.

In fact, in a highly classified operation termed “Paperclip,” U.S.

intelligence agents quietly moved a number of Germany’s leading

scientists into the U.S. where they could continue their research. Led by

Wehrner von Braun, who had been the head of research at Peenemünde,

the team, reinforced by the best U.S. experts on the subject, labored to

build even larger and more powerful rockets and missiles. (Of note, the

infamous Scud missiles of the Persian Gulf War in 1991 were direct

descendents of the V-2—being about the same size, range and payload,

although a bit more accurate).

The Soviets, who had garnered their share of German scientists at

the end of the war, worked feverishly on missile technology as well

and were initially more successful. When the Soviets put the world’s

first artificial satellite into orbit on Oct. 4, 1957, the U.S. was stunned,

embarrassed and energized.

The German V-2 Rocket
47

In truth, the U.S./German team had been far from idle. Working

from the basic V-2 design, they made slow but steady progress in the

decade after World War II. The Air Force was most interested in

putting a nuclear warhead atop such a guided missile, and it therefore

became the lead agency for ballistic missile research. In 1954, Brig.

Gen. Bernard Schriever had taken command of the Air Force’s Western

Development Division (later the Ballistic Missile Division). The

following year, President Eisenhower declared that building an

operational intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) to carry nuclear

warheads was his number one priority.

The technology was frustratingly difficult, and it was obvious the

“race to space” between the U.S. and the Soviet Union would go down

to the wire. In January 1957 the first “Thor” missile launch failed. So

did the next three. Finally, in September 1957, “Thor”—an intermediate

range ballistic missile (IRBM)—made it off the launch pad and 1,300

miles downrange. The success from the September test was short-lived,

however, as the test conducted in October 1957 also failed. At the same

time, ground controllers destroyed America’s first ICBM, “Atlas,” shortly

after its first launch. The second attempt in September was destroyed as

well. The following month “Sputnik” went into orbit; its steady “beep”

sounding a deafening warning to American ears.

On Dec. 17, 1957, the 54th anniversary of the Wright brothers’ first

powered flight, the Air Force was ready to try again with its third “Atlas”

launch attempt.

Hopes were high as the seventy foot, ninety-ton missile sat in its

gantry at Cape Canaveral, Florida. Dozens of people began parking

their cars and lining up on the beach to watch the launch scheduled for

that morning. Delays began as technological glitches were found and

corrected and the weather threatened to deteriorate. But at 10:25 a.m.

streaks of vapor vented from “Atlas,” indicating that loading of the

highly volatile liquid oxygen was taking place. This went on for two

hours and then suddenly stopped. At 12:38 p.m. a cloud of white steam

blossomed around the missile as the engines were ignited. Slowly, the

missile lifted off “like a molten nugget of pure gold.” The crowds on

the beach as well as inside mission control began to cheer, and kept

cheering as the missile continued to accelerate up and out of sight.
48

President Eisenhower

was in Europe at the time

and passed news of the

successful launch to his

NATO allies. The

response from Europe was

immediate and exuberant.

West Germany, Britain,

France, Turkey, Norway

and others all expressed

their pleasure. The launch

of “Sputnik” had put them

into a funk, and the “Atlas”

test was a welcome tonic.

Not surprisingly, the

Soviet news agency Tass,

which had quickly, fully

and gleefully reported

every U.S. launch failure

up to that time, neglected

to report the successful “Atlas” launch.

An operational ICBM sitting on alert with nuclear weapon atop

was still two years distant. But everyone around the world realized

that warfare had changed dramatically and irreversibly as a result of

the events in the fall of 1957. The world had entered the Space Age.

Atlas Launch
49

Besides the Air Force, the Army, Navy and Marines also have

sizable air arms. (In fact, behind China and Russia, the next three

largest air arms in the world belong to the U.S. Air Force, Navy and

Army , with the Marines falling later in the top ten. We are indeed an

airpower nation). When the U.S. fights in a coalition, it generally

means the air forces of other nations will be engaged as well. For

decades, the crucial question regarding air operations centered around

command and control—who would ensure all air assets were

combined most effectively to maximize effectiveness, while at the

same time minimizing risk and the danger of fratricide (shooting down

friendly aircraft).

In World War II, it was standard practice to appoint air commanders

who reported to the theater commander and who controlled all air

assets, regardless of service or country, within a given theater. These

air component commanders had varying degrees of authority and

support, but the concept worked most effectively in the Southwest

Pacific where Gen. Douglas MacArthur gave Gen. George Kenney

great authority to manage the air assets of the U.S. Army Air Force,

Navy, Marines, and Australians. Unfortunately, this model was not

followed afterward. In the Korean War, MacArthur gave his new air

commander, Lt. Gen. George Stratemeyer, only limited “coordination

control” over naval and marine air assets; this was insufficient and

led to numerous problems and inefficiency. Things got even worse

in Vietnam.

During the Vietnam War, the theater commander was Commander

in Chief, Pacific Command (CINCPAC), an admiral whose

headquarters was in Hawaii. However, a sub-theater commander

resided in Saigon; this was an Army general who was given wide

latitude by CINCPAC to run the war in South Vietnam. Working for

this general was a more senior airman, commander of Seventh Air

Achieving Unity of

Air Command–the JFACC
50

Force who also was located in Saigon, and who controlled U.S. Air

Force assets in the South. However, the Seventh Air Force commander

had no control over naval air assets operating from carriers off the

coast against targets in North and South Vietnam. These carrier

aircraft were controlled by CINCPAC. Seventh Air Force also had

little or no control over the numerous Marine Corps air assets based

in South Vietnam, or the even more numerous Army helicopter fleet.

Worse, the B-52s that operated out of Guam and Thailand, although

Air Force assets, did not fall under Seventh Air Force control, but

instead remained under the command of Strategic Air Command,

headquartered near Omaha, Nebraska. Thirteenth Air Force controlled

Air Force aircraft in Thailand—a major staging area for air operations

against North Vietnam. And of course, the South Vietnamese Air Force

followed the orders of none of the above. When strike aircraft went

to North Vietnam, separation was maintained by instituting the highly

inefficient “route pack” system. North Vietnam was divided into

geographic areas, or route packages—some were apportioned to the

Air Force and some to the Navy. There was little coordination between

the two air arms, and the piecemeal application of airpower made

both services highly vulnerable to enemy defenses. This was no way

to run a war, and entailed an enormous degree of confusion,

inefficiency and ineffectiveness.

Yet, militaries tend to learn more from their defeats than their

victories, so all the services began looking at the command and control

of airpower in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. The path was rocky.

The purposes and doctrines of the services regarding the use of

airpower are significantly different and reflect their individual views

of war. The Navy sees its air assets primarily for fleet defense and for

the attack of enemy installations near the coast—they seldom engage

in close air support or strategic bombing. The Marines blend their

airpower with ground teams that train together continuously. These

air assets are most often used for close air support, substituting for

the lack of heavy artillery in Marine ground units. Army helicopters

are also used almost exclusively in air-ground combined arms teams

close to the front lines. The Air Force, on the other hand, considers

itself a “full service air force” that conducts not only tactical support
51

and air superiority, but also airlift, air refueling, strategic attack, space

operations and electronic warfare. This tends to give it a broader

view of air operations than that of the other air arms. This global

view, combined with the Air Force’s significantly greater size, raises

fears in the other U.S. services that their air arms will be absorbed

and misused if the Air Force is put in charge.

Nonetheless, the defeat in Vietnam, combined with the increasing

dominance of airpower in all military operations, made it increasingly

clear that unity of command was essential. There needed to be a

single commander who could control all air assets, as well as select

appropriate targets, schedule and coordinate all support activities,

prepare the daily air tasking order for the theater, and allocate scarce

air resources such as electronic jammers, tankers, and air warning

aircraft. In 1986, this step was finally taken when the position of the

Joint Force Air Component Commander (JFACC) was established in

joint doctrine. The JFACC’s responsibilities were listed as including,

but not limited to, the planning, coordination, allocation and tasking

of all air sorties within the theater. The JFACC need not be an Air

Force officer—if the Navy provides the preponderance of air assets

in a given campaign, then the JFACC will normally be a naval aviator.

The essential point is that unity of command of air assets by an airman

is assured. This functional organizational model for the control of

airpower replaced the unsuccessful geographic and service models

of Korea and Vietnam.

The JFACC system was first tested in combat in the Persian Gulf

War of 1991 when Air Force Lt. Gen. Chuck Horner was named the

air commander of Coalition forces. The timing was appropriate. Not

only were extensive air assets from all the U.S. services involved, so

were the air arms of sixteen other countries. The presence of many

diverse aircraft from countries that had not all worked closely together

in the past, made it absolutely essential for a JFACC not only to

effectively direct the entire air effort, but also protect against fratricide.

Thus, Horner was also named Airspace Control Authority, Area Air

Defense Commander and Coordinating Authority for Interdiction.

His highly complex air campaign consisted of as many as three

thousand sorties each day for six weeks. It was coherent and focused,
52

seized the initiative, eliminated the Iraqi air force as a serious threat

within days, and paralyzed the Iraqi economy by shutting down the

electrical power, dropping bridges over the Tigris River and destroying

most television and radio stations. At the same time, the Iraqi troops

along the front lines were severely mauled by airpower and largely

cut off from re-supply before coalition ground operations even began.

Intelligence reports revealed that all of the Iraqi front-line divisions

had been depleted to below 50 percent strength before the ground

offensive even began. The air campaign of Desert Storm was the

most successful in history and much of that success was due to the

JFACC.

As a consequence, the JFACC is now the standard organization

for our military forces. It worked extremely well, again, over Bosnia,

Kosovo and Afghanistan. Unity of Command is a time-honored

principle of war, but surprisingly, soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen

have observed this principle more in the breech than in the main

regarding air assets. The formal establishment of a JFACC to solve a

problem so apparent in Korea and Vietnam was overdue but essential.

The results have shown this to be a wise move.
53

Gen. Charles Horner—JFACC in Desert Storm
55

About the Author

Phillip S. Meilinger is currently the deputy director of the

AEROSPACENTER for Science Applications International

Corporation in McLean, Virginia. A retired colonel and veteran of

thirty years active service in the U.S. Air Force, he was a command

pilot, staff officer and educator. Meilinger flew C–130s and HC–130s

in Europe and the Pacific, and also served on the Air Staff in the Pentagon.

He earned a Ph.D. in military history from the University of Michigan

and has taught at the Air Force Academy, School of Advanced

Airpower Studies, and Naval War College. He is the author of four

books and over 50 articles on airpower theory and practice.