Ukraine War, 8 November 2022: Air War Update, Part 2, (still) Basics

Hello everybody!

Hello everybody!

Yes, the last few days Surovikin’s Missile Offensive is causing power blackouts in Ukraine; but, the ZSU continued pushing (and very hard at that) in northern Kherson, despite mud; it continued decimating Russian reservists — this time in the Svatove area; Surovikin has successfully squandered two BTGs while assaulting Pavlivka in southern Zaporizhzhya, and Putin converted another 2,000–3,000 of his reservists into lots of dead bodies in the Bakhmut area (or, more precisely: nowadays it’s south of the town). ‘But’, I would like to continue addressing your questions regarding air power, and why and how is it deployed in this war. And, I’m going to continue doing that through ‘explaining the backgrounds and context’ — first.

Should you wonder why: because air warfare is not only the most complex form of warfare, the hardest to assess and explain, and because this is so since it’s influenced by so many factors, the mass of which is anything else than obvious. If one does not know the backgrounds and context… sorry: it’s impossible to understand the air power. If nothing else, one is all the time expecting different ‘Wunderwaffen’ to create miracles…

CONCEPTUALISATION

In the Part 1 of this mini-series, I’ve explained the ‘basic-basics’: something like the ‘Principle №1’ in the Soviet/Russian combat aircraft design. Today, I’m going to explain few additional ‘basics’, or something like ‘Principles №2–99’. Foremost the issue of how were the Soviets-, and then the Russians, conceptualising their future combat aircraft. With other words: why were they making them the way they did.

Believe it or not, but this was, actually, ‘plain simple’.

At least in my mind, there’s no better example for this but a type manufactured in biggest numbers, and in the largest number of variants too — over the last 20 years of the USSR: MiG-23. Sure, this might appear ‘irrelevant’, because neither side is deploying any MiG-23s in this war in Ukraine. However, that ‘family’ of combat aircraft is an excellent example for everything that was happening in this regards — before and after, too.

Why do I say ‘simple’?

Because back in the early 1960s, when the GenStab was searching for a new fighter-interceptor (one that would replace the MiG-21), it acted in a very simple fashion. Primary target for that new type were to become Lockheed F-104 Starfighter and Republic F-105 Thunderchief.

Why that?

The GenStab is always planning for the ‘worst case’ scenario. The worst case scenario for the late 1950s and early 1960s was an all-out nuclear war between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. In the case of such a war, the USSR and Warsaw Pact had to expect that NATO air forces of the 1960s (and beyond) would deploy ‘thousands’ of F-104G Starfighters armed with tactical nukes, while USAF would deploy ‘at least hundreds’ of F-105 Thunderchiefs armed with tactical nukes.

Ironically, it wasn’t even the GenStab that came to this conclusion: instead, for once, the Soviets have listened to one of their customers abroad. This was the Egyptians. Starting in 1958 (and for several years after), the Egyptians were demanding a fighter-bomber capable of carrying a warload of 3,000kg at a speed of 1,000km/h (plus) over a range of 500km (plus) — and that at low level. The Soviets laughed at first, but then, in 1959-1960, NATO began buying F-104Gs in big numbers, and McNamara ‘imposed’ a new ‘joint strike fighter’ — the General Dynamics F-111 — upon both US Air Force and US Navy. The Soviets didn’t laugh any more but realised that they were soon to face ‘thousands’ of tactical fighter-bombers, all carrying ‘thousands’ of nuclear bombs while moving at speeds of 1,000km/h (plus), and that at very low altitudes — and that they have no means to combat these. They had to obtain a fighter-interceptor capable of countering this massive threat, no matter what.

That — plus what I’ve mentioned in the Part 1 — was the mix of requirements that led to the development of the MiG-23.

This was the beginning of a sort of ‘tradition’: ever since, the Soviet GenStab was conceptualising requirements for future fighter-bombers and fighter-interceptors in exactly the same fashion. ‘Get the flight- and tactical manual for the Western type you want to counter; check the max speed; check acceleration; check the turning performance, and, “voilà!”: you’ve got the required performance of a new Soviet fighter jet. This had to outmatch the Western type in performances, even if this resulted in numerous compromises. Nothing else mattered, but aerodynamic performances. This is how MiG-29 came into being (counter to General Dynamics F-16), how Su-27 came into being (counter to Grumman F-14 and McDonnell-Douglas F-15), etc.

THE MIG-23-FAUX-PAS

While this sounds simple, it’s complex to realise. Together with demands for various ‘extras’ (like short take-off- and landing-run, which resulted in installation of variable-sweep wings, like the requirement to develop a pulse-Doppler radar capable of reliably detecting and tracking low-flying targets etc.) it resulted in MiG and other involved companies taking about 10 years to develop the MiG-23 into an operational interceptor.

The situation wasn’t much different — nor better — in regards of tactical fighter-bombers: types like MiG-23B/BN and Su-17 — hear, hear: both made to haul a warload of 3,000kg at a speed of 1,000km/h while underway at low altitude — began appearing only in the early 1970s.

However, by then, the West was in the process of introducing an entirely new generation of far superior fighter-bombers to service: types not only based on combat experiences from the Vietnam War, and air wars in the Middle East, but stuffed full with latest high-tech, too. This caught the Soviets off guard: they were in the process of ‘printing’ about 5,000 MiG-23s and some 1,000 Su-17s, but slow in realising that original variants of both families were obsolete even before they’ve entered service.

(Furthermore, they’ve exported a lot of poorly-manufactured and -equipped early variants of both, resulting in their heavy losses in different local wars, and thus in their poor reputation: by the time advanced variants — like MiG-23ML, MiG-27, or Su-22M-3/4 — became available, it was ‘too late’…)

Result: initial versions of MiG-23- and Su-17-families were, actually, all obsolete by the time they’ve entered service. They were mechanically unreliable, too. It would’ve been better to stop developing them and go ‘straight’ for what eventually became MiG-29 and Su-27. But, the GenStab has squandered so many billions of Rubles for their development by the time that it simply couldn’t go back (just like, few years earlier, it couldn’t go back when squandering nearly 50% of the Soviet defence budget to develop and construct just one nuclear-powered attack submarine completely made of titanium: see what NATO called the Papa-class).

ADOLF TOLKACHEV EFFECT

That said, the GenStab did eventually realise — and accept — it had to launch the work on an entirely new generation of combat aircraft, and issued related orders in the mid-1970s. Only few years later, a major catastrophe occurred: the resulting types — MiG-29, MiG-31, and Su-27 — (and, many, many other weapons systems, including the S-300 surface-to-air ‘Wunderwaffe’) did not even enter operational service with the Soviet air force but all the secrets of their avionics and weaponry were revealed to the CIA by Adolf Tolkachev, one of chief electronics designers at the Phazotron design bureau.

Describing the amount of damage Tolkachev has caused is, actually, impossible — except in one fashion: he has ruined the Soviet combat aviation industry, and that for at least a generation in advance.

OAK EFFECT

…which is bringing me back to the OAK — that corporation established in 2006 per Putin’s decree, and assimilating all the Russian companies involved in design and production of aircraft, helicopters, their engines and avionics, which I’ve mentioned in the Part 1. Right from the start, nobody — whether in Russia or abroad — was paying attention about the OAK, and there were few good reasons for this. Primary was that the involved companies were anything but happy to get assimilated, even more so into a ‘body’ overseen by a board consisting exclusively of Putin’s favourites. Indeed, many of Russian companies continued advertising their own products for years longer, like there would’ve been no OAK at all. But, as the years passed, Putin’s grip became firmer, and his board…. ‘splendid’: poets, philosophers, ex-KGB-people, yes-sayers without capability to make any kind of decisions without Vladimir Vladimirovich….anybody but people with business- and branch-experience.

The sole member of the board with experience and skill in industrial management was Mikhail Pogosyan, whom Putin eventually kicked out.

Atop of this, it turned out that the Russian aviation industry (just like the entire high-tech sector) experienced a massive brain drain already in the 1990s. Lockheed-Martin, for example, bought not only all the documentation, but also all the engineers that used to work on the still-born Yakovlev Yak-141 project (was planned to become a fighter with vertical take off and landing capability). When the OAK came to the idea to launch a similar project, a few years ago, it had to realise there was no documentation, and no living person left with the necessary know-how.

….now try running a high-tech enterprise staffed that way in commercially successful fashion, and that in the early 21st Century…

But, wait. Think a step further, and focus on connecting dots: with hindsight, it can be said that thanks to Putin, all of this in turn meant that Tolkachev actually provoked an avalanche.

An avalanche that has not only ruined the last generation of Soviet combat aircraft, but was bolstered by Putin and resulted in the ruin of the first two generations of the Russian combat aircraft, too — i.e. those types that could/should have emerged since 1990s. This is so because, through insistence on controlling everything for the sake of extracting cuts into his pockets, Putin prevented the development of an indigenous electronic industry in the Russian Federation.

Since this was ‘not enough’, Putin then topped it by his invasion of Ukraine in 2014. This resulted in Moscow losing contact to about 150 top research- and development companies in Ukraine, including some 40 enterprises that used to develop high-tech weaponry for the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, especially the air force.

(…to be continued….)