Ways of a Wingman
Since about the time of World War I, military doctrine regarding the use of fighter aircraft has included the concept of the wingman. Airplanes were not designed as implements of war. Even their initial use by the military was for reconnaissance only. They were observation platforms serving to help leaders assess a battlefield. But it didn’t take long to discover the weaponry potential, mount up guns, and begin to shoot at each other using them. In a similar way, it didn’t take human beings long to discover the weaponry potential of their own thoughts and tongues and to begin to shoot at each other with those also. (And in very unliterary fashion, I tip my hand.)
It also didn’t take long for the military to realize that the back of an airplane was vulnerable. The guns pointed the other way. The pilot faced the other way and it was difficult to keep track of what was going on behind. And the tail surfaces were small yet essential to the control of the ship. Blast a big hole in the side of the fuselage or even a wing and as long as the underlying structure doesn’t snap, the pilot can probably still limp home. But take out the small rudder or the elevator in the tail, and the pilot looses control and heads for the ground in moments. The name of the game in aerial combat was, and is to this day, to get on the tail of your opponent. Shoot him where he is vulnerable and where he is least able to defend against you
Back to doctrine. The dawn patrol of the lone fighter pilot in WWI, out looking to spar with a Hun, soon gave way to the multi-element “flight.” The most common, and to this day default mode for most missions involving fighters is the flight of two. There is a leader and a wingman. This may start with rank in the lead and the junior officer on the wing, but that is initial formality. The lead and the wing may trade places numerous times during the mission, or from one mission to the next. The leader takes the responsibility of navigation. The wingman’s only navigation responsibility is to stay glued to the position immediately behind and offset to the side of the leader. The wingman’s responsibility is to “watch the back” of the leader. He is to defend the vulnerable tail of the leader as the leader goes about the business of navigating or attacking what is in front of him. The only time the wingman splits off from the leader is to engage an enemy attacking the leader, and he strives to return to his slot as soon as possible. The mantra of the fighter pilot is, “never leave your wingman.”
Flying in tight formation has inherent dangers. Precision control of an aircraft is a tricky three-dimensional dance. Doing this with a partner whose vital wing is but feet away from your own sometimes ends in a mid-air collision. Friendly fire without bullets. But the tight formation appears to the outside world as a single entity. The strength, offensive and defensive, is a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Not to mention the mystical beauty of two powerful machines, each capable of easily destroying the other, intentionally or unintentionally, moving through space in perfect synchronization. It’s a wonder to behold and a crowd pleasing staple of every airshow.
Another valuable function of the wingman is curious in this day of high technology. Even with the mind boggling advance of sensing and imaging devices aboard modern combat aircraft, nothing can replace human eyeballs. When an airplane is damaged, the pilot in the cockpit must assess the damage and its ramifications based on what his instruments say or what someone external to his vehicle can observe. Ground observation even while a pilot does a low fly-by of the tower, for example, has serious limitations for perceiving detail. The wingman, on the other hand, can sidle up close and scrutinize every inch of the leader’s machine from every angle. “Confirm, your right landing gear has not fully deployed. It will definitely collapse on landing.” In this case, the leader can prepare himself, will know how to adjust his landing technique to minimize the damage of the impending wreck, and has a much higher chance of survival.
The multi-element flight has redundancy. Occasionally, something malfunctions. A plane may have to abort a mission. Or perhaps in the heat of battle, a weapon fails. When there is a duplicate asset at hand, the redundant hardware can be brought to bear. Two instead of one provides this. A group of three or four increases the likelihood of mission accomplishment exponentially.
A more subtle strength of redundancy is back on the ground. A squadron will have duplicates of one type of aircraft. This allows the maintenance staff the advantage of being able to employ their expertise about one airplane for the good of the fleet. And all parts are interchangeable between machines. Sometimes one machine is sacrificed temporarily or permanently to provide parts for the others. The efficiency gain compared to each pilot using a different type of machine is obvious.
Much has been expressed in countless books, movies, and elsewhere regarding the bond of brothers in arms. Comradeship born of experiencing and surviving combat side by side has a strength and depth of value approached by little else in human experience. A manly embrace, tears, grasping shoulders and gazing into the depths of another’s eyes and seeing into his soul, and long moments of silence embodying bottomless depths of understanding, can only hint at the connection. Whether in victory or defeat, this kind of friendship is precious. It transcends the carnage of the fight. Limbs can be lost, lives broken beyond repair, loss can be overwhelming. But this kind of a friend will still be worth all of that. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man would lay down his life for his friend.” We need more wingmen. God help me to be one.
It also didn’t take long for the military to realize that the back of an airplane was vulnerable. The guns pointed the other way. The pilot faced the other way and it was difficult to keep track of what was going on behind. And the tail surfaces were small yet essential to the control of the ship. Blast a big hole in the side of the fuselage or even a wing and as long as the underlying structure doesn’t snap, the pilot can probably still limp home. But take out the small rudder or the elevator in the tail, and the pilot looses control and heads for the ground in moments. The name of the game in aerial combat was, and is to this day, to get on the tail of your opponent. Shoot him where he is vulnerable and where he is least able to defend against you
Back to doctrine. The dawn patrol of the lone fighter pilot in WWI, out looking to spar with a Hun, soon gave way to the multi-element “flight.” The most common, and to this day default mode for most missions involving fighters is the flight of two. There is a leader and a wingman. This may start with rank in the lead and the junior officer on the wing, but that is initial formality. The lead and the wing may trade places numerous times during the mission, or from one mission to the next. The leader takes the responsibility of navigation. The wingman’s only navigation responsibility is to stay glued to the position immediately behind and offset to the side of the leader. The wingman’s responsibility is to “watch the back” of the leader. He is to defend the vulnerable tail of the leader as the leader goes about the business of navigating or attacking what is in front of him. The only time the wingman splits off from the leader is to engage an enemy attacking the leader, and he strives to return to his slot as soon as possible. The mantra of the fighter pilot is, “never leave your wingman.”
Flying in tight formation has inherent dangers. Precision control of an aircraft is a tricky three-dimensional dance. Doing this with a partner whose vital wing is but feet away from your own sometimes ends in a mid-air collision. Friendly fire without bullets. But the tight formation appears to the outside world as a single entity. The strength, offensive and defensive, is a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Not to mention the mystical beauty of two powerful machines, each capable of easily destroying the other, intentionally or unintentionally, moving through space in perfect synchronization. It’s a wonder to behold and a crowd pleasing staple of every airshow.
Another valuable function of the wingman is curious in this day of high technology. Even with the mind boggling advance of sensing and imaging devices aboard modern combat aircraft, nothing can replace human eyeballs. When an airplane is damaged, the pilot in the cockpit must assess the damage and its ramifications based on what his instruments say or what someone external to his vehicle can observe. Ground observation even while a pilot does a low fly-by of the tower, for example, has serious limitations for perceiving detail. The wingman, on the other hand, can sidle up close and scrutinize every inch of the leader’s machine from every angle. “Confirm, your right landing gear has not fully deployed. It will definitely collapse on landing.” In this case, the leader can prepare himself, will know how to adjust his landing technique to minimize the damage of the impending wreck, and has a much higher chance of survival.
The multi-element flight has redundancy. Occasionally, something malfunctions. A plane may have to abort a mission. Or perhaps in the heat of battle, a weapon fails. When there is a duplicate asset at hand, the redundant hardware can be brought to bear. Two instead of one provides this. A group of three or four increases the likelihood of mission accomplishment exponentially.
A more subtle strength of redundancy is back on the ground. A squadron will have duplicates of one type of aircraft. This allows the maintenance staff the advantage of being able to employ their expertise about one airplane for the good of the fleet. And all parts are interchangeable between machines. Sometimes one machine is sacrificed temporarily or permanently to provide parts for the others. The efficiency gain compared to each pilot using a different type of machine is obvious.
Much has been expressed in countless books, movies, and elsewhere regarding the bond of brothers in arms. Comradeship born of experiencing and surviving combat side by side has a strength and depth of value approached by little else in human experience. A manly embrace, tears, grasping shoulders and gazing into the depths of another’s eyes and seeing into his soul, and long moments of silence embodying bottomless depths of understanding, can only hint at the connection. Whether in victory or defeat, this kind of friendship is precious. It transcends the carnage of the fight. Limbs can be lost, lives broken beyond repair, loss can be overwhelming. But this kind of a friend will still be worth all of that. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man would lay down his life for his friend.” We need more wingmen. God help me to be one.
posted by wingman at 9:06 AM
1 Comments:
We used to be - but time and distance and circumstances change things. I had known of the battle, I would have flown to be as much of a wingman as possible - that is to what I was committing when I stood at your wedding. Hopefully, all of us were saying the same - we stand by you today and for all your future. Is it too late?
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