US-Japan Flex Military Muscle as China, Russia Test Biden’s Resolve

Paul Riverbank, 12/13/2025US flexes air power with Japan as new tech arrives, but delays and challenges temper readiness.

While headlines relayed the Ministry of Defense's statement the following morning, the backdrop to this exercise was anything but routine. Only days before, Japanese officials claimed that Chinese surveillance aircraft had "locked on" to their own planes with radar—a move universally understood as more than a technical footnote. Not incidentally, Russian and Chinese bombers had flown in tandem near Japanese airspace just prior. For the region’s watchers, this sequence was less a coincidence, more a carefully layered exchange of signals.

What stood out wasn’t simply the hardware—a mix of heavy US bombers and Japan's best fighter jets—but the choreography. Such drills, as defense analysts repeatedly point out, are as much political theatre as military necessity. To allies, they represent assurance. To potential adversaries, these sorties brim with the subtext of deterrence. Behind this, diplomatic gears are already in motion, with Washington and Tokyo preparing for rounds of high-level talks against a backdrop of sharpened postures.

Yet, while international attention fizzes around this show of force, a quieter development in American defense circles deserves a closer look. The US Air Force’s announcement of further delay to the next-generation Air Force One barely made a ripple outside industry insiders. But here, too, symbolism meets hard reality. The new aircraft, essential for safely ferrying America’s commander-in-chief, now won’t arrive until mid-2028—a year beyond even recently adjusted estimates. Boeing hasn’t volunteered an explanation, at least not one for public consumption. The stated rationale, as one might expect, involves “ongoing discussions” about technical challenges and timelines.

If the new presidential jet represents a collision of glamour and logistics, another Boeing product is entering US service with far less fanfare, but arguably greater consequence for the air force’s everyday readiness. At Joint Base San Antonio-Randolph, Texas, the T-7 Red Hawk has finally touched down, marking the end of decades spent relying on the venerable T-38 Talon for pilot instruction. Anyone who’s spent time with current or former airmen will know the T-38 is a revered workhorse. But nostalgia takes a back seat to capability: as Brigadier General Matthew Leard commented not long ago, the cost of maintaining the T-38 had ballooned, and its aging systems were a poor fit for 21st-century combat requirements.

The T-7 is an altogether different beast. Open-architecture, modular, ready to accommodate future upgrades—by design, it’s not tied to a static playbook. Major General Gregory Kreuder, tasked with overseeing pilot training, described a basic shift: trainees won’t just log flight hours; from their first day, they’ll learn how to interpret sensor data and sift complex information in real time. For those following trends in aerial warfare, this evolution is overdue—today’s pilots face challenges that would have seemed futuristic only a decade ago.

In practice, the transition to the T-7 will take time. The jet is still undergoing evaluation, with instructor pilots set to fly before students are handed the controls. The first T-7 squadron at Randolph is scheduled to be ready by August 2027, with additional squadrons planned for other bases across the South and Midwest. New maintenance and ground training systems are rolling out as well, and live-virtual scenarios will give future aviators the opportunity to pit their skills against simulated enemies and situations—a remarkable leap from the analog instruction of previous generations.

If there’s a common thread connecting these varied announcements—from the dramatic joint flights over the Sea of Japan to the methodical rollout of training infrastructure—it’s the competition between reliable readiness and the persistent drag of delays and technical setbacks. It’s tempting, as sometimes happens, to draw a neat narrative line: old tools are being retired, new capabilities ushered in, and America (with allies in close formation) signaling both resolve and adaptability. But in truth, the process is far messier, punctuated by hiccups, negotiations, and the ever-present demand for flexibility in an uncertain world.

For those who follow defense and foreign policy, this December has been a study in contrast: on one front, aerial maneuvers carried out for the world to witness; on another, progress stymied by unseen technical knots. Strip away the spectacle and the press releases, and what emerges is a central fact—security is not simply a matter of what flies overhead, but of how reliably nations adapt to new threats, anticipate next steps, and learn to manage the in-betweens.

There are moments when a cluster of events—none singularly remarkable—start to hum with implication. The skies over the Sea of Japan, on a cold December evening, offered just such a tableau. Fighter jets cut through the fading light, some trailing the banners of the United States, others belonging to Japan. Officially, it was a joint exercise; unofficially, everyone knew this was a message, and not just to Japan’s neighbors.While headlines relayed the Ministry of Defense's statement the following morning, the backdrop to this exercise was anything but routine. Only days before, Japanese officials claimed that Chinese surveillance aircraft had "locked on" to their own planes with radar—a move universally understood as more than a technical footnote. Not incidentally, Russian and Chinese bombers had flown in tandem near Japanese airspace just prior. For the region’s watchers, this sequence was less a coincidence, more a carefully layered exchange of signals.What stood out wasn’t simply the hardware—a mix of heavy US bombers and Japan's best fighter jets—but the choreography. Such drills, as defense analysts repeatedly point out, are as much political theatre as military necessity. To allies, they represent assurance. To potential adversaries, these sorties brim with the subtext of deterrence. Behind this, diplomatic gears are already in motion, with Washington and Tokyo preparing for rounds of high-level talks against a backdrop of sharpened postures.Yet, while international attention fizzes around this show of force, a quieter development in American defense circles deserves a closer look. The US Air Force’s announcement of further delay to the next-generation Air Force One barely made a ripple outside industry insiders. But here, too, symbolism meets hard reality. The new aircraft, essential for safely ferrying America’s commander-in-chief, now won’t arrive until mid-2028—a year beyond even recently adjusted estimates. Boeing hasn’t volunteered an explanation, at least not one for public consumption. The stated rationale, as one might expect, involves “ongoing discussions” about technical challenges and timelines.If the new presidential jet represents a collision of glamour and logistics, another Boeing product is entering US service with far less fanfare, but arguably greater consequence for the air force’s everyday readiness. At Joint Base San Antonio-Randolph, Texas, the T-7 Red Hawk has finally touched down, marking the end of decades spent relying on the venerable T-38 Talon for pilot instruction. Anyone who’s spent time with current or former airmen will know the T-38 is a revered workhorse. But nostalgia takes a back seat to capability: as Brigadier General Matthew Leard commented not long ago, the cost of maintaining the T-38 had ballooned, and its aging systems were a poor fit for 21st-century combat requirements.The T-7 is an altogether different beast. Open-architecture, modular, ready to accommodate future upgrades—by design, it’s not tied to a static playbook. Major General Gregory Kreuder, tasked with overseeing pilot training, described a basic shift: trainees won’t just log flight hours; from their first day, they’ll learn how to interpret sensor data and sift complex information in real time. For those following trends in aerial warfare, this evolution is overdue—today’s pilots face challenges that would have seemed futuristic only a decade ago.In practice, the transition to the T-7 will take time. The jet is still undergoing evaluation, with instructor pilots set to fly before students are handed the controls. The first T-7 squadron at Randolph is scheduled to be ready by August 2027, with additional squadrons planned for other bases across the South and Midwest. New maintenance and ground training systems are rolling out as well, and live-virtual scenarios will give future aviators the opportunity to pit their skills against simulated enemies and situations—a remarkable leap from the analog instruction of previous generations.If there’s a common thread connecting these varied announcements—from the dramatic joint flights over the Sea of Japan to the methodical rollout of training infrastructure—it’s the competition between reliable readiness and the persistent drag of delays and technical setbacks. It’s tempting, as sometimes happens, to draw a neat narrative line: old tools are being retired, new capabilities ushered in, and America (with allies in close formation) signaling both resolve and adaptability. But in truth, the process is far messier, punctuated by hiccups, negotiations, and the ever-present demand for flexibility in an uncertain world.For those who follow defense and foreign policy, this December has been a study in contrast: on one front, aerial maneuvers carried out for the world to witness; on another, progress stymied by unseen technical knots. Strip away the spectacle and the press releases, and what emerges is a central fact—security is not simply a matter of what flies overhead, but of how reliably nations adapt to new threats, anticipate next steps, and learn to manage the in-betweens.