Category The Chinese Air Force

David Frelinger and Jessica Hart

This chapter presents an alternative framework for approaching the dis­cussion and assessment of the “military balance” between the United States and China, with an emphasis on the effect of People’s Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF) modernization. This approach provides for a more comprehensive means of thinking about the military balance and illuminates some deficien­cies in current assessments. The framework assesses PLAAF modernization through the lenses of three “games”—the Game of Influence, the Battle over a Third Party, and the Great Power Game—that represent the range of relation­ships the United States and China could forge, with a focus on the military aspects of those games. As this analysis will demonstrate, the effect of PLAAF modernization is most fully understood not as an input in one overall U. S.- China military balance, but as a series of moves occurring in the context of the game or games the United States and China are playing.

Why a New Framework?

The U. S.-China military balance is most often spoken of in Cold War terms of force-on-force counts, defense expenditure comparisons, and other metrics that are relatively straightforward to calculate. These calculations are then used to define the balance within future “worlds” that could exist between the two nations.1 These analyses assume that the United States and China are playing the same game in these worlds, that both recognize the other side is playing that game, and that the game remains dominant and consistent for an extended period of time. Assessing the balance through this narrow aperture misses important nuances in what is in fact a fluid military context—one in which PLAAF modernization plays many roles. This type of assessment also does not account for the facts that powers may play more than one game simul­taneously, that both sides are not necessarily playing the same game, and that both may fail to recognize what game the other has chosen.

An alternative framework is necessary to address these analytical defi­ciencies. By acknowledging the range of games and the fluidity of their context, the framework allows for a fuller assessment of the effects of PLAAF modern­ization on the military balance within the games. This avoids viewing PLAAF modernization through the lens of only one game while also highlighting the fact that there is not one military balance, but several. By adopting a more comprehensive framework, this assessment also avoids utilizing familiar—and inappropriate—analytical narratives. Many attempt to frame at least a portion of the U. S.-Chinese interactions in Cold War terms—what we call here the Great Power Game. In the Cold War, the positions of the United States and the Soviet Union as the only two remaining great powers were relatively ossified from the outset, and the overarching ideological narrative provided a ground­ing framework for understanding the game that both sides were playing. This is not the case for the United States and China. The relationship is not yet mature, and there are multiple, competing narratives about interests and goals on both sides. Those narratives as well as U. S. and Chinese actions provide no convincing indications that either side has made a deliberate decision as to which game it wishes to be playing—much less what game the other is play­ing or will choose to play in the future. Instead there are elements of multiple games that must be assessed.

The key to strengthened national defense and military modernization is to foster and raise a large batch of high quality, new-model, talented mili­tary personnel, while vigorously increasing the ability to make innova­tions in science and technology. We must grasp these two requirements as the primary responsibility of the military academies, properly grasp­ing the developing trends of modern technology and the developing pat­terns of military education, diligently pressing for military academies to successfully become the cradles for development of high quality, talented military personnel—the foundations of new high technology and military theory innovation.43

While the PLAAF aspires to set up educational infrastructures that “become the cradles for development of high-quality, talented military person­nel,” it remains to be seen whether the programs that are now being put into place will deliver the desired results. Accurately assessing the competency of PLAAF personnel has been and remains a difficult endeavor. The PLAAF has not been operationally tested since the Korean War, and it has been absent from

Chinese military interventions since the 1950s. The air force was never com­mitted into battle during ground force skirmishes on Vietnam’s border in the late 1970s. Since then, PLA operations have been limited to humanitarian relief efforts in response to flooding or earthquakes. In these instances, the PLAAF’s limited airlift capacity has left it sidelined during the army-led operations. Nor has the PLAAF participated widely in United Nations peacekeeping missions, although the PLA is expanding its support of logistics and medical teams in Africa and Asia. And, the PLAAF has not established the type of bilateral train­ing exercises with other regional air forces that would provide insights into the level and sophistication of its tactical forces. Although the PLAAF Command College has cracked opened its doors to foreign military students, these officers are segregated into a separate international seminar which limits their interac­tion with and exposure to Chinese field grade officers. Thus it is necessary to look for other proxies that can yield insights into the progress, professionalism, and operational capacity of the officers and airmen of the PLAAF.

Despite recent progress and increased accessions of graduates of civil­ian universities, the PLAAF may be a long way from reaching its education goals. The PLAAF has announced that improved officer education is a top pri­ority and an enduring long-term goal. In fact, the PLAAF has set as a near­term goal to ensure all new officers attain a 4-year undergraduate degree prior to accession. In the mid-to-long term, the PLAAF hopes to build an officer corps in which 100 percent have undergraduate degrees and over 30 percent have advanced degrees. Additionally, the PLAAF intends to see that over 95 percent of commanding officers at the division, brigade, and regimental lev­els are equipped with basic degrees, with 80 percent or more having advanced degrees.44 Yet, as late as 2009, fewer than 40 percent of officers leading the air force’s front line units possessed an undergradu­

ate degree and less than 1 percent of those commanders held a postgradu­ate degree.45 This lack of credentials among PLAAF commanding officers may be explained by PLAAF restrictions placed on their course attendance. Senior command track officers—at the colonel and senior colonel level—are only authorized to attend a 1-year, nondegree PME program, while support and technical officers are afforded opportunities to pursue graduate degrees in multiyear programs at either PLAAF or civilian colleges.

Another measure of the professional development of the PLAAF is the vol­ume and quality of military professional publications that are being developed by its officer corps. The PLA’s airmen have published extensively during the past 10 years, oftentimes in the performance of directed research on key topics—strat – egy, doctrine, tactics, air force building, education and training, logistics, etc.— assigned by the PLAAF Headquarters. Officially developed publications are generally produced by a research team under the guidance of a senior officer and vetted through a formal review prior to publication. Top-level writings are endorsed by the PLAAF Commander or the Political Commissar, or both. In recent years, the PLAAF has written extensively on military education and train­ing, and a listing of relevant recent publications can be found in the appendix.

Although the volume of PLAAF military writings is an important indi­cation of the transformation that is taking place in PLAAF education and training, significant variations and gaps remain in both the substance and the operational concepts articulated by various authors and institutions. For exam­ple, Science of Air Force Training (ё¥¥ВДШ^), published in 2006 under the guidance of Lieutenant General He Weirong, was the air force’s contribution to a PLA series that includes separate volumes on army, navy, and joint train – ing.46 The book provides a comprehensive overview of the PLAAF training structure, laying out the hierarchy of training organizations, classifications of training, specific training responsibilities at various levels of command, and categorization of training methods. But, one must ask: what is the purpose and motivation behind this publication? And, who is the target audience? The publication lacks the authority of a service regulation or manual, and it does not include sufficient detail to either develop or execute training programs. In effect, the Science of Military Training series serves only as a primer on PLAAF service training programs and infrastructure, and therefore may be an indica­tion that the PLAAF (and the PLA) are still at a very early stage of revamping military training programs.

Yet another indicator of professional development within the PLA—and by extension within the PLAAF—is the well-defined process for compilation, review, and validation of training standards. The PLA has demonstrated a con­sistent pattern of managing operational training as it has twice revised and pro­mulgated new Outlines for Military Training and Evaluation (OMTE) within the past 10 years. The most recent effort was undertaken beginning in 2006 to correct recognized training deficiencies in the 2002 version of the OMTE. From initial review in December 2006 through promulgation in July 2008 and implementation in 2009, the OMTE development and review process took slightly over 2 years to complete. As the event sequence and timelines in table 10-1 demonstrate, the procedures and deadlines for the development of the 2009 OMTE followed a pattern of development similar to the previous OMTE revision cycle that ran from January 2000 and October 2001.

Field units played a substantially greater role in the initial development of the 2008 OMTE. Standards development and field testing were carried out during the 2007 and 2008 annual training cycles with 163 division – and bri­gade-level units participating in the trial training and validation of the 2008

OMTE.47 The 2-year process of revision, experimental training, and valida­tion was a PLA-wide effort that included participants from each of the seven military regions, the PLA Navy, the PLA Air Force, Second Artillery, People’s Armed Police, and 21 departments within the four General Headquarters.48

The new OMTE was designed to address the training shortfalls that have repeatedly been cited in Kongjun Bao and other PLA newspapers, including expanded training for noncombat military operations; increased proportion of informatized knowledge skills and simulated training with high-technology weapons and equipment, including aircraft; standardized methods, procedures, and criteria for network-centric and “opposing force” training; clarified condi­tions, styles, methods, and requirements for training in complex electromagnetic environments, training at night, and training under adverse weather conditions; established capabilities-based training standards and assessment system; raised standards for basic training; expanded scope of training appraisals; revised eval­uation program; and defined training management scheme, specified duties, and functions of training.

July 1, 2009.

— "PRC Officers Discuss Training Outline Reform," Jefangjun Bao (Internet Version) in Chinese August 15, 2000, 6.

The immediate Chinese leadership response to Tiananmen was a polit­ical clampdown and economic retrenchment, but by early 1991 economic growth had resumed and the stage was set for further economic reforms that would lay the foundation for sustained Chinese growth. Openness to trade and foreign investment helped the Chinese economy grow rapidly and develop a deeper civilian technology base. Although the United States and Western European countries sought to limit Chinese access to Western arms and military technology through export controls and sanctions, the lure of access to China’s market ultimately gave China’s defense industries access to considerable dual-use technology that could be “spun on” to military appli­cations. Moreover, the rapid advancement of computer, communications, and material technologies in a globalized economy meant that technologies once used primarily in military industries became ubiquitous (and free from export controls).

The Chinese defense industry’s access to advanced computers in the mid-1990s supported efforts to develop more sophisticated design capabilities. Supercomputers obtained from the United States after export laws were loos­ened in 1996 and 1998 were later used to simulate the detonation of nuclear warheads without actual underground testing.98 China’s shipbuilding industry also made new advances enabled by computer-assisted design (CAD) technol­ogy to improve both the quantity and quality of maritime vessels.99 The Xian FBC-1 fighter-bomber (also known as the JH-7) presents the most compelling example of U. S. supercomputer technology being used to expand Chinese mil­itary aviation capabilities. Designed to replace outdated light bombers like the Nanchang Q-5 and Harbin H-5, the development program for the JH-7 began in the 1980s. Six prototypes were developed in the early 1990s and delivered to the PLAAF and PLANAF for evaluation. An upgraded variant, the JH-7A, came out around 2000 and was the first Chinese aircraft based solely on CAD design. Chinese engineers reportedly bragged that the fighter-bomber was designed using supercomputers imported from the United States. The fact that Xian Jiaotong University houses a supercomputer and has ties to the Xian Air­craft Industry Corporation (XAC) and the 603d Aircraft Design Institute, the principal contractors on the JH-7A, may explain why CAD technologies were applied to the JH-7A rather than the more advanced J-10 fighter. In the wake of discoveries during the 1990s that China had diverted some supercomputers acquired from the United States for military purposes, Congress passed a law in 1998 tightening restrictions on the technology. China’s indigenous efforts to develop its own supercomputers since the late 1990s have made the law (at least as it applies to China) somewhat irrelevant.100 A 2003 report cites the twin seat J-10BS variant as the first Chinese fighter produced with CAD, noting that the software decreased the time it took to render design drawings from 10 to 6 months.101 The fact this achievement was reported publicly does not con­tradict the conclusion that the JH-7 was China’s first CAD assisted fighter, but instead hints at the fact that the J-10BS was the first example of a military air­craft designed using domestically produced CAD technology. All subsequent Chinese military aviation development projects almost certainly utilize CAD.

Although China lost legitimate access to most Western defense tech­nologies after Tiananmen, it continued existing defense technology ties with Israel and reestablished them with Russia. Ukraine also emerged as an impor­tant source of air-to-air (AAM) and air-to-surface missiles (ASM) for the PLAAF.102 Unlike the previous Sino-Soviet defense arrangement where Beijing was dependent on Moscow and negotiated from a weaker bargaining position, the economically tumultuous post-Soviet Russian state was much more depen­dent on China as a buyer. This allowed China to gain access to both advanced fighters and aviation technologies that a more solvent Russian government likely would have preferred not to sell.

In response to these new opportunities, China pursued multiple options to advance military modernization. The PLA purchased limited quantities of advanced Russian aircraft, ships, and submarines in order to gain experience operating modern weapons systems. For the PLAAF, this included acquisition of the Su-27 fighter and the S-300 surface-to-air missile. The deal eventually evolved into a coproduction arrangement intended to produce 200 aircraft and then into efforts to reverse engineer key components to create an independent production capability. Chinese defense industries continued efforts to develop their own new systems, seeking to integrate advanced imported technologies and components into the design where Chinese equivalents were not available. The J—10 fighter, which uses Russian engines, is one such example. Chinese defense industries also sought to adapt imported and indigenous avionics and armaments to improve the capabilities of older platforms.

At the strategic level, in keeping with Deng’s earlier pronouncements regarding the centrality of airpower in winning modern wars, the Chinese began investing more time in related research. Academics and military strat­egists examined U. S. and Soviet theories on how to achieve maximum effect through the use of airpower.103 Beijing was realistic about the relative weak­ness of the PLAAF when measured against its U. S. and Soviet counterparts. While it assimilated airpower strategy as conceived by the superpowers, China was equally interested in understanding how countries with qualitatively less advanced air forces could employ airpower against more powerful opponents. Several works cite surprise attacks by the Argentine air force against British naval forces during the Falklands War as an illustrative example.104 It was also during this time period that Chinese defense analysts and military planners began to translate the emphasis on expanded airpower into concrete technol­ogy acquisition and procurement goals. In the early 1990s, the PLA was still operating under significant budget constraints; since the outset of opening and reform, resources had been shifted to nondefense areas of the economy. Despite this situation, PLAAF planners mapped out a development trajectory for the air force which has been more or less followed: (1) phase out equip­ment based on antiquated technology; (2) place emphasis on aircraft quality over quantity; (3) graft, when possible, new technology (radar, avionics, mis­siles) onto older airframes to increase combat effectiveness and extend service life; and (4) focus on long-term self-reliance, while filling existing technology gaps in military aviation via procurement of foreign equipment/knowledge.105

In 1998, China undertook a massive restructuring of its defense industry with the aim of ensuring that the PLA was adequately involved in procurement decisions. Prior to creation of the General Armaments Department (GAD), the intermediary between the end user of weaponry (PLA) and the supplier (the defense industry) was the Commission of Science, Technology, and Industry for National Defense (COSTIND). This system resulted in a fundamental mis­alignment of interests as COSTIND failed to properly represent the needs of the Chinese military, instead allowing the weapons producers to advance their own institutional interests at the expense of the PLA.106 The defense reforms of the late 1990s allowed the PLA, through the GAD, to take the lead in dictating procurement requirements based on actual need.107 While the reforms did not specifically address resource competition among the service branches, they did provide a mechanism for the PLAAF to align procurement with its strategic development objectives. Leadership support for increased airpower capability also helped the PLAAF advance its procurement agenda.

Because this framework seeks to assess the military balances, the games are best understood through the different roles military power plays in each. The Game of Influence is one where military power is utilized in an essential sup­porting role to advance national interests, but military victory in a conflict is not the ultimate goal. The Game of Influence is not necessarily a zero-sum game. In the Battle over a Third Party, military power in the context of a conflict over a third party plays the central role, but asymmetric stakes tend to prevent a zero – sum character. In the Great Power Game, military power is the central aspect, and it is the most comprehensive game in scope as it ranges across all military and political spheres. It is also the only true zero-sum game discussed.

The weaponry—air-to-air, air-to-surface, and surface-to-air—avail­able to the PLAAF has obviously advanced dramatically since the mid-1990s. As discussed above, new AAMs and precision-guided munitions (PGMs) are entering the force, providing China with much improved capabilities across the board. Whereas in 1995 the PLAAF would have gone to war with out­moded AAMs and “dumb” bombs, its inventory today includes weapons—of both Russian and Chinese manufacture—that are in the same class as those carried by USAF and U. S. Navy combat aircraft, including laser – and satellite- guided bombs and guided missiles of various sorts. Tables 8-8 and 8-9 com­pare similar weapons from each side’s arsenal.

Education and training are clearly at the forefront of the PLA drive toward comprehensive force modernization that has been underway for nearly 30 years. Since the early 1980s, Chinese leaders have recognized a need to build “regular­ized” (ШШЕ) military forces better able to respond in China’s evolving security environment.49 To that end, the leaders of China’s air force have undertaken a series of steps to build a more professional, competent, and capable air force.

The PLAAF regards officer professional development a cornerstone of its force modernization program, a viewpoint consistent with the goals of three generations of CMC chairmen. Beginning with Deng Xiaoping in the 1980s, the chairmen of the CMC have stressed the strategic requirement to build “a young and knowledgeable, revolutionized and professionalized officer con – tingent.”50 In the 1990s, then-CMC Chairman Jiang Zemin expressly pointed out that unless the PLA emphasized professional development as a strategic mission, it would be “impossible to build a modernized army and defeat ene­mies having high-tech advantages.”51 Under Hu Jintao, the PLA is continuing to pursue professional development “centered on enhancing competence and integrating training and employment” through a pattern of “connected aca­demic education and military training, parallel development of military educa­tion and national education, and the combination of domestic cultivation and overseas training, so as to effectively develop and make a full use of the human resources of the military.”52

The PLAAF’s transition toward improved education and training is being driven by overarching guidance from the CMC and shaped by a rec­ognized need for a new generation of operators and support personnel with vastly greater knowledge and skills to employ and manage weapons systems of increasing technical complexity. Although the PLAAF has made substan­tial progress in recent years, it has not yet achieved the development goals it seeks for officers and NCOs. In particular, increased academic education for air force officers remains a priority, and it appears that PLAAF academies will move from military specialty training programs to course work focus on for­mal academics. As the air force continues on this development path, it can be expected that future officers will be universally educated at the university level, adept in the employment of modern technologies, and competent in multiser­vice joint operations.

As the PLAAF evolves to address the demands of integrated joint opera­tions, greater demands will be placed on the officer corps, further raising the requirements for professional military education and training. These changes are also certain to create pressure to expand the authorities and responsibili­ties of air force NCOs, who will be required to take on greater responsibilities in the more demanding joint environment. Going forward, it can be expected that along with the reform and development of PLAAF colleges and schools, the development of mid – and senior-level NCO curriculum and training pro­grams will be a primary focus, with education and training for junior ranks remaining a goal for the future.

After Gorbachev’s 1989 visit to Beijing, Sino-Soviet rapprochement was solidified by various arms sales agreements including the 1991 deal for China to purchase a dozen Sukhoi Su-27 fighters. 108At the time, the Soviet Union had just collapsed and the new Russian economy was in a shambles. Strapped for cash, Moscow was ready to leverage the defense industry—one of the few performing sectors of the economy—in order to profit. China was quick to take advantage of the deteriorating situation in the early 1990s, getting Mos­cow to accept poor quality “barter goods” in exchange for weaponry.109 Russia had little choice but to put longer-term strategic security concerns on the back burner and do what it could to keep its arms industry operational. To provide some idea of how important Chinese arms sales became to the Russian defense industry, a U. S. Department of Defense report estimated the value of weaponry delivered to China (not simply agreed upon) from 1990 to 2002 at between $7 and $10 billion.110

China took delivery of its initial order of 12 Su-27s in 1992, and an addi­tional batch of18 Su-27SKs and 6 Su-27UBKs in 1995-1996. Altogether China purchased 48 Su-27 Flankers before deciding to build the aircraft domestically as the Shenyang J-11.

The J-11 story began in 1996, when Russian arms export organization Rosoboronexport signed a $2.7 billion licensing agreement with Shenyang Aircraft Corporation allowing coproduction of 200 Su-27s.111 The agreement came with two provisos: that China would not export the J-11 and that the fighters would be fitted with Russian engines, radar, and avionics which would not be licensed for coproduction.112 This important agreement, which moved China’s military aviation industry from third-generation to fourth-generation production capacity, came about through the actions of the General Direc­tor of the Sukhoi Design Bureau, Michael Simonov, who negotiated the deal without Moscow’s approval and later presented it to the Yeltsin government as a fait accompli.113 Simonov (acting more in the interests of Sukhoi than the new Russian state) knew that forming a strategic partnership with China was the cornerstone of Yeltsin’s Asia policy and that a reversal of the Flanker deal on Moscow’s part might sabotage these efforts. The terms of the arrangement were finalized and SAC received manufacturing documents for the Su-27 in 1997 along with complete knock-down kits from which it assembled its first two J-11s. Although both fighters were test flown, they proved to be of such poor workmanship that Russian technicians were called in to rebuild them.114

During the first 3 years of production, SAC assembled just five J-11s. Over the next 3 years it quadrupled this number, turning out 20 aircraft by 2003. As SAC began to successfully produce its own replacement parts, the Russian supplier (KnAPPO) began to reduce the contents of the knock-down kits it pro­vided. By 2002 China was not just coproducing the J—11, but doing it at a high level of quality—a remarkable development given that just 4 years earlier SAC could not even put the fighter together correctly without Russian technical assis­tance.115 By late 2004, SAC had taken possession of all 105 CKD kits delivered from Russia and had managed to assemble and deliver 95 of those to the PLAAF. After mastering coproduction China quickly moved on to developing its own version of the J—11. Russia cancelled plans to fulfill the remainder of the order after discovering that China had an indigenous J—11 in the pipeline.116 The 1996 agreement stipulated that China would equip its J-11s solely with Russian-made engines, radar, and avionics, which left China dependent on KnAPPO. Russia had no objection to China producing replacement parts not related to engine, radar, or avionics; the violation occurred when it began to develop these three systems indigenously. By doing so, China ensured that it would not be reliant on Moscow for any component part of its J-11s. This presented the Russian avia­tion industry with a loss of future revenue and also presented the possibility that China would attempt to sell its J—11 on the international arms market. To date China has made no effort to export any J—11 variant, nor has it expressed any interest in doing so. Chinese officials justified the decision to violate the con­tract by claiming that the 95 Su-27s on order were no longer adequate to serve the needs of the PLAAF—an interesting claim given the large number of third – generation J-8s still in service. China’s decision to abrogate the terms of the Su – 27/J-11 contract has had lasting consequences. Since 2006, Russia has refused to enter into any substantive military aviation transfer agreement. We discuss some of the repercussions for China in the next section.

It took 4 years to produce three prototypes of the J-11B multirole fighter, and another 2 years to build the twin-seat J-11BS variant. Sources in the Chi­nese defense industry report that the J-11B is based on roughly 90 percent Chi­nese-designed parts and subsystems, including the Type 1474 serial radar system, 3-axis data system, power supply system, emergency power unit, brake system, hydraulic system, fuel system, environment control system, and molecular sieve oxygen generation systems.117 The J-11B/BS is also fitted with indigenous PL-12 air-to-air missiles. There have been several cases since 2008 of Russian authori­ties in the Transbaikal region arresting Chinese citizens for attempting to smug­gle spare Su-27 parts into China.118 This might suggest that China is not able to design 90 percent of the original fighter’s parts and subsystems (the 10 percent gap in design capability alluded to presumably refers to engines, avionics, and radar which were not among the smuggled items). The engine is the only major subsys­tem China has openly acknowledged it has yet to master, relying on the imported Russian AL – 31F turbofan for both the J—11 and J—10 fighters.119 Shenyang Lim­ing Motor Corporation has produced a turbofan engine in the WS—10A Taihang (likely the product of substantial reverse engineering) that approaches the per­formance of the AL—31F, but takes twice as long to “spool up,” or obtain the same thrust output, as its Russian counterpart.120 This lag time could have life or death consequences for a pilot needing to restart his engine.

Chinese military aviation worked hard to incorporate indigenous systems into the J—11B. The upgraded systems were developed as improvements to the original Su—27SK, which was dated technology by the mid 1990s (the Soviet Air force began operating the Flanker in 1985). China’s subsequent decision to lobby Sukhoi to sell it an upgraded version of the Flanker was precipitated by a handful of factors. China was looking for a faster way to obtain increased fighter capabil­ity than was presented by developing indigenous upgrades. The 1995—1996 Tai­wan Strait crisis highlighted the real possibility of an armed conflict, which in turn reinforced previous conclusions about the centrality of Chinese airpower in prevailing in a Taiwan scenario. Displays of overwhelming U. S. airpower in the 1991 Gulf War were undoubtedly still fresh in the minds of Chinese military planners during the Strait crisis. In addition, the Russian government’s inabil­ity to regulate military transfers and the tenuous state of the national economy ensured that China could gain access to fighter technology that was closer to state of the art than Russia might have been willing to sell in better circumstances.121

The Su—30MK (modernizeerovannyy kommercheskiy—upgraded export variant) was already available on the international arms market at the time China was seeking an upgraded Flanker. Russia agreed to sell China a version of this aircraft, appending “K” to the name to denote the customer (kitayskiy— Chinese), in 1998. While the two-seat Su—30MKK was not the best fighter Russia was able to produce, it represented a significant jump forward for the PLAAF, particularly in terms of subsystems. The avionics suite incorporated cutting-edge digital processors that linked the primary avionics subsystems together via multiplex databuses.122 This made it possible for China to inte­grate new avionics components, either indigenously produced or purchased from a third party, as they became available. The first batch of 10 Su—30MKK aircraft entered service at Wuhu airbase in December 2000.123 Another 70 were delivered to China in 2001. China and Russia signed a contract in 2003 for the sale of a Su—30 variant with maritime strike capability (MK2), with the PLA – NAF taking possession of 24 of the aircraft in early 2004. The Su—30MKK is the most sophisticated fighter the PLAAF operates to this day—a mantle it is likely to wear until China’s fifth-generation fighter comes into service.

The Game of Influence is largely political in nature, with the major pow­ers vying for greater influence in a variety of arenas. As a result, the game’s scope may be confined to a region or along a much broader scale. For instance, a major power may seek to wield influence on a global scale, as the United States does, or the goal may be more limited in nature, such as China attempt­ing to assert dominance in the South China Sea. The major powers seek to dictate the “rules of the road” and to be accepted as the legitimate authority in their desired spheres. And while the game’s scope ranges across political and military arenas, the Game of Influence will not necessarily be played in every, or even the majority, of possible spheres. Instead, each power will only engage the other major power in the areas most relevant to its national interests.

Military power is often utilized in an important supporting role, but the focus of the two sides is not military victory or conquest. The major powers will largely seek to advance their goals through political posturing, economic power, and diplomatic dealings, but “soft” power is not sufficient when engaging another major military power. The political narrative of a state must be backed up by military power, by the credible threat of force. Force is one of the keys to deter violent actions by others and also serves as a tool for compellence. Military power is thus necessary to “enforce” and make credible political moves.

Despite this essential military aspect, the game remains largely non­zero-sum. Both powers will attempt to achieve their own interests, but one side’s “gain” is not necessarily the other side’s “loss” because both powers do not value all aspects of the game equally. The stakes in the game vary from incident to incident; one power may view an aspect of the game as more important than the other power does or both sides may hold similar views of the stakes. Nev­ertheless, the overall stakes are relatively symmetric in that both sides see the totality of maintaining and gaining influence in the game as important to their national interests. Responses to moves by the other side are determined by the nations’ levels of interest. Because the stakes vary, a response to an opposing move may not always be seen as necessary, and each side can escalate or dees – calate within the same game as interests dictate. Finally, the Battle over a Third Party may be played at the same time as the Game of Influence. But if a Game of Influence is played after a Great Power Game begins, the Game of Influence will take on a significantly different character due to the Great Power Game’s encompassing nature.

Rationale/explanation for the game. Military power in the Game of Influ­ence is utilized much differently than in the models of war familiar to Western militaries before the Cold War. Force is not used directly to prepare for or to engage in large-scale battle, but is utilized as a means of influencing the actions of the adversary.2 Now one of the primary goals of utilizing military power is shaping the national populations’ opinions of the ongoing competition, and both powers must be aware that there are internal and external audiences to be addressed. The primary objective for using force is not destroying an adver­sary’s military, though that may play a role in limited situations. The central objective for military power is to serve as a tool in convincing a power to accept the other side’s objectives.

What would it look like if the United States and China were engaged in this game? The ongoing South China Sea dispute over maritime boundaries and acceptable behavior in international waters is illustrative of this type of game. This is not primarily a military conflict, although military power is a neces­sary tool for both sides. China’s goal is apparently to have its interpretation of maritime laws and conduct accepted as the international norm. The United States, on the other hand, seeks to maintain the current norm. For both par­ties, this involves crafting different political narratives for regional and inter­national audiences. But it is also likely that both the United States and China may seek to gain influence and/or demonstrate influence by shows of military presence. This is not necessarily a demonstration of force, but, in the case of the United States, it is demonstrating that its navy maintains its right to oper­ate in international waters. In this game, it is possible that a military incident will occur, but military conquest or victory in a conflict is not the end game. The end game is the ability to define and, if necessary, legitimately enforce the norms in the region.

The Game of Influence is also taking place in the broader maritime arena. China is seeking greater control of exclusive economic zones (EEZs) as well as waters it defines as core interests outside EEZs or territorial waters. For China, regional and international acceptance of its control in the region and of its right as a naval power to engage in limited policing is crucial to its inter­ests. China maintains intermittent patrols and limited interdiction in these rel­evant sea areas with the goal of limiting resource extraction or transit by other nations. And even if not acknowledged fully in the international arena, a lim­ited acceptance of Chinese control by fishermen or resource extraction compa­nies in the region would be a win in this game for the Chinese because it would show that Chinese norms were accepted over those promulgated by the United States. Military power thus serves to bolster political control, but the use of military force is not the focus of this competition.

For decades, the United States has fielded dozens of noncombat aircraft that increase the effectiveness of its fighters and bombers. These “force multi­pliers”—the E-3 AWACS, the E-8 JSTARS (Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System), the KC-135, the RC-135, and others—help manage air combat, track moving targets on the ground, refuel aircraft to extend their range and endurance, and provide a variety of intelligence and electronic warfare (EW) capabilities. They are linchpins of not just U. S. air operations but also of the Pentagon’s overall concept for joint operations.

Until recently, the PLAAF has only aspired to such capabilities, and in the realm of in-flight refueling its capabilities remain minimal. With the deployment of the KJ-2000 AEW&C platform and multiple EW aircraft based on the Y-8, however, it has begun to make progress in a number of these areas. These specialized aircraft exist in small numbers and it is not at all clear how adept the PLAAF is in operating and exploiting these emerging capabilities, nor do we know how well they are integrated into Chinese operational con­cepts. But the steps we have seen them taking are significant and bear very close attention going forward.

Shen Pin-Luen

China’s aviation industry has been plagued by problems of inefficiency, redundant leadership, and overlapping organizational and bureaucratic struc­tures. In a closed system that had a planned economy and prioritized military development, such problems would not create much of an impact. But along with the inception of reform and opening-up and People’s Liberation Army (PLA) modernization, problems in China’s outdated aviation industry began to surface, prompting the People’s Republic of China (PRC) leadership to ini­tiate a series of reforms. In January 2006, the PRC State Council released the National Guideline on Medium and Long-term Program for Science and Tech­nology Development (2006-2020), which listed the development of large air­craft as a key national science and technology project.1 In May 2008, China established the Commercial Aircraft Corporation of China, Ltd. (COMAC), and in November 2008, China merged China Aviation Industry Corporation I (AVIC I) and China Aviation Industry Corporation II (AVIC II) to found China Aviation Industry Corporation (AVIC). This overhaul of the aviation sector is an indication that the pace of development and reform in China’s avi­ation industry is picking up. Therefore, China’s determination and injection of resources into the industry should not be underestimated by the outside world.

Due to the complexity of the development of China’s aviation industry and China’s tight control, most of the public information about the sector is general in nature and gives only an overview and the objectives of the industry. Truly useful analysis and documentation are rare. Therefore, this article seeks to provide a relatively objective and comprehensive analysis of the issue based on available information and personal observations.