Every day, Taiwan’s fighter pilots rise before dawn, knowing the sky is their battlefield.
The buzzing of PLA jets in Taiwan’s airspace is no longer breaking news—it has become routine. The world keeps debating whether these incursions are rehearsals or just aimed at scaring everyone. But for the young men and women of the Republic of China Air Force (ROCAF), it makes no difference: every intercept, every radar lock, and every high-G turn tells a quiet story of determination, fatigue, and resolve.
Even if it were just for show, these incursions have an impact on Taiwanese pilots. And pilots are the most important asset of an air force.
“…airframes alone do not win wars, people do.”
Taiwan is not alone in this.
In May 2025, Indian and Pakistani jets clashed during Operation Sindoor. Jamming signals, drone swarms, and contested airspace overwhelmed even advanced aircraft. The lesson was sobering: in the modern sky, airframes alone do not win wars—people do. And these people must be ready for everything.
Taiwan has moved quickly to upgrade its arsenal. The arrival of 66 F-16V Block 70s, equipped with cutting-edge radars and U.S.-made precision munitions, marks a leap in capability. The T-5 Brave Eagle, a domestically built jet, doubles as a trainer and a light fighter. Older Mirage 2000-5s and Indigenous Defense Fighters (IDFs) have also been modernized to remain viable.
But beneath these headlines lies a deeper transformation—one less visible, yet far more consequential. Let’s unpack it.
ROCAF’s doctrine has shifted from seeking air superiority to enforcing air denial. That means dispersing assets, surviving the first wave of missile strikes, and using mobile launchers, drones, and short-range air defenses to prevent the PLA from controlling Taiwan’s airspace. Infrastructure has adapted too—hardened shelters, highway strips, and rapid runway repair teams now form the foundation of wartime resilience.
That’s good technology, yes. But it’s nothing without the human factor.
So, in Chiayi, Hualien, and Taitung, new pilots undergo a streamlined training pipeline that cuts 30% off the previous timeline. They start on T-34 turboprops, then transition to the T-5 for tactical instruction. The goal is clear: produce mission-ready pilots faster, without compromising quality.
“Nothing subtitutes for flight time.”
But the pace is punishing. To adapt, the Air Force Academy has overhauled its curriculum. New cadets study joint operations, electronic warfare, and intelligence fusion. Simulators replicate PLA tactics—radar jamming, multi-axis drone attacks, even psychological disruption. Regular highway takeoffs and dispersal drills, once rare, are now routine.
But nothing substitutes for flight time. And here, the strain is showing.
Fewer than half of ROCAF pilot trainees complete the full program. Each year, Taiwan gains only around 30 combat-capable pilots—far below its actual needs. Many leave for less stressful jobs in commercial aviation, lured by better pay and a life free from constant alerts.
Flying Fewer Hours, Losing More Pilots
Those who remain fly fewer hours than they should. In some squadrons, monthly flight time has dropped below 10 hours—well short of NATO’s 12–15 hour benchmark. Aging platforms and tight maintenance schedules limit aircraft availability. As a result, even Taiwan’s best pilots train on simulators more than in the air.
The government is trying to close the gap. Investments in live-virtual-constructive (LVC) simulation allow for more high-quality tactical training. Upgraded simulator infrastructure and better retention packages—such as mental health support, housing incentives, and clear career pathways—are helping. But these efforts are still playing catch-up.
The truth is that while Taiwan’s aircraft are improving, its pilots face extraordinary strain. And if nothing changes, the stress will break more than spirits—it will break deterrence.
Read also:
Airpower does not only rest on steel. It rests on people and the institutions that support them. Taiwan must treat pilot readiness not as a technical challenge, but a national one.
That means deepening public recognition of the burden these pilots carry. It means involving the tech sector to co-develop human–machine teaming and drone integration. And it means ensuring that every pilot who puts on a flight suit knows they are seen, supported, and not alone.
International partners, too, have a role. The United States and other supportive countries can go beyond equipment sales. They can expand LVC technology transfers, embed advisors to strengthen training systems, and bring Taiwan into more joint air exercises. The goal should not just be interoperability—it should be institutional trust, built over time.
A Strategy That Puts People First
Taiwan’s future will not be decided by the number of jets on a tarmac, but by the spirit of those who fly them.
These are sons and daughters, dreamers and defenders. They do not ask for attention. They ask for training, support, and time in the air. In return, they offer something priceless: vigilance without complaint, skill under stress, and the courage to fly straight into danger—all for the Taiwan people, the land, and the sky.
Because in a future conflict, Taiwan may have only days—not weeks—to respond. Its pilots will not be fighting for air superiority but for survival, for sovereignty, and for the hope of returning home.
We owe them more than thanks. We owe them a strategy that puts people first.