Married at First Flight: Which aerospace powers are swiping right after NGF?

The disintegration of the Next Generation Fighter (NGF) element of Europe’s Future Combat Air System has left the global combat-aircraft industry looking rather like the morning after a disastrous speed-dating convention. Delegations that spent years discussing “shared visions” are suddenly back on the market, updating their relationship status. But who will date? And will it last? It’s time for the most expensive dating show in history…welcome to Fighter Island!

Modern fighters are so expensive that few nations can build one on their own. Unfortunately, international defence programmes often start as a strategic partnership and end as a toxic situationship. Everyone talks about love, then three years later, they’re arguing over intellectual property and workshare, and leaving in the morning with their underwear and books in a box. With NGF apparently joining the long list of aerospace relationships that consciously uncoupled faster than a canard delta in freak crosswinds, we ask: Who swipes right next?

France is already eyeing the single life, Germany is rather desperately flirting across the entire European industrial bar, and Spain is simply hoping someone texts back with a dickpic with an Airbus logo attached.

Our panel of entirely unqualified romantic aerospace matchmakers investigates. Sit back as we explain the whole complex situation in 4500 words that won’t feel like homework.

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France and India

Wait, are France and India not married? They already run like an old, comfortable ‘monogamish’ relationship: India flies French fighters and wants more. They seem like such a nice couple. Sure, every so often, after a couple of glasses of Haywards 5000, India brings up that awkward night France halted Mirage 2000 production with a mildly resentful “remember when you left me on read for three months?” and France changes the subject, but they still end up back together.

For France, India is the ideal partner: serious money and scale. Enough to make a next-gen fighter programme feel viable rather than a vanity project that leaves the mortgage unpaid. They also (importantly) share France’s love of forcing planes to land on boats.

For India, France offers something equally tempting: advanced aerospace tech leading to eventual happy celibacy. Meanwhile, France worries that it could eventually become a subordinate partner to a nation with a greater appetite.

Though largely harmonious, they wonder if they really want the same thing after all. India wants tech transfer and local production (secretly, it wants to learn enough to eventually leave France and ‘go monk mode’).

Add in India’s lingering situationship with its mental ex, Russia, and the whole thing gets even more complicated and emotionally unresolved. The chemistry is obvious. The sex is still great. But did I see S-400s in her bedside drawer?

The only real question is who gets custody of the source code after the breakup… or the wedding… or whatever this is. Both claim to want independence, but could the attraction be too great to keep them apart? India just hopes France never finds the romantic video Israel sent them:

Compatibility Rating: 8/10

Odds of Getting It On: 4/1

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Sweden and Brazil

These sassy underdogs from series 2 of Fighter Island were a huge hit with the public for their fresh approach to military aircraft. Who could forget the lovable cringy moment when Brazil named its transport aircraft Millennium as a tribute to its love of Robbie Williams? Or their classic trolling of the US in calling the Brazilian Gripen the F-39? Clearly a fun couple, yet sensible too.

Unlike many speculative partnerships, this one is built upon an existing relationship. Brazil’s Gripen programme has created real industrial cooperation, real trust and real experience working together. Engineers know each other. Managers know each other. Procurement officials have already survived meetings together. Brazilians have braved pickled herring, and Swedes have fallen for churrasco.

Both nations occupy a similar strategic niche. Neither possesses superpower resources. Neither can casually spend hundreds of billions pursuing technological perfection. Both, therefore, specialise in designing practical, efficient systems that deliver impressive capability without requiring the GDP of a medium-sized continent. There is also philosophical compatibility, even if Swedes are bad at emotional expression and samba.

Swedish aerospace engineering traditionally emphasises flexibility, affordability and intelligent design. Brazil’s aerospace industry has developed under similar pressures, producing sophisticated products while remaining acutely cost-conscious. Neither side suffers from a pathological belief that every aircraft must also be capable of solving climate change and making espresso.

A future joint fighter could occupy an attractive position in the market: advanced enough to compete, affordable enough to export and independent enough to appeal to nations seeking alternatives to American, Chinese or major European suppliers.

The obvious challenge is scale.

Even together, Sweden and Brazil remain smaller than the giant coalitions behind competing sixth-generation programmes. Additional partners might eventually be required, along with substantial export success.

Still, compared with many proposed partnerships, this one has something unusual.

Evidence. But in dating-show parlance, they’re already sharing a Netflix password. But (and I like big butts) neither has their own motor, and it is handy if at least one partner can drive.

Compatibility Rating: 9/10

Odds of Getting It On: 3/1

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Germany and GCAP

This would be one of the most powerful aerospace partnerships imaginable (barring Sweden and France signing up too). It would also be the defence-industrial equivalent of somebody announcing they are embracing the single life before immediately downloading three dating apps and parking on the edge of the woods at a dogging hotspot.

The attraction is obvious. Germany brings enormous industrial capacity, engineering expertise and financial resources. It’s good at making stuff. Britain contributes combat-aircraft experience and programme leadership (yes, with the usual caveats). Italy supplies aerospace depth and manufacturing capability. Japan brings advanced technology, serious funding and an admirable willingness to actually make decisions. Together, they could create an aerospace coalition with resources unmatched by any fighter programme outside the United States.

Germany would not be greeted by a blank canvas. GCAP already exists. The partners have spent years negotiating industrial responsibilities, agreeing on governance structures and learning not to throw things at one another during meetings. Adding Germany would be rather like arriving halfway through an established polyamorous relationship and asking whether everybody would mind if you moved in and took the master bedroom. Nobody particularly enjoys that conversation, especially when it is conducted with the bluntness of a panicking German.

Questions would emerge immediately. How much workshare does Germany receive? Which existing partner gives some up? How much influence accompanies Berlin’s funding? Does Airbus join the arrangement? And what’s the quickest way to assign Germany the task of working on the aspect it has no experience in?

The timing makes the situation even more amusing. German officials have already suggested that going it alone remains a serious option. Airbus has reportedly explored alternative partnerships, and Berlin has openly discussed nationally led approaches.

In dating terms, Germany has spent the last week telling friends it is perfectly happy being single, but is acting a bit crazy. It has stopped behaving like a single eligible bachelor and has started acting more like three separate ones. One day it is whispering sweet nothings to GCAP, the next it is revisiting old FCAS photos, and occasionally it stares into the mirror and wonders whether it should just build something itself and never text anyone again. „War ich in der Flugzeugwelt nicht mal eine ziemlich große Nummer?“

It has then spent the following week asking whether GCAP is seeing anybody.

Export policy could also prove entertaining. Britain generally regards exports as evidence that a programme is succeeding, regardless of whether they make ethical or practical sense. Germany (somewhat selectively) tries to avoid selling kits to active war criminals. Japan is delighted it can sell explodey things again. Italy will likely spend much of the discussion wondering why nobody else can simply act like grown-ups.

In an increasingly chaotic dating scene, now quite bizarrely, GCAP looks like a stable, long-term relationship, but the kind where everyone smiles in press photos while quietly kicking each other under the tablecloth. Japan is politely exploring side-pieces; Italy wants a slightly greater say in how the flat is decorated, and the UK insists everything is fine, in a tone that suggests it absolutely isn’t. (Japan and the UK love doing things extremely slowly, bespoke and very expensively, the latter doing so in the name of frugality.)

Yet there are compelling reasons to make it work.

Germany may conclude that joining an existing relationship is cheaper, faster and less risky than furnishing an entire flat in Munich on its own. The existing GCAP partners may decide that Germany’s money and industrial heft are worth making room for another toothbrush in the bathroom.

Everyone insists that communication is excellent, expectations are clearly defined, and boundaries are fully respected. Though at some point Germany will have to explain the complicated “nuclear family” it has with the US. Which means defence analysts should expect a major argument before Christmas.

Compatibility Rating: 7/10

Odds of Joining the Relationship: 5/1

Russia and India

Every dating programme eventually features that one couple whose friends keep asking the same question.

“Why are you seeing your ex again?”

Russia and India occupy that category with remarkable consistency.

Historically, the relationship made perfect sense. Russia supplied fighters, tanks, submarines and missiles. India gained access to military capability on terms few other suppliers could match. For decades, the partnership appeared durable and mutually beneficial. But the neighbours could hear the truth through the walls.

Then complications accumulated. Russia was furious about India’s side bae France. Projects slipped behind schedule. Costs rose. Spare-parts support occasionally resembled a treasure hunt. India grew increasingly frustrated by delays and performance shortfalls. The FGFA episode* ended badly enough that many observers assumed the relationship had finally run its course. India left FGFA feeling it was just wanted for its money and was being lied to. And yet, here we are. The couple you can hear arguing in the corridor at 3 AM are flirting again. Sure, Russia is a drunk and beats up his exes, but he’s changed, right?

(*When Russia milked India for too much money for an unstealthy stealth fighter, something India walked out on, leaving Russia with a combat aircraft that even the Russian Air Force won’t properly commit to war)

India continues to diversify toward France, the United States, and domestic programmes. At the same time, Russian equipment remains deeply embedded across large sections of its armed forces. Replacing everything would be eye-wateringly expensive. Though ambitious to live alone, India still knows in its heart of hearts, if Tejas was anything to go by, it is happiest married.

Russia, meanwhile, still views India as one of its most important defence customers. The result is a relationship neither side fully trusts, and neither side can entirely abandon. In dating terms, India knows exactly why the previous breakup happened. Russia insists things will be different this time. Everybody else watches from a safe distance and quietly places bets on how long the reunion lasts. Ulta-pulta rishta.

Compatibility Rating: 5/10

Odds of Getting Back Together Again: 7/2

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France and Sweden

At first glance, France and Sweden appear surprisingly compatible. Hitting above their weight at doing things their own way, with excellent, reliable products and good at sales. Together, they could surely create something formidable.

The French would bring sophistication, resources, combat experience… and engines. The Swedes would bring pragmatism, efficiency and a refreshing tendency to ask whether a proposed feature actually needs to exist. This could be a healthy balance. But headstrong, independent France and commitment-averse Sweden would be a toxic pairing.

France generally prefers partnerships in which France occupies a leadership position. Sweden generally prefers partnerships in which Sweden remains meaningfully independent. Neither nation built a successful aerospace industry by enthusiastically accepting instructions from foreigners. French aerospace executives would possess strong views regarding who should be in charge. Swedish aerospace executives would possess equally strong views regarding who should not.

Both countries value home-cooked capabilities and advanced defence industrial sectors, appreciate that technological independence requires sustained investment, though only one force-feeds geese to enlarge the livers.

A partnership could therefore emerge if circumstances demanded it. The relationship would have considerable potential. The first five years would simply consist of arguing about whose idea it was. Both too proud; verdict: not a cat in hell’s chance.

Compatibility Rating: 4/10

Odds of Getting It On: 18/1

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Japan and the United States

Japan is married into a serious, respectable relationship with the UK and Italy through the Global Combat Air Programme. It’s not glamorous, but it’s built on trust: all three partners are pooling money, technology, and political patience to raise a “future fighter” together. It’s the long marriage where nobody gets rich quick, but everyone owns the house at the end.

Then a very powerful, very wealthy outsider arrives, the United States, offering something faster, shinier, and already halfway built: a next-generation fighter concept in the NGAD/F-47 direction.

And here’s where it turns into Indecent Proposal.

The American pitch is basically:

“Stay in your long, complicated marriage… or spend one night with me and walk away with something more advanced, sooner, and backed by the most powerful defence industry on Earth.”

GCAP, meanwhile, is the loyal spouse in the background, saying:

“We’re building something real together. It’ll take time; it’ll be hard, but it’s ours. Don’t trade that for convenience. Sure, you might not fancy me when we’re putting the recycling out together, but you know I’m not insane.”

The temptation is real because GCAP is slow, expensive, and politically fragile. The American offer is seductive because it promises capability sooner, not in the late 2030s.

But the catch, the classic twist in this story, is that accepting the “proposal” doesn’t just affect Japan. It risks collapsing trust in the entire GCAP relationship, leaving the UK and Italy wondering whether Japan ever really loved them. And Japan may regret getting back into bad with a lover who seems not quite the same person they once knew.

So Japan’s dilemma becomes the same moral pressure point as the film:

Do you stay loyal to the long-term relationship you built…

Or take the high-value shortcut that changes everything afterwards? And do it with the kind of rich douchebag who would suggest such a thing? Trump has already been reported to the dating app, but predictably, it is taking no responsibility.

And unlike the movie, there’s no single clean payoff, just a very expensive, very geopolitical consequence either way. Both very risky.

(The United States, of course, never formally joins the many relationship dramas mentioned, but somehow appears in every conversation anyway. NGAD is the desired but untrusted hottie who doesn’t even try to interfere, yet still ends up being the reason everyone checks their phone a little too often, even if everyone is a bit scared of how she, every now and again, smashes up partners’ houses and cars and then legs it down the road singing Limp Bizkit)

Compatibility Rating: 8/10

Odds of Getting It Going Badly For Everyone Else: 1/2

South Korea and Indonesia

Viewers fell in love with sexy Indonesia, despite her quirky flakiness, and square old South Korea proved too much of a snooze-fest. The attraction was obvious from the beginning. South Korea needed a partner for the KF-21 programme. Indonesia sought access to advanced aerospace technology without bearing the full development costs. Everybody smiled for photographs. Memoranda were signed. Optimism flowed freely. Then Indonesia felt trapped and worried she was being subsumed, longed for the thrill of single life.

Indonesia keeps breadcrumbing, offering the odd flirty but ambiguous WhatsApp message, while financial contributions have become intermittent, and oral sex becomes a rarity. South Korea hangs in there, partly because both sides still gain something from it. South Korea receives international participation and potential export credibility. Indonesia gains industrial knowledge, manufacturing experience and access to capabilities that would otherwise be difficult to obtain.

The difficulty is predictability. Defence programmes thrive on certainty. Aerospace engineers enjoy many things. Budget ambiguity is rarely among them.

Nevertheless, neither side appears eager to walk away completely. Too much effort has already been invested.

In dating-show terms, they are the couple who have broken up three times, reconciled twice, and continue to insist that everything is proceeding according to plan. Still, their child, the KF-21 may well prove to be a happy one, so maybe they will try for another? That’s if the American godfather doesn’t feel left out.

(Don’t tell Indonesia, but South Korea has quietly started building its own dating profile)

Compatibility Rating: 6/10

Odds of Remaining Together: 4/1

Spain and Italy

Unlike some proposed pairings, Spain and Italy already understand the joys and frustrations of multinational aerospace programmes. Both possess significant aerospace industries. Both have experience working within large European collaborations. Both occasionally feel overshadowed by larger powers while quietly doing a substantial proportion of the actual work. There is therefore a natural logic to the match. They work together on the Typhoon, and both love a Harrier. Neither country necessarily wants to dominate Europe other than culinarily (well, hasn’t for a long time anyway). Neither possesses the industrial weight of France nor Germany. Both understand that collaboration is not merely desirable but essential. Importantly, both countries tend to approach aerospace programmes with a relatively pragmatic mindset. The objective is generally to build aircraft rather than to engage in lengthy philosophical debates about the meaning of aircraft.

The challenge lies in scale and ambition, and in the fact that, like Romeo and Juliet, they are from rival families: Airbus and Leonardo. Would the parents approve? Would a Spanish-Italian fighter possess sufficient resources to compete against larger programmes? Could it attract additional partners? Would governments remain committed through inevitable budget crises and political changes?

Those questions remain unanswered.

Yet there is a respectable chance that both countries could pursue a deeper partnership if larger European projects continue to fragment.

This is not the glamorous celebrity couple of the fighting world. It is the sensible couple who quietly buy a modest house together while everybody else is still arguing on social media. History suggests they may have the last laugh if the parents ever let them.

Compatibility Rating: 8/10

Odds of Getting It On: 12/1

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The attraction of going solo is obvious

No disputes over intellectual property. No arguments over industrial participation. No committees containing representatives from twelve governments and seventeen subcontractors. No emergency summits were convened because somebody objected to the placement of a radar component. The joyful evolved simplicity of single life.

The disadvantage is equally obvious.

The development of modern combat aircraft costs an astonishing amount of money.

Follow Joe Coles and his thrilling Hush-Kit aviation world on Substack, Twitter X or Blue Sky. His superb Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes is available here while stocks last.

The bill eventually arrives.

And unlike a collaborative programme, there is nobody else at the table pretending to reach for their wallet.

France remains the classic solo dater. South Korea increasingly looks capable of looking after itself. Turkey continues trying to impress everyone in the room. Germany is the surprise new arrival: newly single, financially comfortable and loudly insisting it is perfectly happy on its own.

Which may well be true.

But the history of defence procurement suggests that, sooner or later, even the most self-sufficient aerospace power starts browsing the dating apps again.

Building a sixth-generation fighter entirely alone is rather like spending Saturday night with a glossy brochure of your own achievements. It may be satisfying, it avoids awkward compromises, and nobody can complain about your performance.

But eventually, you notice everyone else has split the bill. And the wankbank doesn’t do overdrafts. And that’s when the loneliness starts to get expensive.

France and Canada

At first glance, France and Canada appear an unlikely couple. One possesses a centuries-old habit of designing combat aircraft. The other has a centuries-old habit of debating whether it actually wants to buy any, and of banging on about the one that got away (the Arrow).

Yet there is more chemistry here than first appears, for they (at least some of them) share a love language.

Canada has long sought to maintain a meaningful aerospace sector while avoiding the astronomical costs of developing a combat aircraft independently. France, meanwhile, may emerge from the NGF collapse seeking partners who can contribute funding without immediately demanding control over half the programme.

There are genuine industrial links. Canada’s aerospace sector is world-class in several areas, particularly advanced manufacturing, systems integration and aerospace engineering. Politically, relations are generally friendly, and there is no historical baggage that often complicates European defence partnerships.

Canada’s real baggage lies elsewhere. It remains locked in a complicated on-again, off-again relationship with its toxic, domineering ex; the sort of ex who insists they’re not controlling, while quietly maintaining access to your bank account, social calendar and GPS location and threatening to kill you, then the next day acting loving and accusing you of acting ‘weird and hostile’. And, annoyingly for Canada, they share a child, little baby NORAD, with their gaslighting ex, so they will always be linked.

Any French-Canadian aerospace romance would therefore begin with the same awkward question that haunts many new relationships:

“That’s all very nice, but what does your ex think about it? And is it really your ex?”

There is also the small matter of geography. France’s strategic outlook is shaped by ambitions for military autonomy and global power projection. Canada’s defence priorities tend to involve North America, NATO and remaining on speaking terms with Washington. New-generation aircraft will be long-range, and Canada is massive.

Still, if Paris decides it wants a financially stable, technically capable partner with relatively low industrial drama, Canada could receive a discreet late-night text.

Whether Ottawa replies before changing its mind is another matter entirely. Or perhaps before its ex notices the message and starts asking questions. Sweden is a great rebound, but Canada may have her eyes on the next lover.

Compatibility Rating: 6/10

Odds of Getting It On: 10/1

Sweden’s UCAV – let’s not slutshame

Not every aerospace relationship needs to end in marriage. Increasingly, the hottest prospect in the fighter dating market isn’t a next-generation fighter at all, but the increasingly fashionable concept of Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA): loyal wingman drones designed to accompany crewed fighters into combat. Except, being Scandinavian, this one doesn’t wish to be defined in such a reductive way and is kinda more of a sleek UCAV that can do anything than a CCA.

Here, Sweden finds itself in an unusually attractive position. The sex-positive Saab has already been pursuing advanced autonomous combat aircraft concepts and possesses exactly the sort of expertise that many larger nations need. Unlike a full sixth-generation fighter programme, a CCA project is relatively affordable, politically manageable and less likely to end with ministers throwing briefing papers at one another. Sweden has a great track record, and its exes are happy to sing its praises.

The obvious suitor is Germany. Reports suggest Airbus has already explored closer cooperation with Saab following the collapse of NGF, and a loyal wingman programme would offer a comparatively low-risk way to test a broader industrial relationship. I’ve been a bit heteronormative so far, so let’s say she is checking her out but has yet to arrange a date.

The United Kingdom could also be interested. GCAP’s future concept of operations relies heavily on autonomous systems, and Swedish expertise would fit naturally into that. Italy might likewise see opportunities, while Spain’s position will depend heavily on where Airbus ultimately lands.

The attraction is simple. Developing an entire sixth-generation fighter together requires countries to agree on almost everything. Developing a drone merely requires them to agree on enough. In modern aerospace procurement, that qualifies as true love. And unlike a next-generation fighter, if the relationship goes wrong, at least the supersonic Saab job (who resembles her beautiful grandmother, the Draken) is designed to be expendable. She also has sisters (a crewed future fighter and a subsonic drone) who could be perfect dates for other singletons.

Compatibility Rating: 8/10

Odds of Getting It On: Depends Who’s Paying

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The European Megapolycule

Every dating show eventually reaches the point where somebody suggests an arrangement so ambitious, so optimistic, and so catastrophically complicated that producers immediately start ordering extra cameras. In aerospace terms, this is the dream of a truly pan-European sixth-generation fighter. Not Britain plus Italy plus Japan. Not France plus Germany plus Spain. Not some tidy arrangement involving two or three sensible partners. Everybody. Britain. France. Germany. Italy. Spain. Sweden. Possibly the Dutch. Perhaps Belgium. A Scandinavian or two. Any government capable of fogging a mirror and signing a memorandum of understanding.

On paper, it is irresistible.

The combined industrial base would be enormous. The available funding would dwarf existing programmes. Europe would field a single next-generation combat aircraft rather than spending decades building multiple aircraft that all perform roughly the same missions while politely pretending otherwise.

Meta-adour

The export potential would be immense. The political symbolism would be irresistible. Defence ministers would be photographed smiling so enthusiastically that they might sustain facial injuries and wearing camo so hard their elbows hurt.

The first challenge would be deciding who is in charge.

France would naturally assume it was France.

Britain would naturally assume it was Britain.

Germany would naturally commission a study examining alternative leadership models.

Italy would volunteer to mediate. Spain would request clarification. Sweden would go outside for a cigarette, quietly wondering whether everyone involved had suffered a head injury.

Every nation would want assembly work. Every nation would want software work. Every nation would want the interesting bits. Nobody would want responsibility for the boring bits until they discovered that the boring bits contained most of the money.

By year three, the governance structure would reach the level of complexity previously encountered only within the inner workings of a Facebook business page; first-flight dates would slip with the seasons. By year five, nobody would be entirely certain who was dating whom. Yet one cannot entirely dismiss the fantasy.

A united European programme would possess extraordinary strengths. It could concentrate resources, eliminate duplication, save (and make) a bunch of cash, and create a genuinely world-class aerospace capability.

The problem is that defence-industrial collaborations are difficult enough when three countries are involved. This proposal would make polyamorous relationships (which are rarely fractured by nationalism, workshare squabbles and mission creep) look refreshingly straightforward.

Still, there is something undeniably attractive about it.

A vast European aerospace megaproject. Shared costs. Shared expertise. Shared ambitions. Someone would always buy the milk.

Though the bed would get very hot, and there would always be a queue for the toilet.

Would it work?

Almost certainly not.

Would it be spectacular to watch?

Absolutely.

And in the fighter dating game, sometimes that’s enough.

Compatibility Rating: 3/10

Odds of Getting It On: 50/1

Odds of Everybody Regretting It Later: 1/5

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The real shift is that nobody is actually looking for marriage anymore, just overlapping arrangements with clearly defined weekend custody of subsystems and sensors. The fighter itself is becoming less a partner and more the centre of a sprawling, slightly dysfunctional social network that nobody fully controls. But I’m not one to gossip.

Tune in to season 3 for the exciting finale.

Follow Joe Coles and his thrilling Hush-Kit aviation world on Substack, Twitter X or Blue Sky. His superb Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes is available here while stocks last.