Why Retiring the A-10 Warthog Is a Mistake America Can’t Afford to Make 

By Dan Rivera

There’s a certain kind of truth that lives in the sound of the A-10 Thunderbolt II—better known as the Warthog. It’s not pretty, not sleek, and not built for airshows. It’s built for war. Built to save lives. Built to come in low and slow, when everything else is too fast, too fragile, or too late. And now, in what feels like a gross miscalculation of politics over practicality, the Pentagon wants to retire it.

That’s a mistake.

The A-10 is not just another airframe; it is a lifeline to the troops on the ground. Ask any infantry soldier who's ever been pinned down by enemy fire, and they’ll tell you the same thing: the unmistakable BRRRRT of the GAU-8 Avenger cannon is the sound of hope. The Warthog was designed from the ground up for one purpose—close air support (CAS). Thick armor. Redundant flight systems. A titanium bathtub to protect the pilot. It can take hits, keep flying, and deliver punishment with unmatched precision.

The F-35, by contrast, is a technological marvel—an aircraft that tries to be everything to everyone. Stealthy, networked, multi-role. But what it gains in versatility, it loses in specialization. The F-35 is too fast, too fragile, and too high-tech for the brutal realities of CAS. Its high operating cost, dependency on software, and limited loiter time make it a poor substitute for the rugged reliability of the A-10.

More importantly, the F-35 simply wasn’t designed to fly low and slow under fire. It’s not meant to circle a battlefield at 300 feet, taking hits and returning fire with surgical accuracy. It can’t replace the A-10 any more than a scalpel can replace a sledgehammer when what you need is brute force to save American lives.

Retiring the Warthog isn’t just a tactical error—it’s a moral one. The people making these decisions often sit in boardrooms and think in terms of cost-efficiency and battlefield theory. But war is not fought on spreadsheets. It’s fought in mud, in chaos, in blood and fire—and in those hellish moments, the A-10 is a guardian angel.

Some argue that warfare is changing, that future conflicts will rely more on drones, cyber attacks, and standoff weapons. Maybe so. But boots will still hit the ground, and those boots will still need cover from above. Until we have something better—something truly built for the same brutal mission as the Warthog—we shouldn’t be so quick to mothball it.

The A-10 doesn’t care about politics or profit margins. It only cares about one thing: getting the job done and bringing our troops home alive. And until another aircraft can say the same with a straight face, we should keep the Warthog flying.

Because America doesn’t just need air dominance—we need heart. And the A-10 has always flown with both.