During a stop at Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar—where the sun-baked tarmac and forward-deployed nerves remind you this isn’t just a photo op—Donald Trump took a moment between troop handshakes to do what he does best: make bold declarations. This time, it wasn’t about tariffs or NATO dues.
It was jets. Specifically, a hypothetical twin-engine “F-55” and a souped-up “F-22 Super,” neither of which currently exists, but both of which are already raising eyebrows across Pentagon hallways and defense contractor boardrooms.
The F-35 Isn’t Dead
The F-35 Lightning II, for all its sleek marketing and multinational buy-ins, has always walked a tightrope between revolutionary and over-budget headache. A single-engine platform that tries to be everything (air-to-air, air-to-ground, vertical lift) has inevitably faced compromises.
Maintenance costs are steep. Readiness rates fluctuate more than Pentagon priorities. And yes, there’s still lingering grumbling in pilot circles about software glitches and situational awareness issues.
Trump’s problem with it? One engine. “I’m not a fan of single engines on fighter jets,” he told the crowd. That’s not just idle talk. Combat aircraft operating over long stretches of water or in remote theaters—think Pacific island chains or Arctic intercept zones—are often one bird strike away from disaster if they rely on a solo powerplant.
A dual-engine platform could address that, and bring more thrust, payload capacity, and survivability to the table. But here’s where things get dicey: retrofitting the F-35 into a twin-engine platform isn’t an upgrade. It’s a teardown.
You’d be designing a new fuselage, a new thermal management system, rethinking intakes, exhaust vectors, and center of gravity—basically starting from zero—and still having to call it the F-55 to keep the press release tidy. It’s like calling a pickup truck a “muscle car with a flatbed.”
What Would an F-55 Look Like?
If we take the concept seriously, the F-55 would likely be less of a derivative and more of a fork in the design tree. It could be a possible cousin to the Air Force’s NGAD (Next Generation Air Dominance) program or even a placeholder idea that mirrors the Navy’s F/A-XX ambitions.
Either way, the design team would need to accommodate stealth, sensor fusion, range, and adaptability into a twin-engine airframe without replicating the same cost spiral that dogged the F-35 for two decades.
Then there’s the procurement reality. Building a twin-engine stealth fighter from scratch takes a decade if you’re lucky, and that’s if Congress doesn’t kneecap the budget halfway through because someone shouted “wasteful spending” during a hearing.
The F-22 Super
Trump also nodded to a “modernized” F-22, which, if we’re being charitable, sounds like a tactical admission that canceling the Raptor line in 2011 was short-sighted. The F-22 is still, in raw dogfighting terms, the most capable air superiority platform the U.S. has. Its radar cross-section is minuscule. Its thrust vectoring is surgical. But it’s also aging. The onboard computer still runs on early 2000s architecture, and its data-sharing capabilities feel pre-iPhone.
“F-22 Super,” as Trump dubbed it, might involve retrofitting some of the NGAD’s sensor and AI-driven threat-detection tech into the Raptor’s bones. But resurrecting the production line isn’t just a matter of dusting off blueprints.
Some tooling has been destroyed. Skilled labor has moved on. Supply chains have shifted. It’d be like trying to rebuild a discontinued sports car, except that every bolt costs six figures and has to pass military-grade stress tests.
The Bigger Play
It’s not unusual for presidential visits to include defense teasers, but this announcement comes at a curious time. The Air Force is already deep into NGAD development. The Navy’s sixth-gen plans are underway. So is Trump floating the F-55 and F-22 Super as policy, or as political theater? Possibly both.
The dual-engine debate is real. So is the need to replace aging platforms with adaptable, survivable aircraft that can operate in contested airspace, jammed environments, and near-peer combat zones. But these aren’t off-the-shelf solutions. The F-55, as described, is not a variant. It’s an entirely new class of fighter. And the F-22 Super? It’s only as viable as the budget and political will behind it.
Bottom Line
Both proposals scratch at real operational itches—long-range survivability, engine redundancy, air superiority—but neither is a plug-and-play fix. Turning a fighter concept into something pilots can actually fly, maintain, and survive in takes years of R&D, billions in funding, and countless behind-the-scenes compromises between Pentagon planners and the industry partners who make it all possible.
If this ever moves past a press line in Qatar, we’ll find out whether the F-55 and F-22 Super are serious bids to shape the future of air combat—or just flashy acronyms designed to win a news cycle.