Flying Carpet

Flying fast--and slow

With just one missile remaining, I corkscrewed through the sky, losing sight of my adversary and panicking that he was behind me--then framing him in my sights only to have him slip away again. In the interest of family harmony, it's probably just as well that I didn't succeed in downing my brother-in-law. We were battling in combat simulators at my son Austin's graduation from F-16 training at Luke Air Force Base, Arizona.

After so many long journeys to celebrate Austin's various Air Force milestones, it had seemed odd flying just one short hour from Flagstaff to nearby Glendale Airport west of Phoenix. Luke boasts the largest fighter training base in the Western world, so beyond the security gate I anticipated futuristic high-tech installations. To my disappointment, what was inside the gate looked hardly different from what's outside. That all changed at the flight line, of course, where endless legions of F-16 fighter jets crouched menacingly under sun shelters.

First on our graduation weekend agenda was the traditional "spouse taxi." We intercepted our daughter-in-law, Desi, at flight ops, incongruously outfitted in Austin's fighter-pilot flight suit and tennis shoes. Even with her pants and sleeves rolled up, Desi looked downright glamorous. The women had just completed emergency egress training, along with communications briefings where each was assigned mostly nonsensical radio transmissions for her "flight."

A boisterous throng of guests and fighter pilots escorted the cheerfully chattering spouses to the flight line. There, each was installed behind his or her spouse's IP (instructor pilot) in a "D-model" two-seat F-16. Introducing his own IP, "Dutch," Austin buckled Desi into the rear cockpit and secured his helmet on her head. Ground crew members then preflighted each jet; monitored engine start; and, upon signal, released chocks. In awe we watched the fighters taxi in precisely choreographed harmony out of sight. While waiting for Desi's taxi run, Austin and I admired landing pairs of F-16s, noting their absurdly high pre-touchdown angles of attack.

"See that jet making the low pass?" Austin said, pointing. "He's simulating flame-out for training." The jet rocketed up 10,000 feet in the traffic pattern, chopped power to the single engine, and plummeted dead-stick for landing.

"What's the engine-out glide ratio in F-16s?" I asked, noting the jet's tiny wings.

"It's about one foot down for every foot forward," he replied. "They've probably lost 5,000 feet just crossing the field." We light-airplane pilots glide roughly 10 times farther per foot of altitude when practicing engine-out emergency landings.

Holding ears against the noise, the assembled crowd cheered each spouse-taxi aircraft as it accelerated on the runway almost to takeoff speed and then braked to a stop. "Wish we could have actually flown!" Desi exclaimed when she emerged from the cockpit. "I think I'll earn my own pilot certificate one of these days!" The USAF Aero Clubs accept spouses, so pursuing that objective should be easy when she's ready. Frankly, as a lifelong pilot I didn't fully appreciate the taxi program until meeting a nearby F-16 crew chief. "Each of my 23 years in the Air Force I've requested a spouse taxi for my wife," he explained, trying to look tough but beaming anyway. "Finally, today she got it!"

Next we crowded into Luke's control tower with a dozen or so controllers and trainees. "We closed the field for almost an hour last night when three jets took the wire, one at 140 knots," explained a young airman. "Poor weather caused them to land long after shooting the instrument approach to touchdown with a tailwind. No one else could fly until the ground crews cleared them off." It turns out that Air Force runways feature arresting wires like those on aircraft carriers, to prevent overruns. En route to our flight simulator appointment, Austin told of catching a wire himself. "Following a landing gear problem, I used the hook during a precautionary landing at the short Gila Bend auxiliary strip," he said. "You stop mighty quick after catching the wire--it's crazy!"

F-16 combat simulators are configured like igloos with the fighter cockpit situated at the opening. After climbing into the pilot seat, you slide into a tiny geodesic dome yielding 360-degree cockpit visibility. Multiple simulators can be electronically interconnected, allowing the occupants to battle each other.

When my own simulator took flight, I was quickly reminded that, from the beginnings of aerial combat in World War I, whoever sees the other guy first is most likely to win. Granted, the F-16's many classified advanced combat features are disabled for civilian sim pilots, but I soon learned that anytime I couldn't see my opponent, he was likely stalking me from behind.

A more painful lesson came later while combating my young nephew, Iain. I had assumed that my years of flying experience would favor me over the uninitiated 16-year-old, but Iain conclusively proved that flying fighters is a young person's vocation. Over and over, he shot me down, while I never succeeded in hitting his jet once.

Most emotional for me, however, was standing on the ramp beside my son amidst the ear-shattering whine of F-16 engines, and considering that, in my own lifetime, I will never experience this pinnacle of piloting. I reassured myself by remembering Austin's words when we last flew the Flying Carpet together.

"It's great flying low and slow for a change," he had observed. "You get to relax and enjoy the sights out the window. Best of all, you're not constantly being graded. Don't get me wrong," he'd reassured me upon noting my look of surprise, "there's nothing cooler than piloting a fighter, but there are special joys unique to flying light airplanes, too. Hopefully I'll always get to fly both."

Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, Job Hunting for Pilots, and You Can Fly! Visit his Web site.