|
I grew up in the war years but my generation was too young to fly during World War II. We were old enough, however, to build model airplanes: Mustangs, Messerschmitts, Kittyhawks, Corsairs, Zeros, and Spitfires. We made these gallant fighters from balsa wood and glue and painted them in dark camouflage designs. We fought mock battles while holding the planes in the air, performing daring rolls and turns. Sometimes we tried flying them but that always ended in a disaster.
My favorite plane was the Mustang P-51. Those were the war years before jets and movies with sex and car crashes. We fought battles in the sky and tried to imagine what it would be like to fly these planes; but the war ended and another phase of air flight took precedence over prop planes—jet propulsion—followed by rockets and finally space travel. The glory days of flying, when pilots were in command, and not mission-control, were over. But not the dreams.
Now whoever would imagine, some 50 years later, that I would be sitting in a World War II fighter, a real one and not a replica, winging my way above the fields of France in a dogfight. Not a dream. Something real. It was chance that took me to Le Bourget airfield outside of Paris. I was in the French capital, along with photographer Robert Stedman, to meet the pilot and the team that successfully launched Breitling Orbiter 3, the first nonstop balloon flight around the world. Two months before, Robert and I had been invited by Breitling to cover the balloon launching in Switzerland but after weeks of delays, waiting for the weather to clear, we gave up. Unfortunately, it was the day before the flight took off. Breitling, wanting to make up for our loss of time, now invited us to the Paris Air Show where we would meet Brian Jones, one of the two pilots of Orbiter 3, and the team that successfully launched the balloon.
Aside from sponsoring Orbiter 3, Breitling has gathered what they call the "Breitling Fighters," a collection of World War II flying legends, all propeller fighters that made their mark during the dark hours of the war. These include Spitfire, Kittyhawk, Mustang, Corsair, Messerschmitt, and Yakovlev, which are all kept in pristine condition and represent extremely rare specimens. For most aircraft, only three to five operational models are left. The Messerschmitt, for example, is one of the only examples still in flying condition out of the 33,000 planes originally built.
Aside from the fighter planes —which have been equipped with Breitling time pieces and instruments—they have brought together a team of experienced pilots who fly the planes at various air shows across Europe, and, occasionally, for movie productions. Their planes have appeared in movies like Memphis Bell and Empire of the Sun. The demonstrations, which I soon learned, included "dogfight" simulations.
With the exception of Breitling's T-6 Harvard two-seat trainer, all the fighters were originally single seaters. "But to give people the thrill of flying in a World War II fighter, we have removed fuel tanks and installed second seats," explained Breitling's Aviation Department Director Stefano Albinati who is a pilot himself, and was flying a Cananair RS jet that located the Orbiter 3 when it landed in the Egyptian desert. "Our P-51 Mustang is one example," Albinati said. “A Mustang with a second seat!”
What was soon to happen became one of the most exciting days of my life. My mind was no longer on the Paris Air Show and F-16 and Mirage fighters doing daring exhibitions overhead. I was thinking of dog fighting in a vintage fighter, like I had dreamed when, as a youth, I held model airplanes in my hand. Albinati arranged for Robert and me to do just that, to fly in a dogfight over France. Of course, we agreed.
How fast things happen. Before I knew it we were whipped to a helicopter pad and found ourselves flying in a six-passenger helicopter across Paris to Loimeilles Portoise, a small airport where Breitling keeps its collection of fighters.
What a marvelous way to see Paris, following the Seine River, past the Eiffel Tower, above the Arch of Triumph and Champs Elysees to the Louvre and beyond. But all this was soon forgotten when we saw the fighters lined up at the edge of the field. There they were, a P-51 Mustang, T-6 Harvard, an L-39 Albatross jet fighter plus a few others.
It was agreed that Robert would fly in the Mustang and the T-6, with a pilot and me, would attempt to out-fly it. We were briefed on the aircraft by Mark Hanna, a 40-year old New Zealand pilot who gave up the RAF to join Breitling. Although the T-6, according to Mark, is not as fast as the Mustang, it is more maneuverable and comfortable with a hatch aft that I could slide back to take photographs.
The Mustang was originally conceived in 1940 to meet an urgent RAF need for a new fighter to join in the defense of Britain. Production by North American Aviation began the same year and later, in Britain, the planes were first delivered with Allisons but they gave such poor high altitude performance that the Brits swapped’m for Merlins. Results were staggering. The aircraft performed as a high-altitude fighter that rapidly became recognized as a fearsome adversary by German and Japanese pilots, proving to be one of the best allied aircraft of the war. Its long endurance enabled it to fly over Berlin and Tokyo, escorting B-17 and B-24 bombers throughout their hazardous missions. Some 15,000 P-51s were built between 1942 and 1945. There are an estimated 200-300 left, but of those, less than a dozen are still flying.
My pilot was Keith Killing who had 35 years flying experience and was still with Air New Zealand but on a six-month, non-paid leave to fly circus with Breitling. Keith had me outfitted with a flying suit and gave me a briefing. He explained that we would experience up to G force 4 in coming out of a dive but before attempting any difficult maneuvers, he would make a few easy spins and turns to see if I was up to it. I agreed with taking it easy at first. After all, I didn't want to shatter my boyhood dream by getting sick now.
Killing slid back the hatch and I climbed aboard. He adjusted my parachute and instructed me how to pull the ripcord should the need arise for us to bail out. He then buckled me into my seat, making certain the straps were secure and that I knew how to unsnap the harness if we got into trouble.
First, release the harness and open the hatch, next step out on to the wing, then jump, and finally, and only then, pull the ripcord. Did I have it right? The ripcord last. It's surprising how a simple operation can become so confusing under stress. My thought, as we taxied down the runway was “this is the harness and this is the ripcord.” I didn't think I would ever get it right.
While Killing took his position in the front pilot seat, I looked around the cockpit. I studied the dials: altimeter, fuel pressure, oil pressure, temperature, fuel temperature, artificial horizon, ignition, throttle, rpm gauge. On the floorboard were two pedals and, between my legs, the stick that maneuvered the plane. Separating me from the world outside was nothing more than a thin sheet of metal, no thicker then a Campbell's soup tin, held to an equally thin frame with rows and rows of rivets. My seat was a pipe frame, half an inch thick, and my seat cushion was the parachute I sat upon. I checked the hatch. It slide back and forth, but would it lock tight, as if that mattered. The inside of the cockpit was painted green. I adjusted my headphone and, when I held the switch down, I was in communication with the pilot. But how could I possibly hold down the switch to contact the pilot when I needed both hands to hold on to my seat? And what about taking pictures? I wondered about the green paint; was that in case I got sick?
|
Helicopter takes us to the landing field
Stephens aboard the helicopter traveling to the dogfights
Looking down at the Seine River in Paris
Captain Killer, leader of the pack
Photographer Stedman poses in front of his P-51
Robert gets instructions
Robert double checks. You sure this is right!
No wheel only a stick
Now shooting straight up
And now we are upside down
That’s the ground down there
The ground, it should be down not up
Close combat when you can see the enemy smile
The glamour started when Snoopy took up flying
We all envied Steve Canyon, the comic strip hero
A Spitfire comes in for the kill
History in the making, a Red Barron dogfight
Was it ground fire or a dogfight that did in the Barron?
|
|
I waited. It was getting uncomfortably warm. I slid back the hatch and there to our right was Robert in his P-51, ready to challenge me in air combat. He was seated behind the pilot and, even under his helmet, I could see him beaming. We gave the thumbs up. He would take off first and we would follow. Twelve miles to the southeast of the airport, at 2,000 feet, we would chase Robert and his pilot for thousands below to watch.
Killing pushed the ignition switch; there followed a slight stutter. He pushed it again. Puffs of gray smoke spewed out of the engine and the propeller begins to turn. Pom pom, puff puff, pom pom pom. The engine sparks to life and the plane shook so violently that it was hard to read the dials. More throttle, and now only the brakes held us back. It’s all action now. Killing throttles back, releases the brakes, and slowly we begin to move, taxiing down the runway with the P-51 at our side.
I remember the briefing. It's easier to fly a modern jet than a World War II fighter. Much of it is “feel.” During take-off the pilot cannot apply full throttle or the plane will veer to the right. Only when the wheels leave the ground and the ship is airborne can the pilot apply full throttle.
We reach the end of the runway, turn, and are ready for takeoff. Remember, I tell myself, the ripcord last. I look up to see Robert in his P-51 zoom down the runway and take to the sky. We follow. The sensation is not at all what I expect. The flight is easy and smooth. We are flying. The ground is falling away below us. We are not moving; the ground is moving. Japanese Zero, where are you!
The Red Baron, von Richtofen, Snoopy in Peanuts, nothing has changed. All fears vanish. The French countryside below takes on a beauty all its own: Forests, green fields, farmhouses, hedge rows and trees following the roads. Chateaux appear, in cleared wooded areas, with long drives through the trees leading to them. I feel that I am flying in a World War II movie. Cameras! Action!
Killing dips to one side and then another. He comes over the intercom, “Everything okay?” I respond in the positive. I don’t have to hold on to my seat. Look, no hands! He then goes into an easy dive. The feeling is exhilarating. I look around. Where is Robert? I hadn’t noticed but he is coming up behind us. Killing now suddenly turns the nose upward and we begin to climb. The ground is no longer where it is supposed to be, below us; it's above us. We reach the top of a loop and begin to fall backwards. My body feels like a weight. I dig my left hand into my seat, holding onto metal, trying to balance my camera with my right hand. I see the P-51, and then I don't. Where did it go? Killing has it in his sights. It vanishes and Robert is gone.
Killing now puts us into a dive, pulls back on the stick, and we enter a barrel roll, falling back on ourselves, and now the earth comes spinning and twisting somewhere below. All I can think about now is how in the hell does Killing know where top is from bottom. I am so overwhelmed with our spinning that I find it impossible to concentrate on the dials. Concentrate! I can't even look at them. I leave that to the pilot.
We level off, and suddenly Robert is alongside, our wings almost touching. I hadn't seen him. We would have been dead had this been war. We follow in tight formation, with Robert giving me thumbs up, and then, almost like he is bored, he shoots ahead, falls into an easy dive and disappears, with us in hot pursuit. We can’t catch him. We climb, go into another spin, but still cannot see him. No wonder P-51s were the most feared planes in the sky.
We had champagne that night at dinner with the pilots. I could now talk about barrel rolls and G forces and the thrill of flying like it used to be. But more important, I had lived a part of history, if some 50 years later.
I did get to know Brian Jones and I learned how it felt to glide in a balloon around the world. But poor Brian, he had to listen to me too, about my barrel rolls and loops.
Next week we are going outdoors all the way, to the Triathlon games in beautiful Phuket. Join us in the fun.
|
