FAST FORWARD
A Supersonic Trans Atlantic Flight by William Hartel

I grew up beneath the traffic pattern of military planes of the Glenview Naval Air Base. It was not infrequent that we had to suspend play because of the BAM-ROAR! of a sonic boom. With time we were able to identify a plane merely by the sound of its engine without looking up from our Wiffle Ball game ("F-4 Phantom and you were too out."). Supersonic flight over populated areas were outlawed in the late sixties due to complaints that the Sonic Booms shattered windows and fine china, so my repeated requests for a flight to break the sound barrier fell on, well, deaf ears.

FAST FORWARD- Really fast forward - I am writing this while flying at the speed sound. The pilot of Air France Concorde flight 001 to New York assures us that we do indeed create a “boom,” but “unless there is a ship directly 6 miles below us, no one will hear it.”

Supersonic flight was more than just a dream of mine. Man has contemplated flying faster than sound since the barrier was theorized in the 1930's, Many planes and pilots were lost in attempts to break the barrier - 761 miles per hour at sea level - "Mach 1" named for German scientist Ernst Mach who theorized the sound properties of an object passing the speed of sound in 1877. 

Chuck Yeager was the first to fly faster than Mach 1 when, in 1947, he piloted a plane designed in the shape of an object which routinely flew faster than sound, a 50 caliber bullet (in a letter from General Yeager in 1996, he admitted to me that he’d never flown Supersonic in a commercial aircraft, although he’d like to…).

The roots of this plane – AF Concorde 004 - trace back to the late 1956s when a European committee decided to examine the possibility of building a supersonic aircraft to cut the flight time from the U.S. to Europe. At the time the flight was an arduous 17 hour marathon by turbo prop from NY to Newfoundland to Ireland, to Paris. Those flights were made aboard a Lockheed Constellation (aka the “Queen of the Skies”). It is almost inconceivable that visionaries were contemplating a supersonic airliner years before the first jets were crossing the Atlantic.

Concorde was a joint venture between BOAC and Air France, amazing cooperation as those two countries cannot agree on what time of day it is or which side of the road to drive on. The Joint Supersonic Airline Commission was founded in 1963. The first prototype was completed in 1969 and test flights began the same year, but only after months of haggling over where the first supersonic flight should be made (each county was convinced that the historic first flight should be made there. Eventually France won those bragging rights.) 

Concorde passed all flight tests with ease, surpassing the expectations and the airline industry was chomping at the bit to get their hands on the futuristic flight “time machine.” TWA and Pan Am ordered more than a dozen Concordes each and other several other airlines followed suit. Then someone remembered that the Concorde needs jet fuel to operate - lots of it... and the price of oil had increased 1000% since the first tests were completed (from $1.70 a barrel to $11 per barrel). Concorde requires at least four times the fuel per passenger mile to travel supersonic (even more at slower speeds). While a 747 can carry 300 passengers across the Atlantic using 110 gallons of jet fuel per person, Concorde burns 500 gallons per person (think of it – 110 gallons of jet fuel per minute!) . U.S. airlines quickly reassessed their decisions and cancelled orders for the foreign-made airplanes. 

A total of 14 Concordes were built, split evenly between the two France and Great Britain, and flights to the U.S. commenced in 1977. (NOTE: The Cognac served in the Air France Concorde waiting lounge was 20 years old, distilled just months after flights to the U.S. were permitted). Almost immediately there was public backlash against the gas-guzzling noise-maker, and grass-roots organizations lobbied congress to restrict flights to coastal cities. Eventually Concordes were permitted to land only at Dulles and JFK (although for a short while there were supersonic jaunts from NY to Miami. 1:15 each way).

We are slicing through the upper atmosphere – 52,000 feet – and the Mach meter rolls from 1.99 – 2.00, twice the speed of sound.

The sky outside the postcard-sized window is the color of a brand new pair of blue jeans, dark indigo. (The window, by the way, is about 8 inches thick and consists of one pane of glass and two panes of acrylic – there is approximately two inches of space between each pane.) By smashing my forehead against the window I can barely see the tiny silhouettes of the 747s crossing the Atlantic 5 miles below. They are heading the same direction we are but appear to be traveling backwards as our speed is more than 4 times greater.

But there is no sense of speed whatsoever, and if it were not for the Mach meter mounted on the bulkhead, we’d have no idea that we were traveling faster than a rifle bullet. The takeoff run is another story. A 747 is a monstrous beast - the acceleration is gradual, and the takeoff speed is around 180 mph. The Concorde (considered by some pilots to be the most agile commercial plane of all time), is ¼ the weight of a loaded 747. It accelerates from 0 - 253 mph (takeoff velocity) in 30 seconds. Lifting my arm from the comfy leather armrest during takeoff was decidedly difficult. Not uncomfortable, but remarkable…. What was even more remarkable than the feel of the acceleration is the noise. Each of the 4 Rolls Royce engines generates 19 tons of thrust, and when the pilots apply “reheat” (“afterburner” in U.S. pilot-speak), the roar is deafening. I am left wondering whether the objection to supersonic travel over land was less about the Sonic Booms and more about the thrust required to achieve it.

Here at 11 miles above the ocean, the temperature is 40 degrees below zero. The air – what is left of it (90% of the atmosphere is beneath us) – is smooth as can be. Prior to take off, the flight attendants performed the required “briefing,” demonstrating how the oxygen mask drops from the overhead compartment. The masks looked the same as on conventional airliners, but the hose was reinforced steel. It is exceedingly unlikely that there would be any possible way to survive a depressurization at this altitude. The extreme low pressure would lead to immediate vaporization of fluids – our blood would boil, so to speak. Oxygen would be the least of our worries.

I prefer not to dwell on decompression, and instead turn my mind to the menu. I am wondering how the flight attendants will prepare the lobster flambé? Flambe means “flame,” right?

I get to tour the cockpit in flight, something that is never done aboard U.S. flights. The cockpit it extremely cramped, barely room for the three crew members. Unlike all other commercial aircraft, Concorde requires a flight engineer. He is seated just inside the cockpit door facing a three foot by three foot panel crammed with dials and switches. His main task is to monitor the shifting of fuel from one part of the plane to another. This shifting is imperative to the operation of Concorde as the proper balance of the aircraft at take off and landing is crucial. In addition, the fuel is used ingeniously to cool the aircraft at supersonic speed. Even thought the outside temperature is 40 below zero, our blazing speed heats the skin of the aircraft to more than 250 degrees F. In fact, the heat generated by friction causes the airplane to expand from 203 feet 9 inches to 204 feet 6 inches during the flight – of course the aircraft rebounds to its original size when it cools, which requires several hours on the ground. The expansion is greatest between the cockpit and the fuselage, and there is a 4 inch gap where the flight engineer stashes a briefcase for much of the trip. When Concorde is cool (prior to take off) this gap is just an inch wide.

We are two hours into the flight and the Mach meter reads 2.02. The heating of the aircraft is radiating to the cabin. The window is too hot to touch for more than 5 seconds. The captain tells us that as we burn off fuel, we ascend to the highest point of our flight, 62,000 feet. The horizon, we are told, is more than 300 miles away. With a smidgeon of imagination, I am able to make out the curvature of the Earth. 

A trip to the restroom reveals the one obvious shortcoming of this stunning aircraft. Apparently with the maximum flight time of just 4 hours, the engineers figured no one would have to use the bathroom. The Concorde restroom is decidedly small. The ceiling is curved (to match that of the fuselage) and it is impossible to stand – not just for a 6 foot individual, but for another over 5’ 5”. And if that individual has shoes larger than, say, size 4, it is impossible to face forward. Likewise, it is impossible to turn around without accidentally opening the accordion-style door. It happened to the passenger ahead of me, to me and the passenger after me. All of that said, they do have tiny bars of Mont Blanc soap and three types of lotions in the world’s highest restroom, and when I consider for a moment what astronauts and fighter pilots have for “relief” (a supersized diaper and a “motor man’s friend” hose contraption), I decide to quit complaining.

There is a drop in the noise level and the slightest dip of the noise of the plane and it is all too apparent that we are nearing the U.S. coast. The Concorde “regulars,” (and they are numerous) begin to close their laptops and shuffle their spreadsheets. The sky is no longer remarkably dark. We have left the edge of space and will soon be re-entering normal “subsonic” life. The Mach meter winds down from 1.9 – 1.6. The pilot advises us that we will be landing in half an hour and thanks us for choosing Air France Concorde and hopes that we will return for another trip in the near future. “Yeah, me too.”

It was a genuine thrill to fly twice the speed of sound and see the Earth from 11 miles up. Sadly, the plane I flew on - AF 004 - was destroyed in a freak accident July 2000. The entire Concorde fleet was grounded during the investigation. By the time Concorde service resumed in November 2001, the market for Supersonic Trans Atlantic service had waned. The airlines could no longer afford to keep Concorde in service and the remaining 10 planes were grounded for good in the end of 2003.
I am often asked when I think there will be another commercial supersonic airplane. “There must be another one on the drawing board,” people say. Unfortunately there are lots of them on the drawing board, but they are nothing more than lines and squiggles. Ronald Reagan proposed a Mach 25 Orient Express late in his administration, but even he could not convince the aviation industry to make it happen. There are no supersonic commercial planes in the works, and won’t be for 50 years. The Concorde factories were long ago dismantled when the orders dried up. We will be stuck flying the same speed we did in the mid 1960’s – about 500mph – for many years to come.

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