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Simulation For Real: Air Combat USA
by Bob "Groucho" MarksWheels up. Feet Wet!
We started up and taxied out together to runway 24 at Fullerton Municipal. After doing the run-up and getting our clearance for "Air Combat five, flight of two" we accelerated nicely into a scattered southern California sky. "This is a beautiful day for dogfighting," Jesse said, "The clouds make for nice video."
He was referring to the extensive video recording setup in the office of our SF-260. There were three lipstick cameras situated around the cockpit, with Jesse having a small LCD display below the gun sights to direct the action. I agreed with him on the weather. "Yeah. Beautiful."
He slid the Marchetti to the 4:30 low position of Brad's and Dooley's ride. "Your airplane. Keep her here in this position."
I grabbed the B-8 stick grip willingly and did my damnedest to keep the Italian trainer glued in that position. I found it to be surprisingly easy. This, I thought after a couple of minutes of following my soon-to-be-nemesis, is one sweet flying airplane. The flight controls felt tight and actually connected to something. Jesse complimented me on my concentration on Brad's airplane. As we crossed the shoreline just south of Long Beach, I said, "Feet wet."
Jesse laughed. "Yes sir! Feet wet."
"I have always wanted to say that."
"Hey Bob. How many fingers am I holding up?" I glanced over at him.
"Hey, what are you doing looking over here? Watch them!" he said, laughing.
"Psych!" He got me.
Getting clearance from Dooley, we began to practice gun sight alignment and the basic offensive maneuvers we were taught during the briefing. When we were done, Jesse took command of our airplane, now a target, as Dooley allowed Brad to do the same to us. When they were done practicing, we separated in preparation of our first engagement.
The amount of adrenaline running through your system at this point is truly incredible. I am not a particularly religious man, but I mentally repeated my prayer from earlier that day: "Please, God . . . don't let me screw up."
Engaging!
"OK, Bob, let's pull a high yo-yo for this one!" Jesse then hit the push-to-talk switch on his stick to transmit smack on the Air Combat company frequency. "We're coming to get you! Ha Ha!" Brad's and Dooley's Marchetti passed to our left wingtip at a closing speed of over 400 knots. "Fight's On!"
The two horsemen arrive
I pulled back on the stick immediately and pressed the left rudder to help kick us over. The rudder felt strangely stiff (to this date I'm unsure as to whether the rudder pedal was even connected to its intended surface—but it felt so right). Following the briefed technique, I turned my whole torso---not just my head---around to acquire my target. This keeps the G-forces from pinning your head to the back of the seat. At this point, for example, I was experiencing at least four times the pull of Mother earth. Yelling aloud now (the video reveals my exact exclamation as "Who's your daddy!") as I yanked the SF-260's nose around over the horizon seeking my foe, I saw Brad and Dooley sliding toward my gun sights.
This is where simulators come into the mix. My friends, there has been much debating over the benefits of simulation versus real life. As a mild-mannered general aviation pilot and general sim geek, I saw combat sims like a game or training aid. I had no idea. Sure, civilian- related sims like FS2K and Fly! are great ways to familiarize one's self with VOR navigation and communication intricacies, but how doe EAW, Falcon 4, or even CFS2 simulate the rigors and demands of aerial combat? Pretty damn well, as I saw it.
It's hard to put too fine a point on it, but sims seem to help reconcile your brain as to whether to push, pull, or slide your intended target into the kill view. In this case, however, the view system is MUCH more intuitive. It worked. Brad ended up reversing his turn during this particular engagement, and I squeezed the trigger to zap him with enough microwave energy to activate the oil smoke system on his airplane. Kill number one for Groucho and Jesse.
Splash one!
After the high-fiving was complete in the cockpit of 204, our Marchetti, we turned and climbed to attend to the business at hand: another round. "Let's do that trick again!" I yelped, then thought better of it and deferred to the instructor. "Or another one."
"Let's do a low yo-yo this time," he said.
Cool with me. Hell, when I'm having this much fun, I'm REAL easy.
The two trainers passed again; this time I pushed down and rolled under to build up my energy. Only this time, the Canuck Menace pulled up. We ended up screaming at each other canopy-to-canopy, though separated by a safe distance. The hard part is telling your brain that this is no freaking good, that there's no good kill in this situation. "No good," Jesse chimed in, "break it off."
There's a problem with that. Here's my foe carrying more energy than an Exxon supertanker and little old me just now turning under to kill my now useless climb. "Where'd he go? I lost him!" Jesse looked off to the right, while I craned around to the left side of the fuselage. During the debriefing, Jesse would remark on how the fact that we two principals in old 204 were looking in different directions was not a good sign.
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