The War Illustrated, Volume 7, No. 162, Page 221, September 3, 1943.
The fastest man alive, Lieut.-Col. C. S. Hough, of Michigan, Technical Director of the 8th Fighter Command, tells how he power-dived vertically at 780 m.p.h. From more than eight miles above the English countryside to test a fighting machine. His story appears here by arrangement with The Daily Mail.
I guess I shall remember more than anything else the wonderful experience of seeing from that height of 43,000 ft. practically the whole of England spread out under me on a perfect English day. I stayed up there for a little while to look around. I saw right across to the Bristol Channel on one side and away to the Wash on the other. I saw the Mersey gleaming, and the brighter Bristol Channel.
I took a glance at the North Sea and then at the English Channel and away across to Calais and the Cherbourg peninsula. Gee! What a thrill it was to see the whole of one country at ones! Well, then I had to get along, for my cabin wasn't supercharged for climbing so high, and I wasn't getting enough oxygen. It was pretty cold up there too – 60 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), and all the heat I got was from the twin engines of my Lightning plane. So it was time I really got moving.
I didn't think about the plunge – I just put her nose down and went for the earth, gradually gaining maximum speed. I suppose it was about five seconds after reaching my ceiling that I started to make the power dive and I was diving for 25 seconds at 1,000 ft. a second. In the middle 15 seconds my hands were of the controls – it was a bit risky, I admit – and I was writing data with my eyes glued to the instruments that told me of my speed and other things. It sure was a thrill when I realized at one point that I was travelling faster than the sound of my engines and faster than the speed of my propellers.
I wasn't conscious of any sensation in particular – only the rather comfortable feeling of going through solid air. There was noise of it like the roaring and rushing of a sea past my cabin and the shrill screaming of the propellers. When I judged that I had reached the limit of possible velocity with the engines full on I thought I would “feather” the propellers to give me even a little more speed.
But as I began to reduce power the nose of the plane started to turn inwards on an outside loop. That cured me pretty quick of any desire to “feather” the propellers. I held on to maximum speed for 10 sec. I had no sensation of speed at all for there was nothing to impress it on my notice. If I had passed anything going down or could have kept my eyes on the earth leaping up to meet me, it would have been different. When I had got to within 18,000 ft. of the ground I guessed it was time to let the old instinct of self-preservation have its way. So I started to flatten out. This was the really exciting part.
I had only 18 sec. to go before reaching the ground, and I had to act quickly and at the same time very carefully. If I had pulled out suddenly I wouldn't have been here to tell the tale. However, I got her out in a nice curve – and that was unpleasant enough. I didn't black out – I just greyed out. Everything went grey, but I didn't for an instant lose consciousness. I felt as if some hefty fellow was sitting tight on my head and pushing me back from the way the plane was going, and when I tried to move my arm it was so heavy I thought I'd need a crane to lift it.
My whole body felt like lead. Now I could see the ground and the neatly divided fields – and all at once I became conscious of speed. After flattening out I did a little climb that eased matters a bit. A few seconds later I landed. How did I feel? Oh, fine. I just breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving and went into the office to write my report.
I undertook the test dive in the ordinary course of my research work. In fact I decided to go up quite suddenly – and only half an hour before. I had my usual breakfast – toast and coffee and a cigarette.
You see, it sort of helps a fighter pilot to known just how much his plane can stand.
Munda, in New Georgia, fell to the Americans on August 6, 1943. How its much-bombed airport – of immense importance to the occupying Japanese – was stormed by U.S. infantry is vividly t
Two Dutch submarine officers escaped from Hongkong and tramped 1,000 miles across China to a British Army outpost in Burma. One of them, Lieut. Roel Hordyk, tells their story, given here by courtes
Munda, in New Georgia, fell to the Americans on August 6, 1943. How its much-bombed airport – of immense importance to the occupying Japanese – was stormed by U.S. infantry is vividly t
Two Dutch submarine officers escaped from Hongkong and tramped 1,000 miles across China to a British Army outpost in Burma. One of them, Lieut. Roel Hordyk, tells their story, given here by courtes