Day 7: continued: The Big Test

 Mike: Normally, before anything challenging like a Taekwondo bout, a dirt bike race, or an exam I would relax, enter a trance-like state, visualise what I had to do and get ready to explode with a mental acuity that I believed would cut through anything. However, on this occasion I really thought that I was batting off the back foot. I wasn't mentally prepared, wasn't relaxed and had no faith in my breathing regime or my strain. On the way to the centrifuge I tried to collect my thoughts. I imagined what the centrifuge would be like, went through my breathing and straining and, as I settled in the seat of the huge machine wondered what 9g would feel like.

Then, just as I was ready to give the tests a go I heard the immortal words, "Once more, please," which in Nic's case means "Let's do that several more times, please, so that I can cover it from different angles".

After what seemed like hours Nic had what he wanted and I was ready to go. I went through the preliminary checks, prepared myself and then wham! Within a fraction of a second I had reached 6g. It felt like I'd been sat in my comfy old armchair at home and a speeding juggernaut had crashed into the back of it. My brain felt like it was in my guts. I had to fight to keep my eyes wide open, my cheeks were hanging down where my neck should have been and I'd breathed out at the start of the run - stupid thing to do. "Only fifteen seconds," I thought to myself.

I took another breath. The air almost exploded out of me at first, before I sucked some back in. I was losing peripheral vision. "Strain, Mike, you bastard. Strain, for all your life's worth, or Zeron's doing the flying." I squeezed every muscle from my waist down. I was already aching and sweating. Vikki's voice came over the intercom.

"You're doing good, Mike. Stabilise your breathing. Every three seconds, now breathe."

I breathed and strained, strained and breathed. Slowly the lights came back. I forced my vision to work again and felt like I was cruising. The fifteen seconds were over quickly, and I had made it. After an extremely unpleasant tumbling effect there were now only four more tests to go.

Next was 7g while looking sideways for ten seconds. At first it sounded easy, but this time I had to breathe for myself, without Vikki guiding me. The thought of taking control of my own breathing scared me. I had been breathing for myself for over 37 years, but now the fear of not being told when to breathe in or out was terrifying. And there was another complication. Although it felt like 1g when the centrifuge was ticking over, in fact I was sat at ninety degrees with the pod swung out on the end of a boom which was still rotating fairly fast. It fooled me as long as I was sitting still, but should I turn my head, the fluid in the balance mechanisms of my inner ear would tell my brain that something was up and in the experience of the technicians this would inevitably lead to the pilot - me - vomiting violently. To turn my head around I first had to focus on a light to my right, then very slowly ease my head around to look at it. I did so as slowly as possible, fighting the urge to be sick through the whole motion.

Zeron: My turn to enter the centrifuge. I was nervous. I had just watched Mike do his usual trademark bulldozing through the test. Mike had passed the crucial 9g test so the pressure was all on me.

As I sat being strapped into the machine my mouth was dry so I started drinking from the water bottle. The centrifuge was set and moving on its idling speed of a fraction over 1g. As Vikki and the rest of the staff did final checks, she asked me a question. I can't remember what it was, but I know I told her to address me as "Captain Zeron". Everybody's laughter boomed over my speakers right at the point of me swallowing a mouth full of water. Their unexpected response caused me to laugh as well. Bad move, because half the water in my mouth flew into my lungs and I started coughing. I managed to bring my breathing back under control and it crossed my mind to ask for time out of the centrifuge to clear my lungs. But then I thought I'd look a real sissy. So I pressed ahead.

Go! I got through test one which was to set my body's g-tolerance without the aid of the g-suit. It was about half a g lower than Mike's. But, hey, he has more body fat than me. Vikki had pointed out during our training that because of the placement of body fat in women they can naturally take more gs than a guy! One female g-monster had ridden the centrifuge up to a staggering 12gs. And that was without the aid of a g-suit! Next we "turned on" the g-suit and tried again at 8gs for 10 seconds. Easy, and I didn't lose my vision peripheral vision. But I did notice my breathing was becoming slightly uncomfortable. Now it was time to try 9g for 15 seconds. I pulled back on the throttle and a sledge hammer hit my chest. From 1.2g to 9 in an instant is crazy. I was struggling with my breathing. Vikki coached me through the technique. "Stabilise your breathing. Every three seconds, now breathe."

I did it, I did it! And it wasn't as hard as I had thought it was going to be. With the adrenaline flowing I either didn't notice, or ignored, the warning pains my lungs were feeding me. The water I had sucked into them was being displaced by the gs. I had done the hard part: 9g and I hadn't g-LOC'd!

The rest would be plain sailing as nobody failed this final part of the test. They set the speed back down to 1.2g and I turned my head slowly because any sudden head and eye movement (I had been warned!) could lead to projectile vomit coating the inside of the centrifuge. As I turned my head I knew something was definitely wrong. The sideward turn of my head meant that my chest muscle became tauter and I could feel my left lung was suffering from the presence of water. I only had to hold 7g for 10 seconds - how hard would that be? Even if, by now, my breathing was quite painful.

All I remember is Vikki's voice reminding me to breathe every three seconds. My breathing had changed from "Kaaa, Hoook" to "Ka Ho!" Lights out time.

Man, I was swimming in a void, tumbling over and over. I thought I was in heaven but couldn't figure how I had got there. Where was I? Who was I? What was I doing? "Sir, are you with us? Sir, are you with us?"

And suddenly the lights came back on.

"Oh hi," I heard myself saying "Yeah I blacked out."

I couldn't have looked too bad because they asked me if I wanted to go again. I was told I had actually completed the test but had g-LOC'd after the allotted ten seconds. My lungs were screaming. But having been told I had done it and only g-LOCed during the slowdown spurred me on: "Yes, let's go again."

Nic came on the mic, "Dude, you really don't have to do this."

I was wide awake now and had a false sense of security - I was breathing to compensate for the pain in my lung.

"Take the strain in your legs" came Vikki's voice "You have control". I repeated "I have control" as we had been briefed to do. I pulled back on the stick. I shot up to 7gs, which was great, apart from the elephant sitting on my left lung. If I could just hold out for the ten seconds... I did, but my lung was in so much pain my brain decided, "Enough of this macho crap, you're hurting far too much... lights out!"

Mike: I passed each test, but it was the final one that caused Zeron to g-LOC - twice - resulting in him being raced to hospital with chest pains. I had mixed feelings. I was going to fly in the F-16, but thought that Zeron had been cheated, especially as he passed out due to breathing problems following an accident where he allowed some water to go down his windpipe. I also didn't like seeing my mate in pain. In the TV programme it looked as if I walked the competition, but unknown to the viewer I had come back from certain failure. What a drama. Shame the programme's only half an hour long and so much stuff ends up on the cutting room floor.

Zeron: It felt as though somebody was driving a hot screwdriver through my left lung and shoulder. My lung was full of displaced water and air. The pain was like a stitch, but ten times worse and under my collarbone. As a precaution, I was taken to hospital for a check up. I was in pain, as embarrassed as hell and just lost the flight of a lifetime. All because I had been funny at the wrong time - that'll teach me!

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Content last updated: 25/08/2005