A Flight Of Dreams -- California Simulator Puts You In The Cockpit Of A Fighter Plane

IRVINE, Calif. - Cougar's in a sweat. At 30,000 feet, the engines on his F-111 fighter jet keep stalling, fouled by anti-aircraft fire, coughing a sickly whimper as they shut down again and again, disobeying his continued attempts to restart.

"Eject," a disembodied control-tower voice advises. "Eject." But the ocean is approaching rapidly. The command has come too late. "We will advise next of kin," the voice announces reassuringly.

And the radio is dead.

But there are no casualties this day at Fightertown Air Combat Training Facility in Irvine, Calif. - except perhaps Cougar's ego.

All the action is on the ground.

The military-style flight simulator here is real enough for George Caldwell - alias: Cougar. His heart rate is doing the lambada as pearls of perspiration congregate on his forehead.

"This is definitely not a computer game," he says, a little breathless after a failed mission. "It just feels so real."

Tucked away in an Irvine industrial enclave, Fightertown is headquarters to a growing legion of men and a few women who spent their youth dreaming of soaring the wild blue yonder, but who instead find that life has only allowed them to drive a desk.

Opened in mid-May by three former Northrop and Lockheed simulator designers, Fightertown is the only business in the world that brings military-style flight simulation to the public.

It's a wonderland where wannabe fighter pilots are their world's hottest jet jockeys. In briefing rooms, locker rooms or the hangar, they bathe in the whine of distant jet engines and the voice of air-traffic control droning as softly as Musak, occasionally commanding attention when a pilot is in desperate straits.

They zip into their drab green flight suits and jostle with one another in a game of verbal one-upsmanship. They climb the short, steep cockpit ladder and shimmy into their mock F-111s and F-104s. And as the canopy closes, men named George Caldwell, Jim Tapp and Chris Lung cease to exist.

In their place emerge their alter egos: Cougar, Burners, Hammer.

IT STARTED WITH AN IDEA

The idea behind Fightertown began to grow eight years ago in the imaginations of John Araki, Dave Kinney and Scott Cubbage, men who envisioned a computer-generated world of flight so realistic that pilots would work up a sweat when approaching a carrier landing or when locked in a dogfight.

"Our grand idea was that regular people would love the opportunity to fly the same type of simulators the military flies," Araki says.

"You might be a ditch digger for 23 hours a day, but once you step foot into Fightertown, you're going to be a fighter pilot for the next hour of your life," Araki says.

The first clue that Fightertown is not Mario Brothers is a burnt-orange glow punctuating the slate-gray darkness of the hangar - the cockpit illumination of the F-4, beckoning silently, luring the dreamers into their dreams.

The cockpit is authentic military. Invitingly snug. Fully functional with Heads Up Display, avionic panels and throttle controls.

Rewired to fly into the computer world created by Cubbage. It is as similar to a multimillion-dollar military cockpit as you can get without signing up for a tour of duty.

"Once you climb into the F-4 or the F-111, you can't help but feel like you're in the real thing," says Jim "Burners" Tapp, in real life a designer of architectural water features. "It's a whole new world.

"I've become addicted."

All Fightertown jets (there will be five when an A-4 and F-16 join the squadron) are linked in a "virtual world," a computer-generated land of islands and ocean and bad guys, called Aggressors.

The world unfolds on giant screens several feet in front of each canopy. What occurs in this world is wholly controlled by the actions of each pilot.

"The simulators match the flight characteristics of the real fighter jet they are modeled after," Araki says.

"And with the simulator, we can change the mission to meet the wants of our pilots. Land at night on an airfield all lit up, or land in fog on a carrier relying only on instrument navigation."

Pilots fly in separate planes but can interact, flying in formation to attack enemy airfields or flying against one another in combat.

"That's what makes this so enjoyable," says Lake Forest resident Pat Goad, who regularly stops by to fly dogfighting missions. "A home computer always wins because it doesn't make mistakes.

"Here, you're fighting against people who do make mistakes that you can take advantage of. And that lends a sense of reality."

Flying in Fightertown is not a passive endeavor. Pilots must work at driving their jets. No sloughing off, expecting that the computer will guide you to your target like some autopilot, or that missiles and gunfire will score a kill if they are simply close.

Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Like real combat, you either hit and win. Or you miss and lose.

"Guys finish flying, in a sweat, having just landed on a carrier after failing a few times, and they hop out of the cockpit and thank us for getting them down without crashing," co-owner Kinney says.

"But the truth is, they got themselves down. The computer doesn't do the flying for you."

Since its opening, Fightertown has attracted more than 70 closet fighter jocks who drop in once or twice - maybe three times - weekly, spending $28 to $50 to pilot one of the simulators.

Some come to compete against the clock in a timed bombing run or just puddle-jump across the sky at the speed of sound.

"These are people who just wanted the chance to be a pilot but never could," Kinney says. "And now this is their chance to prove to themselves that they can fly, without the fear of dying."

TAKING TO THE `AIR'

The ground-bound begin with a 30-minute pre-flight briefing, learning the basics of aeronautics and the how-to's of simulator operation. A control-panel review comes after the pilot slides into the cockpit.

Once the authentic fighter helmet is in place, a voice from Fighter Control - the control tower - spills through the headset, providing runway and takeoff information.

FitCon remains in constant contact throughout the mission, giving guidance, flight direction and landing help.

"We're here to make every flight enjoyable," says Alex Smith (call sign: Ajax), who frequently mans FitCon. "Despite the egos, this is a fun thing."

Cougar pushes the stick forward, and the plane noses down; landmarks grow more discernible as the ground grows larger, but a haze still fogs the view - a cloud layer at 4,000 feet built into the computer program.

At 2,000 feet he levels off, eyeballing the island of Catsclam as the terrain unwinds beneath him. There, several miles distant, a dark shape rests.

An Aggressor airfield.

"We have reports of heavy anti-aircraft artillery in the area," FitCon informs. "Enemy aircraft are scrambling. Your bug-out heading is 099, Angel 16."

"Roger. 099, altitude 16,000."

Pop. Pop pop pop. Pop.

The anti-aircraft fire has begun as Cougar drops the F-111 to 900 feet for a fast fly-by above the six-runway airfield.

An Aggressor takes to sky; Cougar's in a dogfight, trying simultaneously to shake the enemy and gain an advantageous firing position. He can't.

An explosion rips through his helmet speaker. Engine power drains away like water through sand. Another explosion.

Sweat . . . restart the engines . . . fail . . . plane spinning and yawing, racing toward a fast-approaching ocean . . . "Eject! Eject!" Again, that command is too late.

"Cougar's dead."

"Now," Cougar asks, brushing away sweat after dying for a second time in 30 minutes, "can you do all that on a dinky home computer?"