Carter had spent long hours training for this mission. At last after many briefings and simulations, he was ready.
He strapped himself in. The flight assistant glanced around giving the vehicle one final check. He closed the door and it locked. Carter pushed a button and lowered the release lever. The vehicle was free to move.
A voice came over the radio, "Make us look good!"
The assistant tapped on the window and gave a thumbs up.
A pneumatic launcher fired. All at once the vehicle fell backwards and exited the cargo bay of the C-130 that had taken it aloft.
The drop was precipitous. As the cargo plane fell rapidly upward, he reached over his head and pulled two levers. The parasails deployed. He flipped up a safety and pushed the red ignition button. The wheels retracted and four Pratt and Whitney engines fired up on cue.
Instantly his fall slowed. But at the same time he noticed the fuel gage had suddenly dropped to 95%. He could even see the needle move slowly. To make matters worse, the engine temperature had jumped into the yellow zone and they just started up.
"Remember. You've got to lose the parasails when your about a mile out or they will be seen."
Gradually the vehicle began to find it's footing. It seemed able to fly. The engines alone could not keep him in the air. The two parasails acted as wings. So long as he maintained a minimum airspeed of fifteen knots the craft seemed able to just break even.
A few more seconds into flight, the fuel gauge dropped to 85%.
As planned he was coming in over the ocean, a perfect place to ditch if this stunt didn't work.
Two minutes into flight the beach came into view. Then the coast highway. He headed into land. There were now people below, he had to go on.
"No onboard altimeter", he thought. Looking at his wrist, his Casio AE-20W showed he was at 2200 feet and holding. "Barely breaking even.", he thought.
Moments later he was flying over densely populated neighborhoods. He glanced down to see row after row of rooftops. As the one mile mark approached he thought to himself, "Well, I don't know if anyone down there called a termite exterminator, but two lucky winners are about to get the tenting done for free."
He reached up, pulled a lever and the two parasails ejected away.
As predicted the vehicle jolted suddenly downward as the engines wound up to beyond maximum thrust in an effort to compensate. Engine temperature was close to redline. Fuel now at 50%.
His wrist altimeter showed a drop of just over twenty feet per second. He pushed forward on the controls and airspeed seemed to increase. He couldn't survive impact at his current rate of descent. Hopefully increased thrust will gradually slow his fall.
At last the target was in sight. Given his rate of fuel consumption, engine temperature increase and rate of altitude loss, he had to reach the landing site fast. It was a race against time now...
The stadium was packed to capacity. Super Bowl XXXIII would feature the highly anticipated face-off between the underdog Denver Broncos and the favored Minnesota Vikings. Opening Ceremonies were about to begin as Prince and the Revolution took the stage.
From the stadium control room, the entertainment director peered into the sky thru his field glasses.
"I can see him! He's about a minute out!"
Timing was critical. Ideally the landing would take place just as Prince finished his opening number.
The assistant director popped a cassette into one of the PCM audio VHS machines. The machine spun up and immediately ejected the tape. The assistant felt an instant sense of unexpected panic as he re-inserted the tape. Again it was rejected.
"What!? I can't get the..."
"It's a DOC!" said the director. "Put it in the DOC MACHINE!!" he yelled.
Suddenly the assistant noticed the DoC logo on the tape and inserted it into the digital optical cassette player. He pushed play-pause allowing the machine to feed and cue the tape without playing it.
"Thirty two channels, thirty two bits per channel. Prince would have nothing less. You can only get that with DoC." the directory said. The assistant sheepishly replied, "I knew that."
Watching the sky, the director waited til he thought the time was right, then gave the signal.
The assistant released pause and the stadium instantly filled with sound of Princes' "1999". The organ intro revolved around and around carried by a huge arrays of speakers. Indeed, an effect that only a high fidelity thirty two channel system could pull off.
Up in the stands, retired astronaut Dick Scobee was also peering thru his binoculars. "I think I can see it." "What can you make of it Dick? What do you know about this thing?", a friend seated next to him asked. "Well, I'm retired." he answered. "I get all my information from Aviation Leak just like the rest of you.", he joked. "But from what I've read we're in for quite a show."
Meanwhile things weren't going so well for Carter. He was flying at thirty knots and still falling at a rate of about ten feet per second. He knew he couldn't survive a landing that hard. He also had to slow down somehow in order to avoid crashing.
The houses below gave way to a shopping mall. Then the highway. At last the stadium offramp.
He glanced at his fuel gauge.
"John! I'm at twelve percent!!"
"That's Great Carter! You've burned 85 pounds of kerosene! Go! Go! Go!"
He noticed smoke. The passenger side carpet was catching fire! The temp indicator only showed an average reading for all four engines, but the forward starboard unit had clearly exceeded spec.
Understating the problem he reported, "Number two's overheating!"...
"Spit on it for two minutes for Christ sake!"
He reached for his sports bottle and squirted the contents into the smoke. A waft of green steam filled the cabin. "Great. Theres nothing quite like the smell of burning GatorAde." he thought.
Below him now was the stadium parking lot, perhaps one final chance to crash with minimal casualties. He pulled back on the controls. There was no response. He attempted to take the machine into a slow turn to avoid flying over the stadium. Again the controls did nothing. "Damn them!", he thought. "The show must go on. What arrogant asses.". He had been on auto-pilot all this time, bound for the stadium no matter what. "Why the briefings? Why did they need an experienced pilot?" Then he realized, they just wanted the name. If he makes this landing, he will emerge from this death trap and that would be taken as an instant endorsement.
But this landing was not to be. He know he'd lose the failing engine completely if he didn't do something, and the nav computer seemed completely unable to compensate for the problem. There was only one option left.
"I have a rat to kill." he said to himself.
Reaching across to the passenger side, he opened a compartment. Within sat the flight computer. He pushed a button which depressed with a pop. A spring loaded door suddenly opened. Then he saw it. The problem so far as Carter was concerned was right in front of him. He grabbed the cartridge between his thumb and forefingers. He pulled hard but it did not budge. This would not be a casual removal, he would have to release the controls and duck down below the window. Leaning far into the passenger compartment he held the plastic box with both hands and yanked. At last it's gold plated contacts gave loose. Once free, he threw it down on the seat next to him. Artwork emblazoned on the plastic piece of software, an image of Chuck E Cheese wearing goggles and donning a bomber jacket appeared to stare back up at him as if to say, "How dare you."
He sat up. The previously lifeless controls now responded to his actions.
"Alan. Your computer's off. What's wrong?". He gave no answer.
But it was too late to crash. He had reached the edge of the parking lot. He was now flying over the flags surrounding the stadium perimeter. A second later he was over a packed stadium of thousands.
Prince was now well into "1999" and even over the noise of the Pratt and Whitneys Carter could hear it.
He glanced out toward midfield.
"What? How can I land at the fifty yard line if Prince is there?!"
Carter grabbed the control and flew sideways a bit. In an effort to ease thrust on the dying engine he put the vehicle into a wide clockwise turn round the field. Given his test pilot experience he made the whole maneuver look planned.
He pivoted round one more time and zeroed in on a safe landing space. He was still dropping much to fast to make a soft landing. The crowd in the stands gasped and collectively held it's breath.
The engines ran out of fuel.
As previously instructed, he punched the red Landing Sequence button.
"I hope the damn computer isn't involved at this point or I'm dead." he thought. He glanced down at Chuck in the seat next to him.
Unassisted by Atari Avionics,the landing sequence began. At a mere eight feet before impact, the Pratt and Whitneys reached for a hidden reserve fuel source. With a loud whine and sudden burst of thrust, the four drive units destroyed themselves allowing the vehicle to make a soft landing. The crowd stood up and cheered as the apparently planed "pyrotechnics" went off below the vehicle.
And as "1999" came to a close, Carter exited the smoking vehicle, stepping out onto the astroturf. An assistant slammed the gull-wing door shut before anyone could notice the fire inside.
To the cheers of the crowd, Carter raised his hands in victory as an announcer came onto the PA system.
"For the year 2000, DMC presents the DeLorean Eagle One.
The Worlds First Practical Flying Car!"
(c) 2018 Spillikin Aerospace LLC & Christopher Hull - all rights reserved