An Unforgettable Flight in an F-16: A Roller Coaster Experience
Written on
Chapter 1: The Thrill of Flight
High above New Jersey, I found myself ripping off my oxygen mask, anxious about the impending nausea. Maj. Jason Markzon, our F-16 pilot, had just executed two sharp turns known as the G-exercise. Moments later, he performed a knife-edge pass, tilting the aircraft on its side with its short wings now perpendicular to the ground. As he brought us back to level flight and then sharply veered right, I let out a groan.
The intense maneuvers were a physical test; it felt like a relentless roller coaster ride. “Can we level off?” I inquired.
“How’s it going, Rob?” Flack’s voice came through the speakers in my patriotic helmet.
“I’m not feeling too well,” I admitted.
About 20 minutes prior, we had launched with all eight afterburners blazing, taking off from MacArthur Airport on Long Island. We shot into the sky on a breezy late May morning. Flack quickly pulled back on the control stick, sending us into a steep 60-degree climb, exceeding 400 mph.
In an F-16, the seats are reclined at a 30-degree angle, making a 60-degree ascent feel like we were going straight up. We reached around 10,000 feet in roughly 30 seconds, hitting 5.4 Gs—over five times the force of gravity. Although I weigh about 155 pounds, the acceleration made me feel like I weighed over 800. Flack leveled us off with a gentle roll, and for a brief moment, we were upside down.
As we soared towards the Garden State, Flack executed a 90-degree turn followed by a grueling 180-degree turn—a hard pull combined with a steep bank angle. I endured 6.2 Gs during this maneuver. For context, astronauts typically experience three to four Gs during liftoff; both the F-16 and its pilot can withstand up to nine. This series of rapid movements constituted our G-exercise, a routine check to ensure that both the aircraft and its occupants can handle intense G-forces. Unfortunately, I did not pass the test.
Experiencing such heavy Gs is hard to articulate. You feel an immense weight pressing you into your seat, making breathing difficult. The force drains blood from your eyes and brain, sometimes resulting in tunnel vision. It's common for novices to feel overwhelmed—some even lose consciousness or succumb to air sickness.
I managed to keep my stomach intact for the time being, but the jet was testing my limits.
The Air Force occasionally allows journalists to ride in an F-16 when the Thunderbirds are in town—much like the Blue Angels for the Navy. The team performed in New York that May.
Pilots affectionately call the F-16 “the Viper,” inspired by the agile spacecraft in the original Battlestar Galactica series. While its official name is "The Fighting Falcon," "Viper" certainly has a cooler ring to it.
Flack piloted an F-16D Block 52, a two-seater introduced in the early 1990s, equipped with a Pratt & Whitney F100 turbofan engine that generates over 29,000 pounds of thrust with afterburners engaged. If you keep the throttle wide open and the aircraft is light enough, it can ascend vertically. I was seated in an Aces 2 ejection seat, which I armed before takeoff by flipping a small lever.
The F-16 has been part of the Air Force since 1979 and remains in service today. This sleek, single-engine fighter is lighter than Navy aircraft and can achieve speeds over twice that of sound. It’s celebrated for its agility and swift acceleration from low speeds. "The F-16 was the quintessential dogfighting airplane of the late 20th century," says retired Colonel Mike Torrealday (call sign: T-Day), who flew it for about 25 years and even had to eject over Utah after an engine failure. "It’s one of the most physically demanding aircraft to operate."
Movies like Top Gun fail to capture the harsh realities of piloting a fighter jet that can, as T-Day describes, "snap to 9 Gs in less than a second." Pilots must be in peak physical condition and undergo extensive training to manage these forces, which is crucial to prevent a phenomenon known as G-LOC (G-induced loss of consciousness).
Before we boarded our Viper, Flack and I donned G-suits—high-waisted garments equipped with a hose connected to the aircraft’s air system. As acceleration increases, the suit inflates, compressing the legs and abdomen, preventing blood from pooling in the extremities and ensuring it stays in the chest and head to reduce the risk of fainting.
Equally important is a technique called the anti-G-straining maneuver. This involves tensing various muscle groups while breathing in a specific pattern. It’s akin to sitting in an office chair and pulling your feet backward as you roll forward. This technique helps maintain blood flow to the core and brain, keeping pilots alert and conscious.
In statistical terms, pilots rarely experience G-LOC; it reportedly takes around 200,000 flight hours for a G-LOC incident to occur. The Air Force has documented at least nine such instances each year for the past three years, including a tragic accident during a Thunderbirds training exercise in April 2018. Major Stephen Del Bagno crashed after experiencing a maximum of negative 2 Gs while inverted, ultimately leading to G-LOC during a steep dive.
Modern technology has come to the rescue. The F-16 and some F-35s employ Auto-GCAS software, which can prevent crashes if a pilot loses consciousness. The Air Force claims the system has saved eight lives. However, the Thunderbirds opt out of this technology, as they fly at low altitudes in tight formations and prefer to avoid the risk of the software taking control of the planes.
Highway to the Vomit Zone
Military pilots spend years honing the skills necessary to endure the challenges of high-speed flight. I, on the other hand, had around four hours of training, covering the basics such as ejection procedures. (A helpful tip: "think skinny and pass through" if you’re headed toward power lines.)
Executing the G-strain maneuver is akin to finding the perfect swing in golf, as noted by Jan Stepanek, a physician and chair of the Aerospace Medicine Program at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona. Experienced aviators like Flack rely on muscle memory to perform it instinctively and know how many Gs they can withstand before it becomes critical. I was uncertain if I managed mine correctly.
Flack had the advantage of controlling the aircraft, allowing him to anticipate what was next. Motion sickness in a fighter jet stems from the disconnection between visual inputs, inner ear sensations, and how your brain interprets these signals. Despite having a clear view of the sky and the ground below (though not directly in front of me, as Flack's seat obstructed that view), my inner ear was overwhelmed.
Being in the cockpit was exhilarating—an unforgettable moment for an aviation enthusiast. However, the intensity of the experience was overwhelming. Commercial airlines typically bank at gentle angles of 25 to 30 degrees, while fighter jets can maneuver at 60 or even 90 degrees. If commercial planes are like buses, fighter jets are akin to Formula 1 race cars; you feel every movement acutely.
Flack eased up after I removed my oxygen mask and eventually steered the aircraft into a slow barrel roll. "Oh my god, we’re upside down," I exclaimed, somewhat unnecessarily. By that point, I was ready to call it a day.
“I think I’d like to head back soon,” I told him.
However, Flack had already communicated with air traffic control that we were "RTB" (returning to base). A gusty crosswind and the shorter runway led him to abort our first landing attempt. He retracted the landing gear and circled back before successfully landing the aircraft, which he described as "pretty challenging."
I didn’t vomit during the sharp turns or the knife-edge pass, nor during the dramatic moment of ripping off my mask. I managed to hold it together during the barrel roll. However, I lost my battle with motion sickness into a Zip-lock bag just minutes before Flack’s initial landing attempt. I vomited again on the tarmac while still seated in the Viper, trying to compose myself before climbing down. For good measure, I heaved again in the hangar after gulping down a bottle of water too quickly. A doctor handed me two Zofran tablets, and I collapsed on the floor, still clad in my flame-retardant flight suit.
When I awoke, I was uncertain how much time had passed but felt slightly better. Yet it took a full week for me to feel like my old self again. Flack, on the other hand, clearly had the right stuff—something I discovered I did not.
Chapter 2: The Experience of G-Forces
Discovering the Thrills and Challenges of G-Forces in Flight
Pulling 7 Gs with the Blue Angels: An Insight into Fighter Jet Physics