Road Diary: Futuristic Kitty Hawk

The High-Energy Laser Systems Test Facility (HELSTF) was quite a change of pace from the other stops on Route Cold War. At every other site, we were constantly accompanied by escorts, often military personnel in uniform. We visited HELSTF on a Friday, when the rest of the center was closed, and everyone present had better things to do than hold our hands.

So we climbed on roofs to get a better shot, wandered more or less at will (within the immediate area -- I was in no hurry to test the Army's patience), and generally tried to stay out of the way of the Lightcraft crew and their laser.

I also felt overdressed -- in another oddity on this trip, most of the Lightcraft team wore shorts and polo shirts.

Watching team members set up the test was an exercise in hurry-up-and-wait. The mirrors, thick metal discs mounted on elaborately adjustable frames, took hours to set up. There were also delays for wind, as the thin aluminum vehicles can be blown off the beam by a strong gust.

The laser does pose a risk to the human eye, but, we were told, ordinary wrap-around plastic safety goggles offer plenty of protection. Two flashing warning lights on the Pulsed Laser Vulnerability Test System (PLVTS) trailer give a heads-up -- red means the laser is powered up and charging, blue means it's ready to fire. When either one is lit, the goggles stay on. So do the hard hats, if for no other reason than "hit on head by falling flying saucer" is not an insurance claim I want to file.

In operation, the laser is not what science fiction films would have you expect. There's no "zap" noise, just a staccato series of pops like a machine gun or drum roll. The Lightcraft does not lurch forward with each pop -- at least not visibly -- but surges steadily upward, wobbling on its axis in a slight corkscrew motion.

None of the Lightcraft we saw smacked into the black backstop suspended from a crane 120 feet above. One flight did set a new altitude record, somewhere between 90 and 100 feet. A rope strung from the crane was marked with hollow plastic softballs every 10 feet for a quick visual reference. More exact estimates of altitude are made after checking the high-speed film and video cameras that monitor every launch from the side, above and below.

Project scientists Franklin Mead and Leik Myrabo were both subdued in their reactions to the tests; this was a novelty for us, but not for them. But their enthusiasm for the project is obvious. I couldn't help wondering if this is how it would have felt to be on a North Carolina beach when two bicycle repairmen named Wright tried their first tentative tests with gliders.