Well, it's quiet again. So you know what that means - it’s probably about time we finished off
Delta V, and our dive into supersonic travel. Mostly because it’s been weeks since I last looked at this. Part 1 is
here, and Part 2 is
here. Today’s tale concludes our trilogy with a story of cooperation, ambition, and the greatest failure ever to grace the skies.
It’s the one everyone remembers – The Concorde.
We know where the Concorde came from by now, since its development was copied nearly verbatim for the Tupolev Tu-144, and it spurred on the development of the Boeing 2707. Without a space program, European countries wanted dominance in what was promising to be the next best market of supersonic air travel. The same studies, committees, and research that had gone into both of Concorde’s potential competitors invariably traced back to Concorde itself. It’s kind of like how Saint’s Row proclaims itself to be a “GTA killer,” or how Chevy’s half-baked Silverado special editions are “Raptor killers.” If you have to announce that your product is going to tackle an established product and be an <X> killer, you’ve already lost to <X>.
Anyway, we know the first studies for the Concorde emerged in the early 1950s. And frankly, there were plenty of moments where the project should have ended. The fact that the Concorde would live on to see commercial service is a bit of a miracle on its own. And the first problem was with the plane’s most notable trait – its massive, imposing delta planform wings.
We’ll take an example from one of the Eastern Bloc’s manufacturers. The Tupolev Tu-114, holder of the title of world’s fastest turboprop ever built, actually started life as the Tu-95 bomber. At the request of Soviet Chairman Nikita Khrushchev, the bomber was modified to become a VIP transport first, then a long-range airliner. This change called for a larger, heavier body, and low-mounted wings.
A Tu-114 (top) vs a Tu-95 (bottom) - note the revised wing placement
Not a problem. After all, weight and balance shifts during development. And to keep the aircraft’s center of pressure in line with its center of gravity, the wings could be shifted fore or aft keep the plane balanced.
Note: Center of pressure is the point at which lift acts, similar to how the overall force of gravity can be summed up as acting on a single point we call the center of gravity.
But what do you do when the wings take up the entire length of the body? Well, the wing has to be trimmed, and the plane built around the wing, so to speak. And this was the first technical milestone of the Concorde. In 1965, NASA modified a Douglas F5D to use what was called an “ogee” planform, using sweeping, curved leading edges. The prevailing double delta and slender delta designs at the time didn’t offer the low speed handling characteristics that this new ogee planform did, and it became the Concorde’s first hallmark. With improved low-speed handling came smoother flight, and improved comfort during takeoff and landing.
The prevailing delta design of the time, a "double delta" as shown on the Saab 35 Draken, with two linear leading edge angles, or two triangles overlapping
The NASA F5D, showing its curved (ogee) planform wings
But the Brits weren’t alone in wanting a supersonic transport. And by the time talks were getting serious, we already had another problem. Remember the A300? If not, go
here for a recap. European aviation manufacturing was severely fragmented. And in Britain alone, at least 16 different manufacturers existed, competing with one another for a highly saturated market. Meanwhile, France was struggling with three competing domestic manufacturers of their own. And manufacturer Sud Aviation was even taking precautions to deliberately limit their range to a medium-duty aircraft so that they wouldn’t step on the toes of the Boeing 2707.
However, Sud Aviation was a company with just about zero supersonic experience. Their fastest project, the 4050 Vatour fighter jet, was only capable of Mach 0.9. So in the early 1960s, Sud Aviation was sent to the UK to meet with British manufacturer Bristol. The two manufacturers discussed their SST plans in the hopes of an eventual partnership and were surprised to learn that they had both arrived at roughly the same design. This turned out to be intentional, and the result of a bit of political string pulling. The British government had already realized they couldn’t do this alone and were already busy consolidating their dozens of manufacturers into larger, unified companies. In order to bring the French up to speed, papers from the Supersonic Transport Aircraft Committee (STAC) that were originally classified "for British eyes only" were sent to Sud Aviation.
Despite Bristol (which became the British Aerospace Company, or BAC in 1959) and Sud Aviation getting along pretty well, Parliament wasn’t convinced. At the time, development was expected to cost £150 M (about £350 Bn today). Immediately, that figure was dismissed, and the project was laughed out of Parliament. The industry was (and still is) defined by meteoric cost overruns, and exactly zero cabinet members took the estimate seriously. Nobody was willing to listen, and the Concorde’s name seemed to be planted firmly next to the Boeing 2707’s spot in the history books, with a little label reading DOA.
But the prevailing political situation in Europe would throw the project a lifeline. At about this time, the UK was itching to be a part of the emerging European Common Market, at the time headed by the French. It was the proto-EU and promised to provide peace and prosperity by unity, rather than by Gulag. But because of the UK’s heavy dependence on the US, the French were skeptical. Could the Brits be trusted as a member of this new European Union? The UK certainly believed they could. And on November 29, 1962, a British-proposed treaty was signed between France and the UK. To win the favour of the French, the Brits made the treaty terms very favourable to the French government, promising significant penalties if they decided to back out.
Remember the days before Brexit? Pepperidge Farm remembers.
The 1962 signing of the Anglo-French Concorde treaty
One benefit of being Anglo-French in origin was the name Concorde. The French concorde has a similar meaning to the English concord – harmony, and agreement. A fitting name for the treaty that would eventually form Airbus Industrie. It wasn’t all smooth sailing and roses, though. Sud Aviation had wanted a shorter-range variant all along, while BAC wanted a transatlantic record setter. Eventually, both companies found exactly zero customer interest in a short-range supersonic airliner, allowing both companies to focus on the longer-range variant.