Gironde: with the pilots of the Patrouille de France, who rehearse their aerial choreography indoors

Before performing in the skies above Lacanau-Océan this Saturday, September 13, the pilots of the Patrouille de France rehearsed their aerial choreography seated in armchairs in a room at the Cazaux 120 air base. A moment both strange and exciting

Here we are this Friday afternoon in a small room at the Cazaux 120 air base, surrounded by the pilots of the Patrouille de France. They are stationed here before performing this Saturday, September 13 at 3:30 p.m. in the skies over Lacanau . In light blue uniforms, the patrol's nine pilots, eight regulars and one substitute, are seated in large armchairs, notebooks in hand. And they mime (and, it seems, live) their demonstration for the next day.

It's a rather strange and bizarre moment (for us), at the very least routine and usual (for them), totally hermetic (for us), absolutely transparent (for them). Even if, objectively, they are not there, they are all in their plane. Everyone has their hands on the stick (we know that) and on the trim (a small electric motor that allows for more precise piloting), and their feet on the rudder pedals (a flight control that steers the plane horizontally).

And the eyes, where are they? Hard to say. Some pilots sometimes close them. And those who keep them open are perhaps looking at the red buoys in the sea, opposite the Lacanau seafront. Or the small yellow ones in the middle of the flight sector, above the ocean. Or, why not, the hundred-foot crane spotted a little earlier. The head is also in the plane, visibly.

Honestly, we don't always understand what they're saying. One gives geographical indications, announces coordinates. Another seems to be talking about radio frequencies (but nothing is guaranteed here): "Transfer with Aquitaine, Cazaux 119.6, transfer at 2-3,000 feet, frequency 118.3. Complete." They all say "complete" every time they stop talking, like in an airplane.

The key word here is precision. “We do aerobatics with eight people,” explains Captain Julien Reuzé, the unit's left-hander, before the briefing. “It's a precisely choreographed routine where the squad must never deform, as if we were all attached to one another, so that the visual harmony never deteriorates. Everything is extremely synchronized in a universe that isn't a hard road on which we're placed, but the sky.” There are so many things to keep in mind that you wonder how theirs don't shatter.

“It’s a precise choreography where the patrol must never deform.”

The pilot in front of us is talking about the weather, but not at all like Évelyne Dhéliat on TF1: "We'll stay in 24. Visibility excellent. Layers of cloud that will dry out. Southwest flow. The sea will be rough, with a 1.8 to 2 meter trough. Low tide at 3:17 p.m. Possible glinting of the sun in the casino-toll section. Eight knots on the ground, 12 at 1,000 meters."

Here they are, taking off (we've captured the moment). Their hands touch the imaginary trim, the stick that only exists in their plane. And their feet move on the tiles, the rudder pedals as abstract as a Stade Toulousain defeat in the Top 14 final.

"2-4 in swan. Top. I return trim. I return trim. Top. I reverse to the left Main-te-nant"

The lead pilot speaks and then completely drops us onto the nonexistent tarmac here: "I have 2-6 in Concorde. Top. I'm reversing left now. 3-0 in Dart. Top. 2-4 in Swan. Top. I'm giving back trim. I'm giving back trim. Top. I'm reversing left now." Each in their own plane, the pilots are (visibly) flying over the ocean. "I have 500 2-8s for an Apache," announces the leader. "Arrow," replies a pilot. Amazing, isn't it?

Saturday's demonstration will last twenty-five minutes, with a first twelve-minute ribbon section where the eight planes will fly together, followed by a second synchronized section where groups of two, four, or six planes will fly separately. Sometimes, the planes' wings are two meters apart. At a speed of 300 to 800 km/h. The trust between them must be total: "The leader knows us inside out. And so do we," assures Captain Julien Reuzé.

“The leader knows us inside out. And so do we.”

Sitting in front of the giant screen, the nine pilots split up in the sky above Lacanau. The leader: "Stabilize. Left turn. I'm banking. Smoke cut. Top. 2-8 in diamond. Ahead, I'm 2-7 echelon." One pilot: "Kéké. Smoke. Top." Another: "Leader, I see you." Yet another: "Kéké. Inversion. Go." The pilot in front: "Kéké. Chandelle. Go." From a distance, we'd be asking ourselves a lot of questions. Up close, we're asking ourselves some too...

And then there they are, twenty or twenty-five minutes later, back in Cazaux, which they have never left. They get up from their seats, go down to the tarmac, board their plane and take off to rehearse, for real in the skies over Lacanau, what they have rehearsed, for real, in the imaginary sky of the BA 120 briefing room.