Concorde: Sonic Boom and Bust | The Long Runway | 1

It's the fall of 1954 at an airfield in Hampshire, England. Morian Morgan admires all the parked plains and neat roads as he strolls by them. A short, cheerful Welshman in his 40s, Morian is deputy director of the Royal Aircraft Establishment, R-A-E, a government research facility. He loves his job, and he's excited about the future of British aeronautics, when not everyone shares his optimism. This past year has seen three fatal crashes involving the DeHavilland Comet, the world's first commercial passenger jet. Once the pride and joy of the British industry, the Comet is now an international embarrassment. But Morian has an idea. He spent weeks pouring over every detail of the concept, and he's convinced his idea is just what they need. But he has to convince his boss, R-A-E director Arnold Hall, to agree. Morian finds Arnold sitting beside a Comet jet, staring bailfully up at the fuselage of the seemingly cursed plane. "No Morian, there you are," you see in the report, "yes sir, structural failure due to metal fatigue. You know, it's those blasted square windows." Arnold jabs a finger at the airframe. The squared-off corners of the windows have been identified as the cause of the Comet disasters. Morian tries to soothe his boss's sour mood. But it's all fixable, sir, the design just needs to be rethought. But how long is that going to take? The entire fleet is going to be grounded for years, and by the time we get the thing airborne again, we'll be further behind the yanks than ever. Morian nods. "Well actually, sir, that's what I wanted to discuss with you." Morian hands Arnold a sheath of sketches and diagrams. "And what's this? A new aircraft?" "Yes sir." Morian waits anxiously for his boss to catch on. "You know, your handwriting is dreadful. Does this say Mach 2, twice a speed of sound for a passenger jet?" That's right, sir, the world's first supersonic passenger airline produced right here and Great Britain. Morian's enthusiasm is part of the reason he's so well-liked by his colleagues. But it's Arnold's job to be more skeptical. "Well, you know, there's a reason only military aircraft fly those speeds, you know?" "I'm not saying there won't be challenges. But the truth is, no one's really tried, and as far as I know, there's never been a serious feasibility study on this, not even by the Americans. But do you think after the Comet fiasco anyone's going to want to fly British again? If we aren't to reestablish ourselves as a serious player, we're going to have to take some serious risks." "Well, this is certainly a risk. I know, but just think of the rewards." Morian Morgan was given the go-ahead by his boss to investigate his concept further. But going supersonic would be more complex and more expensive than even Morian had thought. His plan jet would need new engines, new wings, and almost an entire new approach to flying. It would be so complex and expensive that what began as a project to bolster the British aviation industry would eventually turn into an international collaboration. Britain was going to send air passengers higher and faster than ever before, but it would not be able to do it alone. Triple shot half-calf oat milk, two ponds extra foam. Your coffee order might be getting a little complicated. Your toothpaste doesn't have to be. Armin Hammer baking soda toothpaste keeps it simple, with a powerful ingredient that works hard for you. Baking soda. By its the number one dentist-recommended baking soda toothpaste. As you brush, the baking soda particles dissolve to help break down plaque and stains for a wider smile. So your teeth can feel clean, look bright, and make brushing a no-brainer. Try Armin Hammer toothpaste, simple, powerful, clean. "A dark night, a quiet house, but inside danger was lurking." "Oh, not really. We have Xfinity Shield, so we're not worried." What if protecting your home and devices could be drama-free? Xfinity. Imagine that. Why not available in all areas? From Wondering, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is Business Members. Today, traveling in a passenger plane that breaks the sound barrier is not an option. The average commercial jet flies at Mach.78, only three-quarters the speed of sound, roughly 600 miles an hour. But this wasn't always the case. Between the 1970s and the early 2000s, it was possible to fly from New York to London in just three hours, less than half the average flight time for that route today. This was thanks to Concord, a British and French co-creation whose rise was as extraordinary and improbable as its fall. The story of Concord began in the 1950s. United Kingdom was enjoying an economic boom, but its aerospace industry was troubled. There were numerous small and medium-sized manufacturers, but they lacked the resources needed to build the most advanced new aircraft. Larger firms in the United States had raced ahead, and many in the British industry feared it would be impossible to overcome America's lead. But one engineer at the Royal Aircraft Establishment Research Facility was determined not to give up. Morian Morgan was a natural optimist, and in 1954 he came up with a bold proposal to put Britain back in the game. Morian had a vision for the world's first supersonic passenger jet. It would be built on military technology to deliver luxury travel at twice the speed of sound. But to become a reality, Morian's airliner would require vast investment and deep collaboration between the aviation industry and the British government. So this supersonic commercial jet would soon become a political project as much as a business one with a push and pull between the public and private sectors. Despite the extraordinary game-changing opportunity at stake, Morian supersonic dream was at constant risk of stalling before it got off the ground. This is the first episode in our four-part series on the rise and fall of Concord, the Long Runway. Its early November 1956 in Whitehall, the heart of the British government in London, two years after Morian Morgan first pitched his supersonic project. Morian marches through the halls of the Ministry of Aviation with several colleagues trailing in his wake. Today marks the first meeting of the supersonic Transport Aircraft Committee, or STAC. It's a new organization formed to develop Morian's idea for a revolutionary commercial jet plane. So it should be an exciting day, with a mood at Whitehall as grim. A few days ago, Britain, France, and Israel launched an invasion of Egypt. Its aim was to reclaim control of the vital Suez Canal and be a demonstration of strength, but it's backfired. The invasion has been internationally condemned and even Britain's closest ally the United States has called for an immediate withdrawal of troops. It's a humiliation for Britain. Whatever the optimist, Morian hopes he can turn the moment to his advantage. Morian walks into the meeting and closes the door firmly behind him. The room falls silent. Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. I'm aware it's been a long week for many of you. Seated around the conference table or a handful of government officials, represented is from Britain's major airlines and aircraft manufacturers, as well as several of Morian's colleagues from the RAE Research Facility. So I'll spare you all the lengthy preamble. You've read the reports. You know the vision. A world-class, first of its kind, supersonic passenger plane. The goal of this committee is to prove that it's more than just a pipe train. Yes, but is it done? And design terms is as really feasible. Morian looks across the table. This question comes from the chief designer at Vickers Armstrong, a prominent airplane manufacturer. Morian expected this kind of resistance, though, and has come prepared. We believe this is feasible. Yes, I mean, difficult, but feasible. Two of my colleagues are developing an exciting new wing platform, with a large surface area and swept edge. Significantly reducing drag, I'm sorry, Mr. Morian, but surely the main issue is going to be the running costs. I mean, in this report, the only prototype you've come up with could carry a grand total of 15 passengers. And with respect, that's not a commercial jet. That's a millionaires yacht. Morian takes a deep breath. Yes, and that's a version we've abandoned for obvious reasons. I included it, though, for context. We're confident that within the next few years, we'll arrive at a design that'll carry close to 100 passengers. Well, that may be true, but I think I can speak for most of the manufacturers here that when I say this is a non-starter, unless the government's willing to pay for it, there's too much risk involved. Well, let's not put the car before the horse, shall we? I mean, I agree we're going to need state funding. That's a given. But we can't take this to the money men at the Treasury until we have a robust water-tight feasibility report back by years of rigorous research, and that's what I'm asking all of you to help with. Morian looks around the room, taking in the dubious faces. Gentlemen, we built the world's first commercial passenger jet, but now less than a decade later, Britain's at risk of becoming irrelevant in the global aviation industry. But think about it, we used to be innovators, we used to lead the way, we used to matter. Morian resists the urge to mention recent events that the Suez can now, but he doesn't need to. The unspoken subtext is loud enough, Britain is in desperate need of a win. And as far as passenger planes go, we sat back and let America take the lead. There's no changing that now. The subsonic race, I fear, is lost, but the supersonic race, well that's not even started. Morian Morgan's infectious energy and enthusiasm, eventually one over the man of the supersonic transport aircraft committee. The skeptical bureaucrats and industry big hitters of stack were captivated by his vision of a supersonic future built in Great Britain. It would be the kind of national triumph the country sorely needed, so Morian now had a team behind him and was time for the real work to begin. Morian Morgan and his stack group launched a vast research project. Over the next two years, they exhaustively tested every aspect of a hypothetical supersonic plane. There were a lot of elements to consider, the shape of the aircraft's wings and fuselage, its weight, its target speed. Supersonic was a vague term, meaning anything over the speed of sound, but for the engineers trying to pin down a design, the exact numbers mattered. A Mach 1.5 aircraft, traveling one and a half times the speed of sound, was a very different proposition from a Mach 2 aircraft. But both options were on the table, and Morian and his committee came to the conclusion that the United Kingdom should produce two separate aircraft, one medium range airliner capable of flying at Mach 1.2 in a long range plane which could fly up to twice the speed of sound. But as for costs, the stack group was more vague. And estimated that the development of the aircraft would require somewhere in the range of 59 to 95 million pounds, between 1.8 and 2.8 billion dollars today. Those numbers, though, were in effect total inventions. The committee came up with a figure they thought would be paleswold to the British government and worked backward from there. After all, if they couldn't get the bureaucrats to sign on, the project would be dead in the water no matter what. With all this work done and the final committee report prepared in March of 1959, Morian sat down to write a letter to the British Ministry of Aviation. It was time for the government to make a decision. After laying out the design idea in brief, Morian shifted into language he felt the politicians would understand. He wrote, "A decision not to start detailed work fairly soon would be in effect to opt altogether out of long range supersonic transport since we would never regain a competitive position. This could have a profound effect on our position as a leading aeronautical power." The measured urgency of Morian's letter had the desired effect. The Ministry of Aviation quickly commissioned two British firms to develop the designs further, the Bristol Aeroplane Company, and Hawker Sidley Aviation. These two companies would work in collaboration with Morian Morgan in his committee, but this was essentially a competition, whichever firm came up with a better plan would be chosen to move forward. After gaining approval though, the idea of developing two aircraft with different ranges was quickly shelved. The reason was simple, the British felt that the transatlantic route had the greatest potential for supersonic flight, and a medium-range jet couldn't make the trip across the ocean. So the two rival engineering teams would both focus on different designs for a single long range supersonic airliner. Morian was pleased to see the project advance to the next stage, but he was worried about its long-term prospects. The question of funding remained unresolved. The British government had bankrolled the development of new aircraft in the recent past. Between 1945 and '51, it spent more than 40 million pounds on civil aviation projects, $12 billion today. But that large S was now over. The conservative government elected in 1951 took a more hands-off approach to the private sector in general. But it was the expensive and embarrassing design flaws of the comet that made ministers really wary of aviation projects. So to secure the future of his new jet plane, Morian began thinking beyond Whitehall. In fact, he started looking beyond the borders of Britain entirely. He knew that the United Kingdom was not the only country developing a supersonic airliner. The United States and the Soviet Union had certainly started their own design programs. And Morian expected that other powers would be looking at the technology as well. This was potentially an opportunity, though. If the British could find an international partner, they could pool engineering expertise and share the costs of developing the jet. As it turned out, great minds thought alike. When Morian took his idea to the British Minister of Aviation, he got an enthusiastic response. Aubrey Jones saw the supersonic project as the ideal way to bolsters Britain ties with the European common market. This was the first incarnation of what would later be known as the European Union and was designed to foster political and economic integration in post-war Europe. In 1959, the six members of the common market were Belgium, France, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and West Germany. The United Kingdom had applied for membership, too, but had been vetoed by the French President Charles de Gaulle, who believed that Britain's loyalties were too divided between Europe and the United States. The British Minister of Aviation Aubrey Jones had been bitterly disappointed by that, but he was sure that the door to Britain wasn't closed entirely, and collaborating on a supersonic jet could help win hearts and minds among Britain's European neighbors ahead of any future application into the common market. So throughout the summer and fall of 1959, Maureen and Aubrey began exploring their options. A toward various European capitals trying to get a read on two things, how advanced other countries were with their own supersonic projects and how interested international firms might be in a collaboration with Britain. By October 1959, a clear frontrunner had emerged, France, the same country that had blocked Britain's entry into the common market. With the two nations had worked on aircraft together before, the celebrated French passenger jet, the Caravel, was powered by engines from the British firm Rolls-Royce. More recently, representatives from France State Aerospace Lab had visited Maureen and his team at the RAE. Some expertise had been exchanged during these informal visits, but a full partnership would be a totally different proposition. It would require an unprecedented level of cooperation between governments, private companies, and international teams of engineers. Still Maureen, of course, was optimistic that it could be done. Britain and France had been allies in World War II after all, and if they could be partners in wartime, then Maureen was sure they could be partners in peacetime as well. But in 1960, a new aviation minister was appointed in Britain. 51-year-old Peter Thornichrofft was more skeptical about France. To his mind, even if an Anglo-French alliance could be forged, there was no guarantee it would make much of a difference. After all, it wouldn't change who Peter saw as the main competition in the supersonic race. The United States of America was the Goliath to Britain's David. But where others saw a threat, Peter would see an opportunity. He would realize that for all the vague rumblings about America's supersonic project, no one had any real intelligence about its plans. Peter would be determined to change all that, and if he got his way, then David and Goliath would be about to go into business together. One company changed the artificial sweetener industry forever by deleting four words from a tagline, sales, skyrocketed, rivals sued, and a multi-billion dollar war was on. Hey there, I'm David Brown, the host of the podcast business wars. Every season we bring you the true stories behind the companies that shape our world. Their rivalries, their reinventions, and their spectacular rises and falls. In our new season, we're diving into the bitter battle to own sweetness. When scientists discovered that chemicals could deliver the taste of sugar with none of its calories, sweet and low, equal and splendid fought for space on table tops, in diet sodas, and on grocery store shelves across America. But as health scares hit, and regulators came knocking, the fierce competition between the top three artificial sweeteners turned ugly. Make sure to follow business wars wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of business wars early and at free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app, or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. What if AI could recreate the voice of somebody you loved who died? What if it destroyed your reputation with words you never said? And what if you fell in love with something that was never human? I'm Mark Phinell, and in my brand new Audible original podcast, I'm traveling the globe to investigate the very personal ways. AI is already changing our relationships, our memories, and our sense of what is real. Unreal. Listen now, on Audible. It's a humid morning in Washington, DC, in the late summer of 1960, a month after Peter Thornacraft became Britain's new aviation minister. Peter sits on a bench near the Lincoln Memorial, relentlessly tapping his foot. As a 51-year-old career politician, he doesn't usually get nervous, but this is no ordinary [BLANK_AUDIO] meaning. He's in Washington to convince the Americans to join forces with the British on the development of a supersonic passenger jet, but he's under no illusions about what this will mean. If they agree to a deal, Britain will never be on equal footing with the United States. But Peter's willing to accept junior status in exchange for the financial security that a partnership with America would bring. Hearing footsteps approaching, Peter looks up and recognizes Elwood Cassada, a retired Air Force general who's recently been appointed as the first chairman of the Federal Aviation Administration. Mr. Thorny Croft, Pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate you making the trip. General Cassada clasps Peter's hand in a firm vigorous shape. The pleasure is all mine. Well, I hope you don't mind a walk-and-talk. You know, we're still a pretty new agency at the FAA, and we're kind of in between offices right now. Oh, no, not at all. It's nice to have a chance to see the signs. The two men sit off along the National Mall walking ease toward the capital building. General Cassada takes charge of the conversation. So, let's just cut to the chase. We are excited about the proposal. Based on the specs you've been able to share and the limited info we have, there seems to be a lot of common ground. Well, that's precisely it. And given the history of collaboration between our nations, but, you know, here's the problem though. You're not thinking big enough. Or I guess that what I mean is you're not thinking fast enough. You're blank, so I'm sure if this is a joke, General Cassada goes on. What I mean is, the maximum speed you're aiming at is Mach 2. At 2.2, yes, well, that's not going to cut it for us. Peter stares at him, incredulous, a passenger airliner flying at twice the speed of sound is already unheard of. It sounded ludicrous to Peter the first time he heard the proposal. But the Americans seem to be planning to go even faster? Well, I'm not sure I understand what kind of speed do you have in mind. We'd like to get closer to Mach 3. I see. Peter pauses, reflecting on the best way to respond. He knows that Morian Morgan's team researched faster speeds, but concluded that a Mach 3 aircraft would be far too expensive. Still, Peter's here to make a deal with the Americans, so he doesn't want to appear dismissive. Well, speed is certainly the selling point for a supersonic plane, and so the more of it, the better I say. Do you believe that a Mach 3 passenger craft is feasible though? Well, we know it is. We have the technology, but, you know, we've probably heard we've got a presidential election in the fall. We're in a bit of a holding banner right now until we know how that shakes out, but we're confident that once that's out of the way, the team at Boeing is going to be full speed ahead on this. I see. And I appreciate your candor. Well, we're allies, aren't we? This is the next great frontier in aviation, Mr. Thornycroft, and I assure you hope you Brits can come along for the ride. This is his plane home taxied along the runway the next morning. Peter Thornycroft was despondent. Whatever financial advantage the British might get from partnering with the United States would be canceled out by the significantly higher cost of making a Mach 3 aircraft. But that wasn't the only reason Peter felt glum. If what General Cassada had told him was true, then all Morian Morgan's work had been for nothing. If America really did have the capability to make a Mach 3 passenger plane, then Britain had lost the supersonic race before it had even begun. By the fall of 1960, Peter Thornycroft and the British Ministry of Aviation had a decision to make. Two industry teams from the Bristol Airplane Company and Hawker Siddley had been working with Morian Morgan's committee on designs for Britain's supersonic jet. The firms had now submitted their feasibility studies, and Peter had to choose which of the two designs should move forward. But it wasn't the Bristol Airplane Company or Hawker Siddley that won the contract. At the moment, the British Aviation Industry was undergoing a sea change. During the 1950s, it had become increasingly clear to the government that the country's large number of small and medium-sized aircraft manufacturers wasn't sustainable, rising costs, declining military exports, and American competition were all eating into profits. So the British government set out to streamline the industry, pushing through a merger of four key aviation manufacturers. By consolidating the industry's star players into a single entity, the government hoped the companies could pool resources and reduce the inefficient duplication of efforts. This new mega manufacturer would be known as the British Aircraft Corporation or BAC, and was expected to compete with the largest global firms. Among the four merged manufacturers was the Bristol Aerospace Company. So it was BAC, not Bristol, that submitted the feasibility study on the supersonic jet, and it was BAC that won the contract. Their design could accommodate 20% more passengers than the rival bid from Hawker Siddley, but its overall weight would be similar, meaning that operating costs per passenger would be lower. Above all else, this helped swing the decision. And much of the design of the plan jet was still to be decided upon, an aviation minister Peter Thornichruff hadn't entirely given up his dream of partnering with America. So not long after his trip to Washington, Peter visited BAC to meet with their engineers. He asked them why the American idea of a Mach 3 aircraft had been ruled out by the British team. The answer was simple, BAC used aluminum for a tear frames, but aluminum could only withstand speeds of up to around Mach 2. Only faster an air friction would begin to soften the metal, the plane might literally fall apart in the sky. The engineering team at BAC had explored the possibility of using a stronger airframe made of steel, but between the materials higher costs and the burden of working with an unfamiliar metal, this idea was quickly rejected. Peter was left disappointed. A deal with the American seemed more unlikely with every passing day. So he returned to London and called a meeting with Jeffrey Rippen, a colleague at the Ministry of Aviation. Jeffrey had been in his position for over a year and had formed a close working relationship with Maureen Morgan and other members of the Supersonic Committee. Since Peter was still new to his role, he valued Jeffrey's input and wanted his opinion on how to proceed. But when asked, Jeffrey didn't think a partnership with the United States was possible, nor did he believe that it was a foregone conclusion that America would win the supersonic race. A Mach 3 passenger jet would certainly be impressive if it could get off the ground. But even the might of American industry couldn't buck the laws of physics. As the British teams had discovered, the higher the speed, the higher the complexity and the cost. In this case, American ambition might prove less successful than European pragmatism. So Jeffrey steered Peter away from the partnership with Washington. Jeffrey was a staunch pro-European and reminded Peter that their conversations with the French government and representatives from its aviation industry had been far more encouraging. The two countries were aligned on a number of key design issues. They were targeting the same maximum speed, having come to the same conclusions about the folly of trying to go any faster. There was also the fact that the UK would be an equal partner in any relationship with France, which would never have been possible with the United States. Finally, as ministers, both Jeffrey and Peter knew that the British government was planning a fresh bid to join the European common market. The French had blocked Britain's membership before, but a stronger industrial partnership between the two countries might help change their minds. As Jeffrey laid out all the advantages, Peter couldn't deny that what he was saying made sense. As much as he wished his trip to America had gone better, time was running out, and he wanted to secure a cost-sharing partnership as soon as possible. The supersonic project was due to be submitted to the British Treasury soon, and Peter knew that officials were skeptical about spending money on just about anything, let alone an experimental jet plane. Their proposal needed to be in the best economic shape possible before his put in front of the money men. So if a deal with the Americans was a non-starter, Peter reluctantly turned his attention back to the French. But the French weren't yet sold on a partnership. They'd only been given limited information on the British design for the plane and couldn't commit without knowing more. So Jeffrey suggested that as a show of good faith, Peter should share a copy of Morian Morgan's committee report with the French. This was an unusual move. The front cover of the report was emblazoned with a dramatic warning, "confidential" for UK eyes only. It contained three years' worth of exhaustive research and proprietary designs. It was not the sort of thing that could just be handed out like a promotional brochure. But Peter realized that he didn't have much choice. If he wanted the French to join the project, he had to take a chance. So later that summer, the report was handed over to a select group of French representatives. It had the desired effect. French engineers were impressed by the detailed designs in the report, especially the innovative sweat-back Delta-shaped wings. These would allow the new plane to operate effectively at both subsonic and supersonic speeds and at angles that would ordinarily cause a stall. But there was still a major sticking point. The French had concentrated their efforts on a medium-range aircraft, believing that was a more realistic goal. Morian Morgan and his team had initially considered a medium-range aircraft, but once the more detailed design work began, only a long-range aircraft emerged as viable. It seemed that the French and British design philosophies were incompatible. Aviation Minister Peter Thornycroft felt a sinking sense of deja vu, first America, and now France. All my life. Once every promising international partnership seemed to be doomed by some irreconcilable difference, but Peter refused to admit defeat. Like Morian Morgan and Aubrey Jones before him, Peter was now deeply invested in the supersonic passenger plane project, and he was determined that whatever it took, Britain's jet would get off the runway. Hey, it's Mike Corey, the host of Against the Odds, from Audible Originals. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. And sometimes, we get to hear from survivors themselves, in their own words. On our next episode, Sujo John will tell his story of September 11, 2001. That day, he clocked into his job at the World Trade Center's North Tower. Sujo's wife, Mary, pregnant with their first child, worked just next door in the South Tower. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, collapsing cubicles and walls. But as Sujo and his office mates raced to escape the smoldering building, they heard another massive explosion, and Sujo realized his wife and unborn child were also in grave danger. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Against the Odds early and add free right now. Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. Is June 1961 at the Borje Airport in Paris, a year after Maureen Morgan's committee report was shared with France? The Paris air show is in full swing. British Aviation Minister Peter Thornycroft is at the booth belonging to the Suid Aviation France's state-owned aircraft manufacturer. Peter peers down at a model on display, a prototype for the company's much-anticipated new aircraft, the Super Caravale, and looking at it, it seems pretty familiar. The Super Caravale is a medium range Mach 2.2 aircraft with a distinctive slender wing. Peter can't be sure that the French altered their design after seeing the British report when he has his suspicions, but it's not a bad thing. The French clearly recognized the value of British design, and that's a good sign for the partnership which Peter hopes to secure today. Robert Bureau, the French Minister for Transport, approaches. So much here, what do you think? It's beautiful. That discreet fuselage and the slightly droop nose. Oh, listen to you talking like an engineer. And the slender Delta Wing, of course, such a unique design. The two politicians exchange knowing clans. Ah, come, let's talk. The two men retreat into an airport conference room to continue their conversation in more quiet. So now we can speak candidly. We've seen your design. You have seen ours. From our side, I can say there's a lot of interest in a partnership, but some resistance. President De Gaulle? Well, it's no secret that the president is, hmm, suspicious. Suspicious of the British in general, he suspects your loyalties lie elsewhere. There's special relationship with the United States. Well, of course, the United States is an important ally to both France and Britain, but I don't think that precludes other fruitful partnerships. So you've not been courting them as you've been courting us? We've kept our options open, but as of this month, I can tell you that any supersonic partnership with the US is off the table. I see. And was that your decision or theirs? It was mutual. This is a bit of a lie. The United States were the ones to formally turn down the partnership with Britain. Information came from Washington just a few weeks ago. You see, there were a fundamental disagreement over the design, which we felt just weren't reconcilable. But our two countries, on the other hand, are perfectly aligned. Except the range, no? Yes, there is that detail. That's where most of the resistance to an idiot comes from. At least on our side, there's no room for maneuver on that. The supercaravale will be a medium-range aircraft, and ours will be a long-range one. We're not willing to bend on that either. But perhaps there is still more middle ground to be found here than you think. Just because the planes won't be identical twins doesn't mean they can't be family. Go on. Well, at the moment, we're both pouring enormous amounts of time, money, and engineering expertise into two separate but similar aircraft. That's a duplication of effort. It's a waste. If we join forces, pool our resources, we can share common components, engines, hydraulic systems, but continue working on our preferred designs. But precisely, one medium-range, one long-range, related, but different. Robert Bureauin was a hard man to read, but as they parted ways, Peter Thornecroft could tell he was intrigued. He knew that France's aviation industry was facing the same economic realities as Britain, the costs of building and testing the world's first supersonic passenger jet were unprecedented. It was hard for Peter to imagine France turning down an opportunity to reduce those costs. But having tasted disappointment in America, Peter couldn't shake his fears. Without France, the project would not go ahead. Britain's supersonic jet had only this one chance left. Shortly after their meeting at the Paris Air Show, British Aviation Minister Peter Thornecroft and the French Minister for Transport, Robert Bureauin agreed that their top engineers should meet to discuss the proposal. Over the next few weeks, the two ministers oversaw a series of meetings between BAC's chief supersonic designers and their French counterparts at the French firm Sue Deviation. They asked their respective manufacturers to work together on creating a joint outline for the supersonic project, detailing the specifics of how they would collaborate. As a result, there was growing excitement on both sides of the English channel over the prospect of a deal. After years of being kept deliberately below the radar, the supersonic program was now gathering attention in the British Parliament. The United Kingdom was about to reapply for membership to the European Common Market and the British government hoped that this supersonic project would be just the first of many such collaborations to come. But despite the growing political support, Aviation Minister Peter Thornecroft was still facing resistance from the Treasury. They controlled the budget for the British State and were wary about the expense of the project, even with the prospect of a cost-sharing partner. But Peter hadn't risen to the top of government without learning a thing or two along the way. He was a shrewd politician and knew how to stretch the truth when it suited him. So when meetings with the Treasury and his government superiors, Peter strongly implied that the French were in a hurry to get the deal done, and that if Britain didn't agree by the end of the year, they would proceed on their own. Whether this was true or not really didn't matter to Peter. All he knew was that the fear of missing out on the inevitable seeming supersonic future would help motivate key decision-makers. And in October of 1962, BAC and sued Aviation submitted their joint proposal, a collaboration on two separate versions of the same supersonic aircraft. Both the British and French governments approved the deal, and Peter began working on a draft of a formal agreement. This would be no commercial deal though. Such was the importance of the supersonic project to both nations, it would be built on more solid foundations, a fully-fledged international treaty between the United Kingdom and France. The language was mostly unremarkable, laying out how the costs, components, and engineering resources would be shared between the two countries. But there was one clause that was very different from any other business agreement. It stated that if either party tried to withdraw from the treaty, there would be heavy financial penalties. It was the very definition of high-risk, high-reward, and Peter knew he was playing with fire. This clause effectively meant there would be no backing out for Britain or France. It would almost guarantee that the supersonic jet would eventually take to the skies, but only if the agreement was signed. Peter submitted the draft agreement in November 1962 and waited for both governments to react. He knew the controversial clause would either make or break the entire deal. After all the work of Maury and Morgan and his team, after all the lobbying efforts of Aubrey Jones and Peter Thornichroft, this was the moment of truth. The supersonic dream was either about to become reality or fall apart. From wondering, this is episode 1 of Concord, Sonic Boom and Bus for Business Movers. On the next episode, the United States and the Soviet Union enter the supersonic-raced in earnest, threatening to lead the French and British project trailing far behind. If you'd like to learn more about Concord, we recommend The Concord Affair by John Davis, blind Concord, the full story by Brian Calbert, and supersonic bust, a 1977 article in The Atlantic by Peter Guilman. A quick note about our dramatizations. In most cases, we can't know everything that happened, but all our reenactments are based on historical research. Business Movers is hosted, edited and executed produced by me Lindsay Graham for Airship, audio editing by Mohammed Shahzib, sound designed by Molly Bach, music by Lindsay Graham. This episode is written and researched by Emma Dibden, executive producers are William Simpson for Airship and Aaron O'Flaherty, Jenny Lauer Beckman, and Marshal Louis for Wonder Woman. The Roomba became a billion dollar product, not by being the smartest. robot but by being the dumbest. And then, the company that made it ended up nearly losing everything. Hey, I'm David Brown, the host of the podcast Business Wars. Every season we bring you the true stories behind the companies that shape our world, their rivalries, their reinventions, and their spectacular rises and falls. In our new season, we tell the story of iRobot and Roomba, the little vacuum that swept into 50 million homes and brought in billions in revenue. But the Roomba couldn't hold its leave forever. When Chinese competitors figured out how to give customers more for less, the company that created the category faced an existential threat for survival. Follow Business Wars, wherever you get your podcasts. 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