I flew in a Cold War-era jet that trained US fighter pilots. It showed how far military aviation has come.

The US was among several countries around the world ushering in a new era of fighter aircraft toward the end of World War II.

The T-33 Shooting Star was instrumental in transitioning early military aviators — then already qualified to fly propeller-driven aircraft — to fighter jets. The jet trainer was a direct offshoot of the single-seat P-80 Shooting Star, one of the first operational jet fighters flown by the US Air Force, adding another seat to the cockpit to accommodate both student and instructor.

Equipped with a turbojet engine, the T-33 could reach speeds of up to 600 mph and altitudes of up to 45,000 feet. Just shy of 40 feet long, the jet trainer had a large clear bubble canopy, providing ample visibility to the pilots in the two-seat cockpit decked out with various flight indicators and engine gauges.

Lockheed manufactured over 5,000 so-called "T-Birds" between 1948 and 1959, used by air forces around the world until the fleet was slowly phased out starting in the 1980s. The US Air Force retired its last T-33, a variant modified for aerodynamic research, in 1997, ending the storied aircraft's five-decade tenure with the service.

While the T-Bird no longer trains military pilots, the aircraft's legacy has been preserved in aerial museums and heritage flights.

I flew with Greg "Wired" Colyer, a longtime performer at the Pacific Airshow. Colyer founded Ace Maker Aviation, operating three T-33 aircraft for aerial demonstrations like airshows.

A US Army veteran and aviation enthusiast, Colyer completed his fixed-wing training while studying at the US Navy's Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California.

He told Business Insider he wanted to fly military helicopters until a knee injury prompted him to instead work as an air traffic controller for the Federal Aviation Administration for nearly three decades.

In 2008, Colyer restored his first T-Bird, aptly naming the historic jet trainer the "Ace Maker," teaching himself aerobatic maneuvers for airshows across the US. Aside from airshows, the California native also works as a test pilot instructor for the US Navy and Air Force.

Over the next decade, he added two more T-33s, the Ace Maker II and Ace Maker III, the latter of which I flew in.

"It was just one of my favorite planes as a kid," Colyer said. "It was our very first jet trainer and just an iconic piece of US history."

During the Pacific Airshow, Colyer put the T-33's capabilities on full display, dazzling spectators below with his self-taught aerobatic maneuvers.

The airshow also featured performances from the F-22 Raptor, a fifth-generation stealth jet considered to be the top US air superiority fighter. The Thunderbirds, the Air Force's aerial demonstration squadron, also wowed crowds at the airshow, flying in tight formations at near-supersonic speeds in F-16 Fighting Falcon aircraft.

After haphazardly climbing atop the T-33's wing, I peered into the cockpit and was immediately intimidated by the crowded display of gauges and controls.

As a Cold War-era aircraft, the T-33 didn't feature the digital displays or avionics that are routine on more advanced fighter jets. The T-Bird had primarily analog controls, leaving the pilot responsible for manually controlling the plane's speed, altitude, and flight path.

Colyer walked me through a crash course of the T-33's rear instrument panels — the airspeed indicator, altimeter, turn coordinator, heading indicator, radio controls, and various fuel and engine gauges monitoring temperature, pressure, and fuel state.

As a tandem trainer, the backseat also had a yoke and rudder pedals, allowing student pilots to practice controls and maneuvers. I was explicitly instructed not to mess with either.

Though rudimentary to an experienced pilot, I could see how it would benefit early military aviators to develop essential skills for operating the advanced jet aircraft of the time.

As a journalist, however, the mechanics of the aircraft were lost on me, but I paid close attention to two controls in the cockpit:

1. The switch that muted my transceiver so I wouldn't distract the pilot.
2. The lever that operated the plane's rocket-powered emergency ejection seat — for obvious reasons.

As Colyer strapped into the pilot seat, I settled in the seat behind him, my head barely peeking over the edge of the cockpit.

I adjusted my flight helmet and oxygen mask, snapping a few shameless selfies to show off in group chats with my friends and family after the flight.

Colyer's voice crackled in my headset as he communicated with the control tower. In an instant, the plane's engine roared to life as the plane taxied the airfield in Orange County.

With one final check-in, I signaled my OK with a meager thumbs-up to the pilot before we sped down the runway and into the air.

The acceleration pinned me against the seat, and I peered at the blurring silhouettes of buildings and aircraft surrounding us, slowly shrinking as we gained altitude.

I had to stifle my gasp — lest I distract Colyer while he operated the aircraft — as we were soon graced with an unobstructed view of the skies through the glass canopy.

While Colyer spared me from the thrills — and terrors — of complex airshow maneuvers, I was still acutely aware of the G-forces pressing down on me with every sharp movement of the aircraft.

A slight nudge of the yoke sent us banking into a turn, the horizon tilting dramatically. I was repeatedly startled by urgent beeping from the control panel, only to be reassured by Colyer that it was because the plane was idling to maintain slower speeds.

He said the T-33 was only going around 250 mph — a fraction of what the jet trainer was capable of and nearly half the speed he normally goes during airshow performances.

We were accompanied by a former US Navy Texan T-6 during the flight demonstration. A fellow trainer aircraft, the T-6 is a two-seat jet trainer produced by Raytheon Aircraft in the 1990s and early 2000s.

The T-6 was primarily used to train students in basic flying skills through the Air Force and Navy's entry-level training program known as the Joint Primary Aircraft Training System.

Time seemed to pass more slowly as we flew for about an hour, constrained by the fuel capacity of the T-33, which burns about 300 gallons per hour.

Descending back toward the runway, the adrenaline began to ebb before Colyer informed me that he would partially pop open the canopy to create additional drag upon landing. Lowering the visor on my flight helmet, I braced myself against rushing winds as the T-33 touched down with a thud and rolled to a halt on the tarmac.

After sharing the cockpit selfies and views with friends and family, I fielded a number of questions about the flight and whether I got to deploy any onboard weapons (trainer aircraft are not armed). It was a chance to reflect on the unforgettable experience.

In short, we flew in circles over Orange County, cruising at speeds slower than commercial passenger planes. I then spent the rest of the time ahead of the Pacific Airshow talking with demo pilots who operated more advanced frontline fighters.

But the experience was more than just a golden-hour flight in a vintage military jet trainer. The intense rumble of the turbojet engine, the array of analog gauges and controls, and sweeping views through the canopy offered a glimpse into what it must have felt like for early military aviators mastering jet-powered flight for the first time.

While I'm still holding out on future familiarization flight rides on modern fighter jets, my flight on the T-Bird will serve as a constant reminder of just how far US military aviation has come.