Jack Cube didn’t lower his binoculars. “Tell ’em to go ahead, sir,” he said quietly.
Bliss nodded to the engineers. One of them began a countdown, starting from ten. The movie camera purred as its operator began filming. Several people raised their hands to their ears.
At the count of zero, the chief engineer pressed a toggle switch in the center of the box. From the distance, the dull grumble of the primary ignition sequence sounded. A small reddish spark appeared deep within the engine bell, showing that the nitrogen had forced the kerosene and liquid oxygen together in the combustion chamber, where they’d been ignited by an electric heating element. A couple of seconds later, the grumble became a mighty roar that thundered across the plain. The small spark was suddenly replaced by a white-hot jet that flared from the engine like an enormous blowtorch, sending a dense black plume roiling up into the blue desert sky. The engine trembled and shook upon the test bed, straining against the iron straps and bolts that held it down. It no longer seemed to be a machine but instead a living creature, a metal tiger suddenly awakened and wanting to be freed.
A cheer rose from the engineers, almost loud enough to be heard over the engine. They clapped each other on the back and shook hands; a couple of them looked like they were on the verge of jumping out of the trench and running straight to the test bed. Even the guards were grinning, as were the three visitors nearby. Hands covering his ears, Bliss laughed out loud.
The only person who didn’t share the enthusiasm was J. Jackson Jackson. He continued to watch the rocket engine through his binoculars, lips barely moving as he counted elapsed seconds beneath his breath: “Nine… ten… eleven…”
And then the engine exploded.
There was no warning at all. One moment, it was operating as it should. The next, it disappeared within the enormous fireball that erupted upon the test bed. It was as if the Army Air Force had chosen that moment to drop a one-ton bomb on the desert.
The blast made everyone duck behind the cover of the sandbags, which was just as well because the explosion sent twisted pieces of metal in all directions, with a copper pipe hitting the ground only a dozen feet from the trench. The movie camera almost toppled before someone grabbed its tripod and kept it upright, but one of the periscopes was blown over. A wave of intense heat rushed across the trench, hotter than the desert sun.
The explosion was still echoing off the distant mountains when Colonel Bliss slowly rose from his instinctive crouch to peer over the barricade at the smoking mess. “What happened?” he asked in dull astonishment, as if it weren’t obvious.
“Who knows?” Jack Cube lowered his binoculars with a shrug that could have been mistaken for indifference. He was the only one who was unruffled by the catastrophe. “Bad welds causing a leak. Bad fuel-mixture ratio. Turbine failure. Any number of things. Maybe we’ll figure it out when we pick up the pieces.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
Jackson gave him an incredulous look: Are you kidding? “I would’ve been surprised if it was a success. This is… this was… a prototype. They almost always fail even if they’re built completely according to spec. And…”
He stopped himself, looked away from the colonel. “And what, Lieutenant?” Bliss asked. “Let’s hear it.”
Jack Cube hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “Sir, this is no way to run an R&D program. You can’t expect our group to simply put stuff down on paper, then send it to someone else to build and test. You’ve got to let us get our hands on the hardware if we’re going to…”
“Not a chance.” The colonel grunted as he heaved himself out of the trench, disdaining the wooden steps that had been built into one end. He turned to offer Jack Cube a hand, only to find that the younger man had already climbed up and was standing beside him. “My orders are to keep the brain trust away from the rockets. What just happened here proves to me that it’s a wise decision.”
“Sir, I disagree. What it really proves is that you can’t compartmentalize this project.” Jack hesitated. “We have a solution. There’s a manufacturer in Worcester, the Wyman-Gordon Company. A military contractor, making various components for aircraft companies. If we could arrange to have them build the main engine under the 390 Group’s direct supervision…”
“And conduct tests where? Tell me a place in New England where you could fire an engine of this size and keep it a secret. That, plus the security risks of undertaking a secret military construction program in a major city…”
“It would be the last place the Nazis would look.” Bliss gave him a skeptical look, but Jackson went on. “Think about it, sir. Who would expect anyone to build a rocket engine in Worcester? And in an aircraft factory, there would already be enough security in place to…”
“Out of the question.” Shaking his head, Bliss walked away. “Enough, Lieutenant. This isn’t why I asked you to come here.”
“Yes, sir.” Jackson knew better than to try to force the issue. Omar Bliss was stubborn by nature, and as Blue Horizon’s project director, he had the last word. But as he fell into step with the colonel, he resolved to win the argument. Sooner or later, he’d make Bliss come around. He just had to come up with a better line of reasoning.
The three visitors who’d witnessed the test had climbed out of the trench. They’d lit cigarettes and were leaning against the sandbags, quietly chatting among themselves. At the colonel’s approach, the two in uniform dropped their smokes and stood at attention, while the one in civilian clothes did not. All three had a self-confident, almost arrogant attitude that Jack Cube recognized from flight school. They were test pilots, and if Bliss was right, they were the best.
“Lieutenant Calhoun, Lieutenant Sloman, Mr. McPherson… if you’ll come with us, please.” The colonel walked by them without stopping, heading for a jeep parked beside the unfinished blockhouse, where construction had begun a few weeks ago.
The test pilots crowded into the backseat, and the colonel rode shotgun while Jack drove. A short ride over a bumpy, unpaved road brought them to a single-story prefab in the middle of the secret compound going up inside Alamogordo Army Air Field. Bliss and Jackson led the three men into the building and down a short corridor to the colonel’s office. Just outside the door, a sign was on the corridor walclass="underline"
Whatever You See Here,
Whatever You Hear Here,
When You Leave Here,
It Stays Here.
Giving the sign a significant look, the colonel tapped it with his finger, then unlocked the door and opened it. His office was small, windowless, and lined with file cabinets, its government-issue desk covered with paperwork. Bliss beckoned to three folding chairs set up, then took a seat behind the desk. Jack closed the door and leaned against a file cabinet, arms crossed.
“Gentlemen, we’ve met already.” Bliss nodded to Jackson. “Let me introduce Lieutenant J. Jackson Jackson. He belongs to a research-and-development team currently involved in the biggest military R&D program Uncle Sam has going. It’s called Operation Blue Horizon, and what you just saw was the first major test.”
“Looks like it was a success,” Chuck Calhoun said drily. A short, beefy man with a red crew cut, he had a perpetual sneer that hinted at undying cynicism about everything.
“Yeah… a roaring success.” This from Joe McPherson, a skinny, awkward-looking guy with jug ears and a pronounced Adam’s apple.
The third man said nothing although a smile whispered at the corners of his mouth. Rudy Sloman was just a little taller than Calhoun, wiry and narrow-shouldered, with one of those homely-yet-handsome faces that either repels women or attracts them.