“Believe it or not, it was a success,” Bliss said. “The engine ran for twelve seconds before it blew up…”
“Eleven seconds,” Jackson said softly.
“Eleven seconds”—Bliss scowled at him—“which is pretty good considering that it’s the most powerful liquid-fuel rocket engine yet built. The next one we build will last longer, and we’ll keep working on it until we get something that can sustain 132,000 pounds of thrust for ninety seconds.”
McPherson whistled. “That’s a tall order. What are you planning to build here, some kind of rocket fighter?”
“Sort of like that… but not quite.” Bliss looked at Jackson. “Lieutenant?”
“What we’re building is a manned space vehicle that will operate above Earth’s atmosphere,” Jackson said. “The X-1 will be a fighter, yes, but…”
He didn’t get to finish. Calhoun was already braying laughter, slapping his hands against his knees as he doubled over in his chair. McPherson tried not to laugh, but the smirk that appeared on his face betrayed his skepticism. Sloman shook his head disbelievingly but otherwise remained quiet.
“Man, oh man!” Calhoun was almost wheezing from the effort to speak. “You darkies sure are funny!”
“Knock it off!” Bliss snapped. “You’ll address Lieutenant Jackson with the respect due to a fellow officer!”
Jack tried not to smile. Over the past couple of months, Bliss had gradually learned to regard him as being more than “a credit to his race,” yet this was the first time he’d heard the colonel stand up for him. At least in one area, they were making progress…
“Yeah, yeah… sure, Colonel. Sorry.” Calhoun snuffled back laughter, straightened up again. Then he looked at Jackson, and said, “So, Lieutenant… with all due respect, how many shoes did you have to shine to get those bars?”
Jack Cube’s hands fell to his sides, reflexively curled into fists. He did nothing, though, except look at Bliss and quietly shake his head. “Okay, Calhoun, get out of here,” the colonel said, his voice tight with anger. “The program can’t use someone like you.”
“With pleasure.” Calhoun shoved his hands in his pockets and strutted out of the shack. Just before he left, though, he began to whistle a tune. Jackson recognized it at once: “Suwannee River,” an old minstrel-show song usually performed by white people in blackface.
Bliss waited until Calhoun slammed the door shut behind him, then let out his breath. “My apologies, Lieutenant. If you want, I can have him brought up on charges.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s all right, sir. I’m just glad we found a bad apple early.” He looked at the other two men. “What about you? Any more humorous remarks?”
McPherson had already wiped the smile off his face. He shook his head. “Not at all, Lieutenant Jackson,” Sloman said, speaking up for the first time. “Only too happy to be serving with you.” He paused, then added, “A rocket ship? Did I understand you correctly?”
“Yes, you did. Blue Horizon is a crash program to build a fighter that will ascend to suborbital altitude of more than forty miles and return safely to Earth. We’re doing this because the Germans are doing the same thing… and they intend to use it to bomb New York.”
Sloman let out a low, soft whistle, but McPherson was unimpressed. Folding his arms across his chest, he raised an eyebrow. “Nazi spaceship. Uh-huh… now I’ve heard everything.”
“Believe it, Mr. McPherson,” Bliss said. “Army intelligence has received sufficient information to convince us that the threat is real. We wouldn’t be going through all this if we didn’t think otherwise.”
“We can discuss details later,” Jack Cube said. “For now, though, the reason why the three of you have been asked to come here… two, now that Mr. Calhoun has been dismissed… is because we need to find someone to fly this craft.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” There was a sly grin on Sloman’s face.
“I’d think that would have been obvious by now.” Jackson gave him a brief smile in return. “Make no mistake… this will probably be the toughest mission you’ve undertaken. Training alone will be extremely difficult. As for the X-1 itself… it’s still on the drawing boards, but have no doubts, gentlemen, it will be unlike anything you’ve ever flown before.”
“Uh-huh. I see.” McPherson rubbed his nose. “And what’s in it for us?”
“That should be obvious,” Jack said. “A chance to serve your country as no one else ever has, and a place in history if your mission succeeds.” He didn’t mention another obvious fact—the consequences of failure would be violent death and an early grave—because pilots seldom spoke of such things.
McPherson slowly nodded, then reached over to the colonel’s desk and picked up a notepad and a pencil. He jotted something down, then tore off the page, folded it in half, and stood up to hand it to Bliss. “All that’s well and good,” he said, “but if you want the best, you’re going to have to pay for it. That’s my figure, Colonel. It’s not negotiable.”
Bliss opened the paper, glanced at the figure, then closed it again. “Thank you, Mr. McPherson. Would you please leave us alone for a few minutes? You can wait across the hall.”
McPherson hesitated, uncertain how to interpret this. When the colonel didn’t say anything further, he turned and left the office.
Bliss sighed, then passed the note to Jackson. “Who does he think he’s kidding? That’s more than my salary.”
Jack Cube took a quick look at the paper, then folded it and put it in his pocket. “He’ll negotiate if he wants the job. But we’re going to need two guys, Colonel… one as the mission pilot, the other as the backup. And with Calhoun out…”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” Bliss shook his head and looked at the remaining pilot. “Okay, then, Lieutenant Sloman, that leaves you. Or are you going to give us trouble, too?”
“Who, me?” Sloman asked. “No, sir.” Then a wry smile appeared. “But I don’t think you understand where either of those other guys are coming from. Fact is, they’re scared to death.”
Jackson stared at him. “They didn’t give me that impression.”
“Of course not. They’d sooner die than admit it. Hell, they probably don’t even realize it themselves. But do you think Chuck would’ve said those things to you if he didn’t want to get the colonel to throw him out of here?” He looked at Bliss again. “And I don’t know what Joe gave you as a figure, but I’d be willing to bet it was a way of making sure that you wouldn’t call him back.” He shrugged. “Truth is, they don’t want to climb into something that might blow up eleven seconds after it took off. They just didn’t want to say so out loud.”
“And how do you feel about that, Lieutenant Sloman?” Bliss asked.
“Skid.”
“Pardon me?”
“Everyone calls me Skid, sir. Or Rudy, if you’d like, but I think only my mother calls me that anymore.”
“Where did you get that name, Rudy? Skid, I mean.”
“Flight school in Pensacola, sir. I was bringing in a beat-up old Steerman when the landing-gear axle broke. Had to make a belly landing. Skidded all the way down the strip, but at least I didn’t turn over.” Another grin. “The name stuck, but I don’t mind. Kinda like it.”
“And you became a test pilot even after that?” Jackson asked.
“We weren’t in a war yet, so there wasn’t much call for fighter pilots. I wanted to fly warbirds, though, so I kinda just fell into it. Besides, I like the job. Taking up an experimental aircraft, seeing just how far I can push it… well, if there’s anything more fun than that, I don’t know what it is.”
Jack Cube was beginning to like this guy. Bliss had brought Jack down from Worcester to help him select the pilot for the mission, figuring that someone with military flight training would know what to look for. Jack had already studied Lieutenant Sloman’s record and was impressed even before he’d met him. All the same, though…