Taylor shrugged, then he moved to follow the kid from the train. Ham did so as well. Henry started to do the same, then he paused to look back at Goddard. “Professor…”
“Good luck to you, too,” Goddard said quietly.
Climbing down from the train, Henry saw that everyone had taken cover behind the track embankment. He crouched on hands and knees between Ham and Gerry and peered over the rail. Illuminated by the spotlights, the flatbed looked like a toy left beneath a Christmas tree. Its nozzle was pointing toward them, for good reasons: not just so that they could watch the ignition, but also for range safety should the engine happen to break loose from its moorings.
“How much time left?” Ham asked.
“I don’t know,” Henry replied. “I wasn’t counting either.” It was just then that he noticed that snow was no longer falling. The wind had died down, too. Glancing up, he was surprised to see a few stars glimmering above the ravine. “Hey, what do you know?” he said aloud. “It’s starting to clear up.”
Ham followed his gaze. “Well, I guess that’s good news. I…”
The engine ignited.
First, there was a deep rumble, like some steel behemoth clearing its throat. As that happened, an orange glow appeared deep within the nozzle as turbopumps forced volatiles together in the combustion chamber, where they met a tiny yet significant electrical spark. Within an instant, the orange glow became yellow, then white…
And then, all at once, a violent jet of flame shot forth from the engine with a roar that thundered through the ravine like a sonic flood, vanquishing the shadows and forcing the men to slap their hands over their ears. A spotlight was snatched up and hurtled away, smashing to bits against a nearby tree, while another one simply fell over. A half second later, a hot torrent of air rushed down upon the men, and winter vanished for a few moments to be replaced by a brief and tempestuous summer.
Henry had seen liquid-fuel rocket engines fired before, but never like this. This was as different from the ones they’d tested at Mescalero Ranch as… there was no comparison, really. Watching this massive thing howling and blazing in the night, he suddenly realized that something new had just been born. Something that would take men to other worlds or destroy the one they already had.
The infernal roar seemed to go on and on and on, drowning out the shouts and cheering of the men around him. The engine visibly shook on its platform; it stayed anchored, but for several seconds, Henry was afraid that the chocks and I-beams would fail, and the carriage would be hurled down the siding, to be derailed and explode across the main line. But then, as suddenly as it had begun, the engine abruptly died. Just as if a switch had been thrown, the flame and noise abruptly went away, leaving behind only an ionized stench and diminishing echoes from the ravine’s rock walls.
“Was that it?” Gerry asked. “Is it…?”
“Yeah.” Henry slowly let out his breath. His ears were ringing; he could barely hear the kid. He couldn’t take his eyes off the engine. “Yeah, that’s…”
“A hundred seconds!”
Mike Ferris leaped down from the passenger car. Dancing from foot to foot, he threw both fists in the air. “A hundred seconds!” he yelled again, as flashlight beams caught his manic dance. “Ten seconds longer than the minimum performance standard!”
The other members of the group stared at him for a second, then they scrambled to their feet and ran to him. “Impulse-per-second ratio?” Henry snapped, grabbing Mike’s shoulders.
“Three hundred ten, with a propellant mass flow rate of 425.7 pounds per second.” Mike grinned back at him. “Right on spec.”
“So where did the extra ten seconds come from?” Gerry asked. There had been just enough fuel in the tanks for a ninety-second test, which was the length of time it would take for the ship to reach its operational altitude.
“Doc throttled the engine down 75 percent for the last fifteen seconds. When we saw it wasn’t going to blow up, he wanted to see just how much longer a lower thrust ratio would extend the flying time…”
“Which means the pilot can reserve fuel if necessary,” Henry finished, and Mike nodded happily. “Wow. Nice to know.”
“‘Nice to know’?” Ham snorted. “Morse, sometimes I swear…”
Henry ignored him. Pushing past Mike, he trotted down the tracks to the passenger car. Goddard was where he’d left him, seated at the control panel. A spiral notebook lay open before him, and the pencil in his hand indicated that he’d just finished jotting down some figures, yet that wasn’t what he was doing just then. Instead, he was slumped in his chair, staring straight ahead as if exhausted by a physical task.
“Bob…?”
“Worked out rather well, didn’t it?” A weak smile; Bob barely looked at him. “We ran it until the fuel was all used up,” he added, then looked around at Colonel Bliss, who was standing behind him. “I rather believe we could’ve run it even longer, if we’d had a larger fuel capacity.”
“Next time, Professor.” With uncommon warmth, Bliss patted Goddard’s shoulder, then he looked up at the members of the team. “Good work, gentlemen. Outstanding. Now, if you’ll assist the soldiers and the train crew, I think we can get out of here and go home.”
“Yeah, great.” Ham slowly let out his breath. “Back to Worcester for the engine and the lodge for us…”
“No, not quite.” Bliss shook his head. “We’re sending the engine straight to New Mexico aboard this same train. You’re going back to the lodge just long enough to pack your bags, then you’ll fly down to Alamogordo.”
The men said nothing for a moment or two, then Gerry suddenly cut loose a rebel yell that caused everyone to break down in relieved laughter. Twelve weeks of enforced isolation were finally coming to an end. The hunting lodge in New Hampshire had lost whatever rustic charm it once had; they were ready to spend the rest of the winter in a warmer climate.
Surprisingly, though, Goddard shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you…”
All of a sudden, he doubled over and, holding his hand against his mouth, erupted in a spasmodic fit of coughing that came from deep within his chest. Henry started forward, but Goddard held up a hand, warding him off. Henry stopped in midstep, but only because he knew that Bob wanted no one’s help. Nonetheless, these fits had become more frequent lately; the year he’d spent in New England had taken its toll.
“If it’s all the same with you,” Goddard went on, once he’d recovered himself, “I’d just as soon ride down with the engine. I’m afraid I’m not much for air travel.”
Bliss hesitated. “It’s not going to be very comfortable.”
“I’ll make do.” Goddard looked at Henry and the others. “Tell Esther I won’t be long. Just taking Nell off to school, that’s all. Don’t want her to get lost along the way.”
“Yeah, all right… sure thing, Bob.” Henry turned to his colleagues. “Okay, boys, you heard the boss. Let’s get our baby ready for a little road trip.”
ROLLOUT
MAY 19, 1943
The hangar doors parted to allow the big Ford tractor-trailer rig to growl forward into the desert morning, and the hundreds of men and women standing outside broke into applause as the Lucky Linda saw the light of day.
The spaceship lay horizontal upon its carriage, its burnished steel hull reflecting the sunlight so brightly that it dazzled the eye. The solid-fuel boosters hadn’t yet been attached, and its missiles were still being tested, but otherwise the ship was finished. The rocket engine brought down from Massachusetts five months ago had been fully integrated within the hull and ground-tested again, and all the other major components were flight-ready, from its radar array to its landing chute.