Pretty much what we figured, Harrison said. Heavy trim pressure, Dutch rolls, massive shock wave buffeting, loss of elevator, pitch— You lost pitch?
Point nine-four Mach, forty thousand feet. I pulled back on the control wheel and, nothing. Felt like the cables had snapped on me. I kept going, same altitude, same direction …
Christ.
I turned off the engine, jettisoned the fuel and landed, fast as I could.
Hell, Yeager said, no way I can get past point nine-four without a damn elevator.
You should’ve seen Ridley’s face, Harrison said. He looked sick as a hog. We checked the data, turns out a shock wave caught the hinge-point on the tail.
What the old man say?
Shook his head, thought the program had reached the end of the line.
Ridley?
Thought on it for a minute, said maybe we could get by using just the horizontal stabilizer.
That’s only meant for extra authority.
He did some calculations, thinks it could work.
What if the motor gets stuck trim-up or trim-down?
Then you got a problem.
Yeager grunted. What if the airflow overwhelms the motor and stops the tail from pivoting?
Then you got another problem, but nothing different than what I had today.
Could rip the damn tail off as it’s pivoting too.
You got insurance, right?
Me and Ridley call this part the ughknown. He really thinks it’ll work?
Tested the hell out of it today. Worked just fine. Point nine-six Mach. Felt a bit ragged, but it’ll keep you in the air.
Anything else?
The windshield frosted over at one point.
It frosted? It usual’ fogs. I just wipe it away.
That cabin’s so damn cold. I took my gloves off, tried to scrape it, nearly lost my fingers.
How’d you land?
Kit was flying chase and talked me down blind. Said I must have been sweatin pretty hard to ice the shield like that.
Yeager chuckled again.
Listen, Yeager, Harrison said. That’s the best damn airplane I ever flew, but it’ll bite you hard in the ass when you least expect it.
One damn thing after another.
Yeah.
Get Russell to put a coating of Drene shampoo on the windshield tomorrow; that ought to sort it out. Best antifreeze there is.
Harrison nodded. You want another?
Hang on, here’s Pancho, Yeager said.
Well, Pancho said. Look at this: my boys.
Rum was good, Harrison said.
I know. Yeager, you ol bastard, where’s Glennis?
She’s coming. Jus sorting out the babysitter.
How’s Mickey and Don?
Doin good.
Those are fine boys you got there, Yeager, you hear me? Don’t screw them up by doing something stupid like getting crunched.
She looked at Harrison.
When you gonna do the right thing like Yeager here? What have you got to show for your miserable existence on this rock?
Well, maybe when I reach the grand age of Yeager here I’ll think about it.
I’ll have a drink for that, kid, Yeager said.
They’re on the house for you fellas tonight, Pancho said, so you can both shut up.
You’re a peach, Yeager said.
A real peach, Harrison said.
And you two are a couple of miserable sons-of-bitches, but you’re the fastest men in this room so I’ll get Billy to bring you something over.
Thanks, Pancho.
She moved on.
Billy! Scotch for the two pudknockers in the corner. The good stuff.
Billy brought the drinks.
Shit, Harrison said.
What?
Doesn’t matter.
Grace coming over?
Yeah.
You think Pancho’s gonna keep goin on about kids?
He nodded.
Don’t sweat it. Get outside, catch her as she comes in.
I’ll see you, Chuck.
You bet.
Harrison started toward the door. A sharp sound cut through the noise and the singing. Pancho was standing on the bar, banging two empty beer bottles together.
Listen up, you sorry bunch of peckerheads. They say there’s a demon living at Mach one. Well, maybe there is, maybe there ain’t; all I know is Harrison and Yeager make you all look like goddamn mouse farts in the wind.
The bar roared.
Either that or the air force don’t care if they get clobbered, a loud voice said.
Who said that? Pancho said. Gene May. Might have guessed nothing but horseshit could come out the mouth of a civilian pilot.
The screen door banged against the wall. Harrison looked up and saw his wife standing in the doorway. She stepped inside, leaned against the wall and folded her arms.
You young fellas, May said. What makes you think you can fly faster than sound itself?
These two men could fly right up your ass and tickle your eyeballs and you’d never know why you were farting shock waves, Pancho said. Get the hell out of my bar.
May took out a cigarette, lit it, looked around, shook his head.
You’re gonna get clobbered and you’re too stupid to see it comin.
He turned and left.
Harrison reached Grace and whispered, c’mon, let’s get out of here.
Anyone else got something they want to get off their chest? Pancho said. Good. Where was I?
You were sayin Bridgeman flies like a mouse fart, someone shouted. There was laughter.
Grace smiled at her husband.