Aces (49 page)

With the German vanquished, Greene pulled back on his stick to soar into the sky. He did a victory roll, enjoying the fact
that he was now the only airplane flying, and the center of attention. He came around, waggling his wings as he passed over
the downed German, and then began his own landing approach. He brought the Supershark down, throttling her back to her minimum
flying speed, and then gently dropped her into the drink with nary a bounce.

He lowered his water rudders and taxied in, toward the launch ramps, cutting his engine as his race crew waded out to attach
lines to the Supershark and haul her in. Greene thought the boys were all being rather poker-faced about his exploit as he
hopped down out of the cockpit. He guessed that the word had already come down from on high that he was now an ex-employee
of Stoat-Black. Well, if that were the case, he would have no regrets. Honor was the only luxury an impoverished gentleman
could call his own.

He was pulling off his goggles and helmet when he saw Herman Gold, looking debonair in a cream-colored linen suit and matching
fedora; wearing round, tortoiseshell sunglasses with green lenses. Gold was standing on the beach, a few yards from the ramp.

“Mister Gold.” Greene nodded, approaching him. “I wonder, have I been disqualified as well as eliminated?”

Gold smiled. He took off his sunglasses and began polishing the lenses with the end of his tie. “You have caused, if I may
use an English expression, ‘a bit of a flap.’ From what I hear, the race committee is taking the unprecedented step of fining
Stoat-Black for your behavior.”

Wonderful
, Greene thought.
I’m out of work now, for certain
. “And the German?” Greene angrily demanded.

“The German’s been disqualified, as well, but they’re far more angry with you.” Gold shrugged philosophically. “You had to
expect that, kid, right? I mean, think about it; the race committee is dominated by the Italians, and considering the international
political situation they’re going to want to kiss the Germans’ asses. The committee is taking the position that two wrongs
don’t make a right….”

“Well, they do in my book, Mister Gold,” Greene declared firmly. “I wasn’t going to let that pilot humiliate me and get away
with it.”

“I realize that, kid,” Gold said softly. “However, as much as I admire what you did, I can’t say that I blame the race committee
for the action they’re taking. A seaplane race is no place to engage in a dogfight.”

Greene shrugged. “I suppose Stoat-Black has dismissed me?”

“Yep,” Gold said.

“Well, I did expect that as a consequence,” Greene said sadly.

“Buck up, kid,” Gold said. “Stoat-Black was obliged to fire you, otherwise it would look as if they were endorsing your actions,
but Hugh Luddy informed me that you’ll receive a sizable bonus in your separation pay.”

“That is very kind of them,” Greene said politely. His heart was breaking as the realization of his dismissal—his grounding—hit
home, but he wasn’t about to let Gold catch an inkling of his despair. Greene had already committed a
faux pas
in burdening this man’s daughter with his problems. A gentleman did not wear his heart on his shirtsleeves….

“Hugh also confided that everyone at Stoat-Black completely understands why you did what you did,” Gold was continuing. “What’s
more, they’re thrilled with your demonstration of the Supershark’s combat potential. Thanks to you we now know what we had
previously only suspected: that the Supershark has the makings of a superb fighter. We can’t wait to get rid of those floats,
and see what she can do with conventional, retractable landing gear.

But she’ll be doing it with some other pilot in the cockpit
, Greene wistfully thought. He forced a smile. “The one thing
I’d
like to know is
why
the German did that to me….”

“That’s a long story,” Gold said.

“What?” Greene blurted. “
You
know why?”

“For now, let me just say that early this morning I received a note from a German government official I’d had coffee with
yesterday morning. His note said that the Super-shark was going to be humiliated during today’s race due to my company’s business
relationship with Stoat-Black.”

“I don’t understand,” Greene said, perplexed.

Gold shook his head. “I’m not sure I do, either, but it seems that you were blindsided in retaliation for my refusing a certain
invitation from the German government. I guess that what the Nazis wanted to do was point out to me the error of my decision
by demonstrating the superiority of German pilots and airplanes.” He smiled. “Of course, thanks to you, things didn’t work
out quite the way the Nazis had planned. Don’t worry about it now. I’ll tell you all the details over dinner, tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dinner. Tonight,” Gold repeated. “During which we can also discuss the terms of your employment as a test pilot for GAT.”

Suze remembered after all
, Greene thought, and smiled thinly. “Sir, your daughter promised that she would speak to you on my behalf, and obviously
she has been brought up to keep her word. I appreciate her kindness toward me… and your own generosity,” he quickly added.
“But I’m not proud of the way that I took advantage of an impressionable young girl’s sympathy. Although this may be hard
for you to believe, considering the way that I’ve manipulated your daughter to speak on my behalf, my honor is very important
to me—”

“Just a minute,” Gold interrupted, impatiently. “First of all, if you really knew my daughter, you’d know that no one has
ever manipulated her in her life. Second, I didn’t get where I am today by hiring people just because my kids told me to.”

“Sir, are you saying that your daughter didn’t?—”

Gold held up his hand to silence Greene. “Sure, Suzy talked to me about you. But even before she did, I’d begun to consider
making you an offer. GAT will be continuing to work in tandem with Stoat-Black on the Supershark fighter project. Accordingly,
I can use a test pilot who knows this particular airplane inside and out. Like I was saying, I was seriously considering hiring
you, but what convinced me was seeing you fly today. When I saw how you recovered out of that stall, and the way you put that
German pilot in his place, I said to myself, this kid is one of the finest pilots I’ve ever had the pleasure to know, and
I’ve got to have him in my employ.”

“Am I really, Sir?” Greene laughed. “I mean, I
knew
I was rather good, but am I really one of the finest?…”

Gold grimaced. “You want the job or not, Your Lordship?”

“Yes, I certainly do want it.” Greene laughed, extending his hand.

Gold, smiling back, shook hands with him, and then turned away. “Dinner, tonight,” he said over his shoulder as he trudged
up the beach. “For now, rest up.”

“Yes, Sir!” Greene called after him. “Thank you, Sir!”

Greene, preoccupied with bright dreams of his future in America, hurried up toward the tent hangar to change out of his flying
gear. He stopped short when he saw Suze—a big smile on her face—waiting by the hangar entrance. Her hair was up, held in place
by a sun visor. She was wearing a halter top that left her midriff exposed, and pleated linen trousers that fit snugly at
her hips, then flared into wide cuffs that ended at the knee. She did not in the least resemble a child. Greene felt his pulse
quicken, and a certain flutter of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

She saw him and waved excitedly. “You’re going to love California!” she shouted, laughing.

Without thinking about it, Greene felt quite wonderfully happy to see her.

Gold was in the design studio conference room, attending a meeting. He had just heard the reports on the work to date on the
BearClaw fighter, and was now listening to a report on the fledgling BuzzSaw light bomber project.

“The dilemma we’re facing is a classic one,” concluded the young engineer in charge of the twelve-man design cell working
on the BuzzSaw. “Do we stand still, satisfied that we have something successful, knowing all the while that it’s in danger
of becoming outmoded? Or do we take a chance on something new, painfully aware that it could resoundingly flop?—”

The telephone on the sideboard rang. One of the engineers closest to the phone got up and answered it, and then said, “It’s
your secretary, Mister Gold.”

Gold got up and went over to the telephone. “Roz, I asked that I not be disturbed—”

“I’m sorry, but Blaize Greene is up here. He wants to see you. He says it’s very important.”

“Well, send him down.” Gold looked at Teddy Quinn. “Is it all right if I use your office for a few minutes?” When Teddy nodded,
Gold told his secretary, “Tell Blaize to meet me in Teddy’s office.” Gold hung up. “Blaize Greene needs to see me about something,”
he explained to the engineers in the room. “I’ll see him and come right back.”

“Tell Blaize I went over his preliminary specs for the turbine,” Teddy said. “I think they’re solid. And while you’re gone,
think about what you want to do about the BuzzSaw, Herman. We can’t afford to waste any more time on it if it’s not a go-project.”

Gold, nodding, left the conference room. That young engineer in charge of the BuzzSaw R&D cell was right, Gold thought as
he walked the short distance down the corridor to Teddy’s office. GAT was faced with a classic dilemma.

The Pursuit Plane 6 BearClaw was GAT’s improved version of the GAT/Stoat-Black Supershark. The Supershark, little changed
except for redesigned wings to allow for her machine guns, and to house conventional, retractable, landing gear, had been
wholeheartedly adopted by the RAF. Thanks to GAT’s cooperation with Stoat-Black on the Supershark, Gold had been first in
line with a viable fighter concept when the United States Congress, alarmed by the situation in Europe, and Japanese aggression
in the Pacific, voted to appropriate three hundred million dollars to rebuild the Army Air Corps. The Army had looked at GAT’s
proposal, and liked what they’d seen. GAT had been awarded a generous preliminary contract. Gold had his design staff and
his best factory people working to build some P-6 BearClaw prototypes for the Army to test.

Recently, Teddy and his R&D staff had presented Gold with a new design proposal for a twin-engined, combination fighter/bomber,
tentatively designated the Combat Support 1 BuzzSaw.

Gold thought that the CS-1 was a splendid idea. In size it would fall somewhere between medium bombers and single-engine fighters
rigged with bomb racks beneath their wings. The CS-1 reminded him of the armor-plated, low-flying, troop-support gunships
that had made up the
Schlastas
, the ground patrol air squads that had been so successfully utilized by the Germans during the last war. Gold also agreed
with his design staff that GAT needed an ace up its sleeve, something to count on beyond the BearClaw. Gold had no doubt that
the P-6 would be well received, and that GAT would be awarded a large initial order, but would reorders come? The rest of
the aircraft industry wasn’t standing still, after all. There were other fighters being developed, and these newer designs
would likely incorporate and surpass the BearClaw’s innovations. Sooner or later, Gold would have to divert money, research
talent, and production-line time to some new project, or else lose out on the lucrative military buildup contracts that were
sure to come… But was now the time? And was the BuzzSaw Combat Support bomber the project?

“Blaize Greene is on his way down, Sir—”

Gold nodded to the secretary as he went into Teddy Quinn’s office. The office was large, with windows overlooking the newly
constructed, phase-three factory complex. Teddy’s desk and drafting table were both blanketed with blueprints and thick folders.
The carpeting around the wastebasket next to the drafting table was littered with balled-up pieces of graph paper. Gold smiled
sadly at that. He envied the fact that Teddy still managed to find the time to be creative, despite his mounting administrative
duties. Gold couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down at his drafting table…

Gold wandered over to the glass display case that held scale models of the entire GAT family of aircraft, starting with the
G-1 Yellowjacket. There was a space reserved for a model of the P-6 BearClaw, when the time came. A new glass case would be
needed to house the model of whatever airplane came after the P-6, Gold thought proudly.

“Thank you for seeing me, Herman.”

Gold turned away from the display case as Blaize came into the room. He was dressed in a sport coat and slacks instead of
his usual flying gear. “Teddy says your stuff on the turbine is up to snuff.”

“Good… Look, I know how busy you are, but could we sit down and talk for a minute?”

Gold resisted the urge to glance at his watch, and pushed aside his concerns about the conference room full of engineers waiting
for him. He led Blaize over to the sofa in the corner of Teddy’s office. “Now, then, what’s on your mind?”

“Well, Herman, first of all let me remind you of the conversation we had some time ago, concerning my own plans,” Blaize said,
lighting a cigarette.

Gold nodded. Like most British pilots, Blaize was a member of the RAF civilian reserve. Back in the beginning of the year—when
Hitler began making threatening noises toward Poland, and the British Prime Minister Chamberlain was warning that if Poland
were attacked, Britain and France would honor their defense agreements with that country—Blaize had come to talk with Gold
about returning to England to begin active service with the RAF. Gold had argued that Blaize was being too hasty; that there
was no certainty that England would go to war. In the meantime, Blaize was doing important work here at GAT.

Gold had managed to talk Blaize out of leaving at the time, but throughout the spring, summer, and fall the situation in Europe
had steadily deteriorated. On September 1, the German
blitzkrieg
had sliced into Poland. Two days later, a weary and disillusioned Chamberlain had sadly issued a declaration of war against
Germany, joined by the governments of Australia, New Zealand, and France.