Read Online Air Force Eagles by Walter J. Boyne - Free Book Online
Authors: Walter J. Boyne
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money. That's where you come in."
Coleman nodded judiciously, understanding that it was the Ruddick connection. He should have minded, but he did not; McNaughton had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect upon him.
Troy hurried to a sideboard cluttered with decanters and soda siphons. He poured himself a Dr Pepper, offering one to Stan. Coleman was thirsty, but he shook his head no—who knew how many Dr Peppers he had left?
"Stan, I've got some political connections, but you've got the best I've ever seen. I'm an old friend of your father-in-law's, but I want you to tell me all about him, how you see him."
Coleman nodded. This was comfortable ground; he far preferred talking about his father-in-law than the engineering merits of a flying wing. "I suppose you know most of what I know. His wife's family was Old South aristocratic and Texas-oil rich. She's left half of Arkansas and a good chunk of Texas to him."
"How did she die?"
"She'd been sick a long time and finally committed suicide. It was tough on the kids, particularly Ginny."
McNaughton was quiet. It seemed terribly convenient for a politician to have a rich wife die.
"Ginny's just his stepdaughter, from the wife's first marriage, but she loves him more than most people love their real father. They're thick as thieves. And you have to give the man credit. Ruddick made a ton of money on his own, too, during the war and after. He was a Congressman for eight terms, and he's one of the few politicians rich enough to contribute to other politicians' war chests. He's smart and knows the defense business backwards and forwards, so he has a job no matter which administration it is. And mainly, he knows where the bodies are buried."
Coleman twisted in his seat, then went on. "Milo likes to run things. If he's got a fault, it's that he doesn't like to delegate anything to anybody. I understand he drives the people in his company crazy, checking into everything."
"Got any weaknesses, any vices?"
Coleman thought it was a hell of a question to ask about his father-in-law but went on. "Not that I know of. He's a churchman, attends every Sunday when he's in Little Rock, runs the vestry with an iron hand."
"How does he like you?"
"Oddly enough, he thinks I'm tops, because I'm a pilot. That's his one frustration in life—he always wanted to be a fighter pilot. But his eyes are bad, never had a chance to fly himself."
"Did you get any kills during the war?"
Coleman hung his head modestly and said, "Three." He hesitated and added, "Only one of them was confirmed."
He didn't talk about his victories too much—he'd been stooging around in Bavaria, late in 1944, and had come across a flight of three German training planes, little Focke-Wulf biplanes. He had shot one down, and the other two had dispersed like rabbits in the woods. When he came back, he claimed three victories, but they gave credit only for the one on the gun camera film. McNaughton went back to business. "What about Ruddick's son?"
"Oh, Bob flew during the war. He's a closed-mouth, private sort of guy, but we get along pretty well. I understand he's a good pilot. But his dad intimidates him like he does most people. Like he does me."
"What's Bob doing now?"
"He's running a small airport outside of Little Rock. He's talking about getting into air racing, but his Dad's not willing to foot the bill."
"How would Milo Ruddick feel about it if someone else gave Bob a little help?"
"He'd love it. He always talks about Bob being another Roscoe Turner, racing at Cleveland. But he won't put up the money it takes. I don't know where all his money goes, he must be socking it away. The Ruddicks live well, but not lavishly. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't have a little tootsie on the side who he spends his money on."
McNaughton shook his head. "I doubt it. It always seemed to me that he preferred power to pussy."
Coleman smiled and Troy went on. "You know, it might be good publicity for McNaughton Aircraft if we
Coleman nodded judiciously, understanding that it was the Ruddick connection. He should have minded, but he did not; McNaughton had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect upon him.
Troy hurried to a sideboard cluttered with decanters and soda siphons. He poured himself a Dr Pepper, offering one to Stan. Coleman was thirsty, but he shook his head no—who knew how many Dr Peppers he had left?
"Stan, I've got some political connections, but you've got the best I've ever seen. I'm an old friend of your father-in-law's, but I want you to tell me all about him, how you see him."
Coleman nodded. This was comfortable ground; he far preferred talking about his father-in-law than the engineering merits of a flying wing. "I suppose you know most of what I know. His wife's family was Old South aristocratic and Texas-oil rich. She's left half of Arkansas and a good chunk of Texas to him."
"How did she die?"
"She'd been sick a long time and finally committed suicide. It was tough on the kids, particularly Ginny."
McNaughton was quiet. It seemed terribly convenient for a politician to have a rich wife die.
"Ginny's just his stepdaughter, from the wife's first marriage, but she loves him more than most people love their real father. They're thick as thieves. And you have to give the man credit. Ruddick made a ton of money on his own, too, during the war and after. He was a Congressman for eight terms, and he's one of the few politicians rich enough to contribute to other politicians' war chests. He's smart and knows the defense business backwards and forwards, so he has a job no matter which administration it is. And mainly, he knows where the bodies are buried."
Coleman twisted in his seat, then went on. "Milo likes to run things. If he's got a fault, it's that he doesn't like to delegate anything to anybody. I understand he drives the people in his company crazy, checking into everything."
"Got any weaknesses, any vices?"
Coleman thought it was a hell of a question to ask about his father-in-law but went on. "Not that I know of. He's a churchman, attends every Sunday when he's in Little Rock, runs the vestry with an iron hand."
"How does he like you?"
"Oddly enough, he thinks I'm tops, because I'm a pilot. That's his one frustration in life—he always wanted to be a fighter pilot. But his eyes are bad, never had a chance to fly himself."
"Did you get any kills during the war?"
Coleman hung his head modestly and said, "Three." He hesitated and added, "Only one of them was confirmed."
He didn't talk about his victories too much—he'd been stooging around in Bavaria, late in 1944, and had come across a flight of three German training planes, little Focke-Wulf biplanes. He had shot one down, and the other two had dispersed like rabbits in the woods. When he came back, he claimed three victories, but they gave credit only for the one on the gun camera film. McNaughton went back to business. "What about Ruddick's son?"
"Oh, Bob flew during the war. He's a closed-mouth, private sort of guy, but we get along pretty well. I understand he's a good pilot. But his dad intimidates him like he does most people. Like he does me."
"What's Bob doing now?"
"He's running a small airport outside of Little Rock. He's talking about getting into air racing, but his Dad's not willing to foot the bill."
"How would Milo Ruddick feel about it if someone else gave Bob a little help?"
"He'd love it. He always talks about Bob being another Roscoe Turner, racing at Cleveland. But he won't put up the money it takes. I don't know where all his money goes, he must be socking it away. The Ruddicks live well, but not lavishly. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't have a little tootsie on the side who he spends his money on."
McNaughton shook his head. "I doubt it. It always seemed to me that he preferred power to pussy."
Coleman smiled and Troy went on. "You know, it might be good publicity for McNaughton Aircraft if we
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