Read Online Air Force Eagles by Walter J. Boyne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Walter J. Boyne
Ads: Link
converted one of the Sidewinders into a racer."
Coleman leaned forward at the word we.
"It looks to me like the kid's the way to his father's heart. We'll work on Bob, convince him about our capabilities. Then maybe the three of us can convince his father that we need twenty million in start-up money for the wing."
"Twenty million! That's a lot of money; Boeing only spent about half that on the XB-47."
"It's a lot, but it's only a down payment. Let me level with you. The Manta bomber is just a stalking horse. I don't care if we ever build one! I want to build guided missiles, flying wings with a long range and an atomic bomb load."
"Is that why there's no cockpit on the model?"
"Exactly! I want the money for applied research, mainly for a robot navigation system we acquired from Vanguard. It'll be far more accurate than anything humans can do."
Self-interest flashed' in Coleman's eyes like a neon sign.
"Missiles are the key to the future, Stan. Nobody will need bombers in twenty years, believe me. But those idiots in Washington won't see that. Theodore von Karman, one of the greatest scientists in the world, says they are possible, but Vannevar Bush says they are not. So they believe Bush and cancel development. "
Coleman nodded; he'd met von Karman, heard of Bush.
"Where does the competition stand with missiles?"
"Good question. Convair's had a lot of money funneled to them, but they're off on the wrong track, trying to build ballistic missiles—like big V-2s. They won't be ready for eight or ten years. With the present technology, you just can't build a rocket big enough to throw a ten-thousand-pound atomic warhead from here to Russia. That's why I want to build flying-wing guided missiles. Manned bombers are obsolete—with the atom bomb, you don't need them anymore." He waited for this to sink in.
"So, you see, I've got to take the money where I can get it, and put it where I know it will do the most good. The Air Force will go for developing the wing, I know—if Ruddick backs us."
"How can I help?"
"I've watched you for the past few months. You know how to handle people. You're a natural-born salesman, and I want you to sell the two Ruddicks. They already know you and trust you. You're an insider, part of the family. Your wife can help, too."
Coleman's feigned reluctance didn't fool McNaughton. "I don't know, Troy. I've got a great flying job, and I'll probably be promoted in the fall."
"I'll double your salary, and put Ginny on the payroll at whatever you are making now in the Air Force."
"Gee, I'll have to discuss it with her, Troy."
Sticking out his hand, Troy smiled. "No, you won't. I'm sure she and Elsie have already come to an agreement. Now don't say a word to anyone about the wing, and especially not about the missiles."
The two wives had in fact already come to several agreements, the first of which was that they disliked each other intensely. The second, almost equally important, was that they nevertheless would have to work together.
Elsie McNaughton had been waiting in the grand old Maxwell House Hotel dining room for half an hour, passing the time with bourbon poured from a silver flask into a thick tumbler of ice water. She much preferred the sweeter taste of a Manhattan, but you still couldn't buy drinks in a Nashville restaurant. She glanced at her wristwatch, then poured more whiskey over the ice.
As she sipped, Elsie impatiently tapped a crystal vase with a spoon; she had carved out a career in the almost exclusively male aviation industry by never waiting for anyone or anything. Knowing her temper, the Negro waiter watched her as nervously as a mouse watches a cat.
She had started as a secretary for Bruno Hafner in the old Hafner Aircraft Company, unable to take shorthand, barely able to type, but young, virginal, and eager to learn about everything. The first thing Bruno taught her was sex, but after the first rough edges of his lust had been knocked off, he found she had brains
Coleman leaned forward at the word we.
"It looks to me like the kid's the way to his father's heart. We'll work on Bob, convince him about our capabilities. Then maybe the three of us can convince his father that we need twenty million in start-up money for the wing."
"Twenty million! That's a lot of money; Boeing only spent about half that on the XB-47."
"It's a lot, but it's only a down payment. Let me level with you. The Manta bomber is just a stalking horse. I don't care if we ever build one! I want to build guided missiles, flying wings with a long range and an atomic bomb load."
"Is that why there's no cockpit on the model?"
"Exactly! I want the money for applied research, mainly for a robot navigation system we acquired from Vanguard. It'll be far more accurate than anything humans can do."
Self-interest flashed' in Coleman's eyes like a neon sign.
"Missiles are the key to the future, Stan. Nobody will need bombers in twenty years, believe me. But those idiots in Washington won't see that. Theodore von Karman, one of the greatest scientists in the world, says they are possible, but Vannevar Bush says they are not. So they believe Bush and cancel development. "
Coleman nodded; he'd met von Karman, heard of Bush.
"Where does the competition stand with missiles?"
"Good question. Convair's had a lot of money funneled to them, but they're off on the wrong track, trying to build ballistic missiles—like big V-2s. They won't be ready for eight or ten years. With the present technology, you just can't build a rocket big enough to throw a ten-thousand-pound atomic warhead from here to Russia. That's why I want to build flying-wing guided missiles. Manned bombers are obsolete—with the atom bomb, you don't need them anymore." He waited for this to sink in.
"So, you see, I've got to take the money where I can get it, and put it where I know it will do the most good. The Air Force will go for developing the wing, I know—if Ruddick backs us."
"How can I help?"
"I've watched you for the past few months. You know how to handle people. You're a natural-born salesman, and I want you to sell the two Ruddicks. They already know you and trust you. You're an insider, part of the family. Your wife can help, too."
Coleman's feigned reluctance didn't fool McNaughton. "I don't know, Troy. I've got a great flying job, and I'll probably be promoted in the fall."
"I'll double your salary, and put Ginny on the payroll at whatever you are making now in the Air Force."
"Gee, I'll have to discuss it with her, Troy."
Sticking out his hand, Troy smiled. "No, you won't. I'm sure she and Elsie have already come to an agreement. Now don't say a word to anyone about the wing, and especially not about the missiles."
The two wives had in fact already come to several agreements, the first of which was that they disliked each other intensely. The second, almost equally important, was that they nevertheless would have to work together.
Elsie McNaughton had been waiting in the grand old Maxwell House Hotel dining room for half an hour, passing the time with bourbon poured from a silver flask into a thick tumbler of ice water. She much preferred the sweeter taste of a Manhattan, but you still couldn't buy drinks in a Nashville restaurant. She glanced at her wristwatch, then poured more whiskey over the ice.
As she sipped, Elsie impatiently tapped a crystal vase with a spoon; she had carved out a career in the almost exclusively male aviation industry by never waiting for anyone or anything. Knowing her temper, the Negro waiter watched her as nervously as a mouse watches a cat.
She had started as a secretary for Bruno Hafner in the old Hafner Aircraft Company, unable to take shorthand, barely able to type, but young, virginal, and eager to learn about everything. The first thing Bruno taught her was sex, but after the first rough edges of his lust had been knocked off, he found she had brains
Similar Books
