Hypersonic Thunder: A Novel of the Jet Age (29 page)

“We’ve got a few minutes. What’s the latest on the V-22?”

Frowning, O’Malley said, “It’s tough. They’ve figured out the crash was due to hydraulic lines fracturing and causing the fire, and they are in the process of completely revising the hydraulic system. It will cost millions, of course, but they have this super-high-pressure system and they need to be sure that the lines don’t fatigue. But that’s the least of the problems in my mind.”

“Oh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. You’re an engineer, and I know you’ll understand this, but I’m not sure there’s any way to get this across to the public in a palatable way. We’ve got to be able to sell the idea that we solve the problem—and we can, it will just take time—but I’m afraid there will be a knee-jerk reaction that this is the final straw, and the program will be canceled.”

“You haven’t said what it is.”

“I know it, dammit, V. R., just wait a minute. It’s tough to formulate without a blackboard and some drawings. But here it is, and it is a fundamental problem in all tilt-rotor designs. As the V-22 descends vertically, its wing is tilted up so that the propellers act as helicopter rotors. Each wing pushes the airflow away from half of its respective rotor. The faster it descends, the greater the vacuum, resulting in less lift. They’re calling this the ‘vortex ring state.’ If one rotor loses more lift, because of the way the pilot maneuvers the V-22, it can flip the aircraft over. It can happen so suddenly that there’s no recovery, and no way for the crew to escape.”

“Any hope to control it, General?” V. R. still called Steve “General” even in informal situations like this.

“Sure, we’ll beat it if we can keep the program alive long enough, and get enough money to sustain it. But it is dicey, especially since there’s another computer software glitch.”

“Software’s going to kill us!”

“It’s like the old pre-women’s lib joke about wives, you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.”

O’Malley saw a veil of pain flit across Shannon’s face and realized he had goofed.

“Sorry, V. R. Bad analogy.” He hurried on. “As with any system, the V-22’s complex computer software sometimes goes down. There’s a backup computer that takes over in 2.5 seconds. That’s quick enough in a fixed-wing aircraft, but it’s fatal in the V-22 where you absolutely have to keep the rotors in synch. If you don’t, it can flip over in an instant. We’ve got to get the backup online in a second or less, or we’re in trouble.”

Both men were silent. The Osprey was a lot more survivable than conventional helicopters because it was more difficult to detect or engage. It was much faster, and had five times the range of the older helicopters. The Marines liked it because the V-22 could pick a route that would give the landing party surprise and protect it against antiaircraft fire, whereas the shorter-range helicopters sometimes had to go right through a high-threat area. But unless these flaws were fixed, it would never see production.

“How did we get in this position, General? We’ve got two world-beating weapons systems, and it’s taking forever and the U.S. mint to get them to the troops.”

“Sometimes I think we’re not doing what Jim Webb always told NASA, ‘Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.’ We’ve got a lot of hobby shoppers, advocates always wanting to improve things. Maybe the procurement system’s just too big, too complex now.”

O’Malley pointed to the clock on the dashboard and they got out, joining the long line filing into the Fort Myer chapel. The Air Force Chief of Staff General Merrill McPeak was there, solicitously seeing that the grand old man of the space program, General Bernie Schriever, was escorted to his seat. As they glanced around they realized that if aviation had a royalty, it was here, paying homage to Jimmy Doolittle.

The two men were silent during the rest of the simple but moving ceremony. The horse-drawn gun carriage, the empty saddle, the measured pace all might have seemed incongruous for Jimmy Doolittle, who had led his nation in both air and space since 1917. But in the dappled sunlight of Arlington, among the hush of the
crowd, each person obviously involved with his or her own memory of Doolittle, it seemed perfect.

The ceremonial rifle volleys and the always plaintive taps brought emotions almost to a peak. There was a parade of modern aircraft, F-16s, F-15s, a B-1, followed by the puttering roar of a North American B-25, the once-powerful bomber in which Doolittle had bombed Tokyo. The ultimate salute was four F-16s sweeping across in the moving “Missing Man” formation, the number three aircraft peeling off and upward toward where everyone knew Jimmy Doolittle was looking down at them.

O’Malley’s elbow nudged Shannon. With tears in his eyes, he said, “Gets me every time. What a tribute that is, to Doolittle, and to everyone else who’s gone West.”

Later, as they drove back to Andrews Air Force Base, Shannon asked, “Do you think we have more Doolittles coming up the pike?”

O’Malley nodded. “You wouldn’t think so, given all Jimmy did, but I guarantee that we do. It’s really incredible. We’ve got a pure volunteer force, and it is the highest caliber of people in history. We’re so strong in our noncommissioned ranks that other countries cannot believe it. And our officer corps is strong, too. Sure, there are more Doolittles out there. It will just take time and circumstances to reveal him. Or her.”

December 31, 1993

Palos Verdes, California

“W
ELL, IT LOOKS
like the big annual Shannon New Year’s party has dwindled down to just us.”

Harry and Anna Shannon sat in the center of the big round oak dining-room table. Bob and Mae Rodriquez sat on their left while Dennis Jenkins and Warren Bowers sat on their right.

Warren, always politely inquisitive, asked, “Where is everybody?”

Mae Rodriquez spoke up. “Our son is in Ireland, trying to work out an even more comprehensive deal with Ryanair in Ireland. They are sort of like our Southwest Airlines, but not nearly so popular. Rod has some ideas he hopes will change their image—and make a lot of money for AdVanceAir Leasing.”

Bowers’s face changed perceptibly and they laughed. He had steadfastly invested in AdVanceAir, and seen its stock rise and fall. Despite good advice on diversification from Harry and others, Warren had stuck to it, convinced that in the long run, AdVanceAir would pay off for him.

As was usual of late, Bob remained silent, basking in the glow of being back with Mae again. They were obviously happy. Rodriguez had “come in from the cold” and, instead of immediately plunging back into business, had set about spending all of his time completely oriented on Mae, trying to make up for the years when he had dropped completely out of sight, and even more, trying to make up for the hard years before their marriage had broken up. Mae continued to run AdVanceAir with their son and managed a successful real estate firm on the side. At her urging, Bob was now slowly easing back into business, doing some consulting for Paul MacCready’s Aero-Vironment, and investing in a small company that made radio-controlled model aircraft.

Mae said, “Tell them about your project for Paul, Bob. It’s not classified, and I think they’d be interested. Warren especially!”

They leaned forward as Bob took a drink of wine to give him time to think. Part of the project was top secret; part was unclassified, left as a cover in case someone got wind of the testing going on near Pasadena.

“Well, you’d have to see it to believe it.” He paused for a moment as he said, “For that matter, you’d have to see Paul to believe him. He’s so soft-spoken and so intense; sometimes when he talks to you he just slows down his delivery until it’s almost painful, and then you realize that he’s time-sharing with you, he’s thinking about another one of his projects while he’s talking to you. What he’s done, from human-powered flight to solar-powered flight to wind-powered generators, is just incredible.”

They watched him shedding years as his enthusiasm took over, looking just like the Bob Rodriquez of twenty years before when he had been fired up over every new project.

“Now we have tiny remote control model planes, no bigger than a sparrow; they can carry cameras and remote sensors, and you can use them just to have fun, or the military can use them to gather information. They are electric-powered, of course, so they are virtually silent.”

That much was safe; what he couldn’t tell them was there were even smaller versions, some no bigger than a butterfly, that could be flown deep inside an enemy fortification, a bunker, a mosque, anything, and record everything going on. It was a miracle of miniaturization.

“I’ll bring one down next time we meet, and you can fly it. It’s much easier than flying a big radio control plane—most of the flying is automated, all self-controlled, everything is already canned on a tiny chip.”

There was a buzz of conversation, a pause, and Jenkins spoke up.

“What about Steve O’Malley? I thought he’d be Chief of Staff by now.”

“So did we all, Dennis, but he was just too forceful, stepped on too many congressional toes. I think the Air Force wanted him, but they knew he’d have trouble getting confirmed. He was too outspoken about the terrorist threat, and a lot of people just don’t want to hear about it.”

Warren put on his historian’s hat, saying, “It might be just as well. Curt LeMay was the best air combat commander in the world with the Strategic Air Command, but he was stifled as Chief of Staff. Just didn’t have the personality for it.”

Jenkins said, “That’s what’s so surprising. Nobody is more charming than Steve O’Malley—except when he’s on the case of something. I think he stubbed his toe finally with the F-22 and the V-22. Both great projects, but they are taking too long to get operational. Nobody can back programs like that for so long and not be tarnished.”

Rodriquez asked, “What are his options?”

“I think he’ll serve as long as they’ll let him; he’s carved out a niche of his own, and he’s too valuable to retire. He’s got plenty of money, of course, and that’s been part of the problem—a lot of people resented that he had both wealth and rank.”

Anna sat quietly as always, embarrassed by so many memories of the past when her drinking had caused so many problems. Finally, as if she realized she had to contribute somehow to the conversation, she asked, “Where is V. R.? I wish he would meet another woman. It’s been a long time since he lost his wife.”

It was an awkward question. Everyone was worried about V. R.; he was entirely too focused on getting revenge for Ginny. They all believed
that her loss and O’Malley’s obsession with the terrorist threat had changed him.

“He’s over in the Middle East, flying Operation Northern Watch, you know, suppressing any Iraqi flying, making sure that Hussein doesn’t kill any more Kurds, all that sort of thing.”

Harry saw that Anna realized she had not said the right thing—again. He patted her hand, and glanced around the table. They all admired him for tending so faithfully to Anna for all these years. And he had tended to her. But not faithfully. For, what was it, twenty-seven years now, his life had been made sweet, useful, and fulfilling by another woman, a perfect lover, his own true love. And he would see her tomorrow, as he did each Saturday, and she would be undemanding, understanding, and amazingly, given their ages, exciting. She made his life worthwhile. He hoped he made her life worthwhile in return.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE PASSING PARADE
: Sarajevo (where WW I started) pounded by Serbian heavy weapons; Los Angeles jolted by major earthquake, scores die; Aldrich Ames, most damaging spy in U.S. history, arrested; Hutus begin slaughter of hundreds of thousands of Tutsis in Rwanda; Nelson Mandela wins 60 percent of votes, elected President of South Africa; O. J. Simpson arrested in murder of wife and her friend; Hubble Telescope confirms existence of black holes; strike in Major League Baseball cancels World Series; the United States asserts influence in Persian Gulf with armed forces; Republicans sweep House and Senate races; Russians attack secessionists in Chechnya; Japanese earthquake kills more than 5,000; United States gives $20 billion aid to bail out Mexico; American terrorists blow up federal building in Oklahoma City; increase in fighting in Bosnia and Croatia; O. J. Simpson found not guilty by L.A. jury; assassin kills Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin; Dr. Bernard A. Harris is first African American astronaut to walk in space.

August 29, 1994

Palos Verdes, California

O
ver the years Vance Shannon’s home in Palos Verdes had been changed from a family residence to a sort of high-level hostel for the various members of the Shannon clan as they migrated through the area on business. As a part of a larger plan to induce Bob Rodriquez to become more active in the family firm, Vance Shannon, Incorporated,
Harry Shannon had asked Bob to supervise the enlargement of the Palos Verdes house, equipping it with the latest in video, film, and audio equipment. The ostensible purpose was so that highly classified briefings could be held there without any risk. The real reason was to have briefings that would intrigue Rodriquez and lead him to once again infuse the firm with some of his old genius. Harry and Steve O’Malley had discussed the idea for months, and today’s meeting was part of their master plan.

Remodeling the house suited Rodriquez, who was enjoying his new freelance status immensely. For the last year he had spent part of his time working on Paul MacCready’s black projects and part just dabbling in things that interested him. The house was a project that appealed to two of his many interests—hands-on construction and an elaborate installation of the most intricate electronic gear available.

Surveying the scene, Harry shook his head in wonder.

“Can you imagine what Dad would have said about this? He spent hours in here in silence, going over drawings and technical specifications, and now you’ve turned it into an electronic paradise.”

“It’s more than that, Harry. I didn’t just install the stuff you called for, I brought in experts from your firm to modify the acoustics of the room. It is totally soundproof and it has been hardened so that nobody will be able to use any kind of electronic eavesdropping equipment to detect what’s going on in here.”