The Last Pilot: A Novel

by Benjamin Johncock

  I’m tired, Daddy.

  C’mon, he said, let’s go back to sleep.

  Harrison woke on the floor, the early sun lighting the room. He stood and crept over to the window. There were no clouds; the sky was a beautiful blue. He looked over to where Florence slept and something inside him broke.

  Grace was in the kitchen when he came down, her hand on the handle of the fridge. He stood in the doorway and didn’t move. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and she knew, and her fingers fell from the handle.

  The low sun leaked pale light along gaunt tallowy clouds and bleached the bone-cold December ground white.

  This is not a eulogy, Irving said. This is a lament. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there. If I make my bed in the depths, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

  All test planes had been grounded. Jim and Grace sat with Joe and Grace Walker. Pancho sat with Chuck and Glennis, together with Jack Ridley and almost every pilot and engineer the Harrisons knew, and plenty they didn’t. Annie couldn’t make it and it was too far for Hal, Grace’s father, to travel.

  If I say, surely the darkness shall overwhelm me, and the light about me shall be night; even the darkness hideth not from thee, but the night shineth as the day. For thou didst form my inmost being. Thou didst knit me together in my mother’s womb. Let us pray.

  They prayed. The silence was as hard as the earth.

  Irving spoke some more. A slight breeze picked up and they heard horses bucking and snorting from the ranch close by. The men and women sat very still. The mares whinnied into the cold air. Then the wind changed direction and all that remained was Irving’s strong voice and his steady hands and a small wooden coffin sitting on the hillside in the freezing December morning.

  Harrison held his wife’s hand hard and she gripped it until he thought it would turn blue. He turned around, behind him, and whispered, say, Ridley, got any Beemans? Ridley looked at him, nodded, and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stick. With his free hand Harrison unwrapped the gum and put it in his mouth then heard Irving say his name and Grace released her grip and he stood and walked to the podium. He pulled a typed index card from his pocket and placed it carefully on the stand. He looked up and said,

  Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

  And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

  Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

  Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things

  You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

  High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

  I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

  My eager craft through footless halls of air.

  Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,

  I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace

  Where never lark, or even eagle flew—

  And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

  The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

  Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

  He sat down. Grace squeezed his hand.

  Suffer little children to come unto me, Irving said. For of such is the kingdom of God.

  She shook and he held her tight.

  Pancho stayed with them for the weekend. She cleaned and cooked and fed Milo and answered the telephone and drove home Sunday night and on Monday morning Harrison returned to work. He sat at his desk and studied diagrams for an adaptive control system he’d been developing with engineers from Minneapolis-Honeywell to automatically monitor and change the X-15’s gains. Voltage alterations were required to adjust the flight control system, and the stability augmentation system used in previous flights was not an effective solution.

  It was impossible to set the gains in the flight control system to a single value that would be optimum for all flight conditions. The speed range was too wide. The MH-96 prototype was designed for high altitude flights outside of the atmosphere. It would automatically combine both aerodynamic and reaction controls, compensating for the reduction in effectiveness of the aerodynamic controls as altitude increased. It consisted of electrical modules and mechanical linkages designed and tested in the simulator, which had analogue computers to replicate the nonlinear aircraft dynamics.

  He drank hot black coffee. He stared at a schematic of the inner-loop control architecture.

  He was scheduled to make the first X-15 flight with the MH-96 installed that Friday. It was also the first flight test of Reaction Motors’ XLR-99 rocket engine, also known as the Big Engine, capable of fifty-seven thousand pounds of thrust.

  He studied a memo from Bob Bridshaw at Honeywell.

  Bridshaw warned that the MH-96 was a rate-command, attitude-hold system and might not observe usual speed stability characteristics if the thrust did not match the drag. More problems: the system was designed to maintain a limit cycle oscillation at the servoactuator loop’s natural frequency. The laws of gain adjustment made Harrison wonder if the gain valve would lag behind the optimum setting. It would still be a better solution than the standard stability augmentation system with pilot-selectable gains, especially during reentry.

  He grunted and took another sip of coffee. Ridley walked in.

  Jim, he said, surprised. Wasn’t, uh, expectin to see you today.

  Runnin a program, ain’t we?

  Ridley thought for a second, considered the situation.

  Sure are, he said.

  You think the MH-96 might disengage in flight? Harrison said.

  It’s been designed to run for seventy-five, seventy-six thousand hours between failures, Ridley said.

  Uh-huh.

  Reset the system, you shouldn’t have any problems.

  Yeah.

  Want a coffee? Ridley said.

  Got one here.

  How long you been here?

  Couldn’t sleep. Goddamn coyotes, Harrison said.

  Mating season, Ridley said.

  If it was up to me, Harrison said, I’d gather a posse and hunt down every last one of em.

  Thankfully it ain’t up to you.

  Where we launching?

  Over Silver Lake.

  I reckon landing might be a problem, Harrison said.

  With the lakebed?

  With the stick. I usually have to pull it back, keep increasin the force to keep her on the angle as I slow. I reckon the stick will have to stay dead center.

  You might be right, Ridley said.

  Only one way to find out, Harrison said.

  Ridley sat down opposite him.

  We’ll climb at seventy-five percent thrust, he said, level out at a hundred thousand feet. Then accelerate to Mach five; hundred second burn; shutdown. Then you can evaluate the system’s responses by making a series of yaw, pitch and roll inputs.

  Sure the lakes are dry enough now? Harrison said.

  Hell, yeah, Ridley said. Driest goddamn winter I ever seen. Joe and Neil tested em on Saturday. Say, here’s something I found out from Walker. You know why your flight was delayed til Friday?

  Thought Jerry said there was a problem in the coupling?

  Nope, Ridley said. The air force was conducting an ejection seat test using a tranquillized bear.

  You made that up.

  Did not. His name was Little John.

  They named him?

  On my mother’s life.

  Little John?

  Ejected at forty-five thousand feet.

  How’d he pull the cinch ring?

  Guess a bear’s got claws.

  How fast was he goin?

  One point four Mach.

  He was supersonic?

  Fastest damn bear in the world.

  They should put him on the cover of Life.

  Who’s been sit-ting in my chair
?

  That’s the funniest goddamn thing I ever heard.

  Made one helluva mess.

  He bought it? Harrison said.

  Chute didn’t open, Ridley said. Poor bastard hit the runway like a sack of shit. Bull’s-eye, right in front of everyone. Damn thing exploded. Hell of a mess. They had to close the runway. Walker had to take a shower after.

  This is the greatest story I ever heard, Jackie, Harrison said. How come you’re just tellin it to me now?

  Ridley looked at the desk. You were kinda busy over the weekend, Jim, he said.

  Oh, Harrison said. Right. Still a goddamned funny story.

  Harrison spent the next four days preparing for the flight. Touch-and-go landings in an F-104, forty hours in the simulator. He was hardly home. Friday morning, the Big Engine performed beautifully. After the flight, he typed up his pilot’s report on the spare desk in Ridley’s office. DATE, PILOT, FLIGHT NUMBER, FLIGHT TIME, LAUNCH LAKE, LANDING LAKE, LAUNCH TIME, LANDING TIME. He pulled on a cigarette as he filled in each. ABORTS: NONE. He looked up from the typewriter and frowned. He filled out the names of the four chase pilots and the B-52 crew. Under PURPOSE he wrote MH-96 EVALUATION. CONFIG: VENT ON, SL INDICATOR ON INSTR PANEL. BURN TIME: 82.4 SEC. THRUST: 100%. He sighed, looked around for his coffee, then typed RESULTS: MAX L/O RETURN FROM ~ 45 SOUTH OF BASE DUE TO BOUNCE AND OVERSHOOT FOLLOWING REENTRY. He looked at what he’d typed. He hadn’t realized how far up the nose had gone after he’d reentered the atmosphere. He’d ballooned out again and couldn’t turn. Sailed on by the landing lake at Mach three. Dropped back into the atmosphere over Pasadena with barely any fuel left, turned, made it back, landed safely—just.

  Shit, he said, and unspooled the paper.

  Walker came in.

  I hear Pasadena’s nice this time of year, he said, grinning.

  Harrison looked up, stubbing out his cigarette in a heavy glass ashtray.

  I think you set some kinda cross-country record, Walker said.

  All right, all right, Harrison said. I heard about Little John.

  Oh, boy; that sure weren’t pretty.

  Don’t doubt that.

  I’m headin home. Give Gracie my love.

  Thanks, Joe.

  Harrison got home at nine. Grace was dozing on the sofa, Milo’s head resting on her lap. She stirred as he came in.

  What time is it? she said, half asleep.

  Did I wake you?

  I left you dinner—it’s in the stove. I didn’t know when you’d be back.

  Me either.

  How was it?

  Harrison didn’t answer. He stared out the window.

  Jim?

  Piece of cake, he said. I feel fine.

  He walked into the kitchen. She sat up. Milo yawned. A few minutes later he came back in.

  I’m going to bed, he said.

  What about dinner? she said.

  I’m not hungry.

  He went upstairs.

  C’mon boy, she said to Milo. Let’s get you some water.

  Milo followed her into the kitchen. She refilled his bowl. The house was silent. She switched off the kitchen light, locked both doors, said good night to Milo and went upstairs. She could hear her husband moving around the bedroom. She stepped into the bathroom. By the time she got out, he was asleep.

  The next morning Grace said, you haven’t forgotten we’re going up to Harper Farm have you? He said no and left for work.

  Harper Farm was her father’s ranch. Hal’s heart had kicked and squeezed the previous summer, leaving him a sloppy gait and unstable hands. His world contracted. Grace tried to persuade him to sell up and come live with them in the Mojave but he said he couldn’t leave her mother. That Grace’s mother had died decades ago made no difference. She’d been buried on the ranch and, every night for a week after she’d gone, he’d lain right on top of the soil. Kevin, one of the hands, once told Grace that he’d seen her father testing out the spot for when his time came. The most crucial decision seemed to have been whether left, or right, of the existing plot would work best, with the less conventional top-to-tail also trialed. Grace wanted to talk to her father about it but could never bring herself to raise the topic. Recent events had affected Hal deeply. He’d taken to long and potentially hazardous night walks when the moon was fat enough for him to see. He ate dinner at breakfast and breakfast in the evening. When he slept, he slept on the floor. It was as though his life had been inverted by a powerful force he had no control over. In what was perhaps an attempt to restore some order to his life, Hal had decided to bring the wider family together for a reunion over the holidays.

  Grace and Jim arrived at the farm early Christmas eve morning.

  Daddy, Grace said, hugging her father on the stoop of the main house.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t there, he said. His arms, still strong, mollified his willowy child.

  Daddy, she whispered into his chest. They parted.

  Jim, he said, shaking Harrison’s hand. Come on in.

  Good to see you, Hal, he said.

  We’ll bring the gifts up later, Grace said.

  Aunt Carolyn hasn’t stopped asking me questions about you, sweetheart, Hal said. I’m glad you’re here.

  Mixie here too? she said.

  Sure is, Hal said.

  Stevie?

  Stuck in Utah. Work.

  What’s he do?

  Could be one of those goddamn astronauts for all I know.

  She fixed him a look.

  He’s a lawyer.

  Oh.

  Yeah, that’s what I said when Mixie told me.

  Mind if I use the bathroom? Harrison said.

  Go right ahead, Hal said. You know where it is. Let’s all go in. Gracie, there’s a bunch of folks in here dyin to see you again.

  Wish me luck, she said to Harrison.

  Hal pushed her through the door to the living room and a cheer went up from inside.

  Jesus, Harrison said to himself, and went upstairs to use the john.

  By the time Harrison joined his wife downstairs she was on her second glass of Hal’s lemon, nutmeg and honey-palm hot toddy, stuck by the sofa with cousin Dave. Harrison smiled and looked around for a drink of his own.

  Anyone seen Kevin? Hal said, over the noise.

  Yonder, Tom, another of Hal’s employees, said from the window. Saw him go into the barn not ten minutes ago.

  There was a cry; a rough and throaty noise from outside. The men looked at each other and the women looked at the men and the men turned to Hal, who put down his drink and moved quickly from the room. They followed him outside. The air was cold and the sod was hard and frosted. Kevin came out of the barn and yelled something to them. Harrison couldn’t make it out. They picked up their pace. Kevin had blood on his shirt. He came over to them.

  What happened? Hal said. Are you all right?

  One of the foals is dead, he said. Looks like a coyote done it; don’t know how the sumbitch got in though.

  Shit, Hal said. Shit. Those fuckers.

  This happened before, Hal? one of the other men said.

  Never, Kevin said. Not in the barn. Maybe a coupla times, out in the pasture, sure; but sheep, sometimes cattle. Never a foal. Never a foal.

  Okay, Hal said. Let’s attend to her. We can work out what to do later. Fellas?

  The men walked to the barn. Harrison hesitated at the door.

  Jim? Hal said. You okay?

  Harrison nodded. It started to snow. He waited outside while the men took care of it.

  Inside this trim, modest suburban home is Annie Glenn, wife of astronaut John Glenn, sharing the anxiety and pride of the entire world at this tense moment but in a way that only she can understand.

  Grace snorted a worn indignation from the sofa.

  One thing has prepared Annie Glenn for this test of her own courage and will sustain her and that one thing is her faith …

  Nancy Bloom stood on the Glenn front lawn in Arlington. She held the microphone close to
her glossy lips. In the background, the living room curtains were closed. Around her, a steel city had been erected, founded by television people.

  Jesus, Harrison said, sitting next to his wife. Why are they reporting from the Glenns’ front yard?

  … faith in the ability of her husband, her faith in the efficiency and dedication of the thousands of engineers and other personnel who provide his guidance system and her faith in Almighty God.

  Light the candle already, Harrison said. I bet that slimy Texan sonofabitch is sitting round the corner in a limo waiting to shake her hand in front of those news crews.

  CBS turned to Cronkite in the studio. Harrison stood and switched to NBC.

  We should have popcorn, he said.

  It was late February. Thousands of people crowded the Cape, waiting to see the first American orbit the Earth. Shepard might have been first up, but there was something about orbiting the Earth that reached deep inside people; people who were afraid. Everybody stared at the Atlas rocket as it sat, quivering, on the pad. Then came a terrific rumble and the Atlas left the pad and Glenn left the Earth. Harrison drank his beer and thought, Glenn’s got his hatch and Glenn’s got his window. Hell, some people were even calling him the pilot. Well, good for him. That was the way it should be. The Seven still weren’t doing much actual flying, but at least they had a decent view now.

  Grace got up and left the room. Harrison pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it and waved the match until it went out.

  Who knows what’s out there, Herb, Al Mann, one of the reporters, said. This is just the beginning.

  Harrison sat forward and sucked hard on his cigarette.

  John Glenn is about to enter the heavens, Herb said. Since mankind first walked upon the Earth and gazed up at the night sky, he has wondered.

  The rocket rolled. Harrison stared at the screen.

  Ahead lies the great tapestry of Creation, Herb said.

  The face of God, Harrison thought. He blew smoke at the floor.