G -1

by Kyle Thomas Bruhnke

  We spent nearly one day getting our plan organized. Jared and I acted on the suggestion Willie had to get the ribs up on jack stands. There aren’t enough stands so we have to scavenge bricks and wood from around the launch facility to fashion our own supports. It doesn’t take much since the cowling is only two feet off the ground on its stands.

  Where Willie had measured the previous week, we cut slots in the cowling and corresponding tabs on the ribs. Then we numbered and weighed each rib. They are all within about five pounds of each other. We arrange them around the cowling so the heaviest ones are perpendicular to the line of flight, like wings on an airplane, the lightest ones are in line front and back, then everything else in between. This should give the craft balance characteristics similar to a plane. After three days of measuring, cutting and weighing, we lift the ribs into place, sliding the tabs into slots and steadying the tips on the stands. The cowling now has the look of an octopus. It’s time to start welding so we call Willie.

  Willie comes out after dinner on Wednesday. He grins as he walks through the door rolling a case which probably has the welder in it. “You guys are really making her look like a ship now,” he comments with satisfaction. He continues his walk all the way around, stooping to look under each rib, checking the connections. “Looks real good,” he says, mostly to himself. Then he walks over to where we are standing. “So who knows how to weld?” he asks.

  I look at Jared and back. “Not me.”

  “I’ve done a little arc on steel but never aluminum,” Jared answers.

  “It’s not much different,” Willie says. “Mostly it’s the gas that’s different. It doesn’t get as hot since aluminum melts at a lower temperature.”

  “Where do you start?” I ask.

  “I think we should start on the rib connections on the outside of the cowling, get them solid, and then double weld them on the inside, after bending the tabs over,” Willie suggests.

  “That should hold pretty good,” Jared agrees.

  “I think so. Are all of the tips at the same height? That’s a critical measurement and once they’re welded, there’s no changing it.”

  “I think they’re pretty good,” I say. “Jared?”

  “Assuming the cowling is level, yeah, I think so.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Willie says. “I’ve been wondering how much difference it would make considering the way it’s going to fly. I think balance will be much more critical.”

  That reminds me of something. “Willie? What about the gyros and the center spike? How are we going to get them in position?”

  “Center spike? I like that,” he muses. “First we’ll jack the whole thing up a little higher, then we’ll just wheel it under and probably lower the craft down on top of it. I thought that would be easier than trying to put the ribs on with the whole thing five or six feet in the air.” He makes it sound like it will be the simplest thing in the world.

  “How’s the spike coming?” Jared asks.

  “Pretty good, I think,” Willie answers. “I pretty much got the pieces cut for the frame, and I’ve figured out how I’m going to mount the old hy-ped wheels.” A troubled look surfaces on his face. “But you know guys, I really have no idea how this is going to work. Hell, I don’t even know exactly what it’s supposed to do. Usually I got wheels and an engine or motor, and if I can get whatever I’m working on to roll down the road, I’m good. But this… I’ve only read a little bit about them, and that’s just in the time we’ve worked on this project.” He stops, looks from Jared to me and back at Jared again, waiting for an answer.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Jared replies after a minute. “The gyroscope exhibit is really the least of what I’m concerned about. It’s the flying part that worries me.”

  “Me too,” I cut in. “Willie, if the gyroscope can add just a little stabilizing effect to help level off, I’ll be happy. I’d say except for speed control, let it free­wheel.”

  “I can do that,” Willie smiles. “So you’re going to be the pilot of this craft?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it. “Yeah, I guess.” I look at Jared. He throws his hands up.

  “Hey, I like to fly but I’m no test pilot,” Jared declares. “I’m not going to risk my life in that thing. At least not on its maiden flight.”

  I hadn’t thought about that either, at least not any further than the dreamer in me could. Up until now, I’d been too busy trying to figure out how it would all fit together. I try to visualize being in the craft, rising off the ground. My stomach suddenly feels queasy. I hear Jared’s voice feed my fear.

  “Can you imagine being up about a hundred feet. The disc around you is flapping in the breeze; you’re having a hard time setting direction, hundreds of people are watching. You tilt a little in one direction and start sliding towards the ground, picking up speed. The instrument panel starts rattling, a few bolts hit the floor. You pull and pull at the stick and it won’t resp...”

  “Shut up!” I yell, sensing fear build inside as I feel sweat roll down my temples.

  “I think I saw that movie, too,” Willie says to Jared. “Isn’t that scene from one of the old Hollywood remakes of the X-15 tests from the early days of supersonic flight?”

  “Bingo.” Jared imitates taking a shot in Willie’s direction.

  “It’s funny remembering how they didn’t think the sound barrier could be broken. Look how far we’ve come. And now look at what we’re doing. Hey Ty? Think they’ll make a movie about us some day?”

  My heart rate has fallen enough so I can think about what he’s saying. “Uh, maybe Willie. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?” I force a smile.

  “As long as they’re documenting history and not memorializing somebody,” Jared jokes.

  “Cut it out Jer,” Willie admonishes.

  “Okay, okay. Ty knows when I’m messing with him,” Jared says, “don’t ya buddy?”

  I don’t answer him. Maybe he’ll realize he sometimes goes too far.

  “Well then, let’s get busy, misters,” Jared suggests with a lighthearted tone.

  Willie rolls the welder up to the first joint and begins to set it up. I stand a little off to the side, watching, but not really paying attention. I don’t want to weld. I don’t even feel like working on the dumb thing anymore. The thought about actually putting my life on the line so we can announce to the world that a new means of transportation is now available doesn’t even thrill me. And putting one over on corporations or the government never did. I just want to be a kid who’s only worry is girls and school, and having a little fun before I have to become a responsible adult. This whole thing stinks!

  Willie finishes showing Jared the first weld about five minutes later. They lift up their helmet shields to talk, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Then Willie hands the torch to Jared so he can weld the other side of the connection. Willie watches, yelling a few suggestions to which I can see Jared nod acknowledgement.

  It takes Jared a little longer to finish his weld. I go sit in the pilot’s seat to wait. Maybe I should just go home. I stare at the old helicopter’s instrument panel. A square piece has been cut out of it for the computer’s LCD panel. The other unnecessary gauges have been removed, too. There is no stick, but the foot pedals are still attached, waiting for their new task, if there is one.

  I try to imagine being a pilot but can’t get past the fear I experienced earlier. I think about Kylie, then Mom and Dad, and the little sister who I have yet to know. There is so much I still want to live for. Why should I risk it all on this stupid saucer? I remember some older kids from school who had gone to a party a couple of years ago, had a few beers and crashed on their way home. What was the point? Why risk it all for a few thrills? Their lives could have been so much longer.

  “Tyler!” Willie is standing next to me. Quickly I wipe the tears that had started to build around my eyes. Looking up, I see Jared has moved on to the next rib.

  “Thi
ngs going okay, Willie?” I stammer.

  “Yeah, he does good work,” Willie motions towards Jared. I turn my gaze there a second before looking down at my feet. “Almost as good as me.” He grins like it’s a joke, but I easily accept Willie as the best at putting things together.

  Willie kneels down. In the corner of my eye I see him sweep at nothing on the floor. He looks up, draws and locks my gaze. “Don’t let ‘ol Jer spook ya,” he advises me. “This is going to be as safe as we can make it and I believe it’s going to fly just fine.”

  “You really think so?”

  “You bet!” he assures me. His voice is light and confident. “A few precautions are always advisable, though, like seat belts in a car. Maybe you could find an old parachute or something.”

  “You just said it’s going to fly just fine.”

  “Hey.” He gets defensive. “The best advice my daddy ever gave me was, ‘Always have an out’.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, if you’re driving down a four lane highway, don’t ever let another car ride directly on either side, because then that’s one direction you can’t go if there’s any problem.”

  “Yeah, my Gramps has told me something like that for motorcycling, too.”

  “And if you’re welding, always have some way to put out a fire.” He points at the welding apparatus where I notice the fire extinguisher strapped under the top for the first time. “Leave yourself an out,” he reiterates.

  So now I have one more thing to think about. “Do you suppose I should figure out some procedures to handle different problems?”

  “Couldn’t hurt. They’ve been doing it for years in the space program. All the different military branches have them for their processes. Just remember, it’s not because something will go wrong, it’s just in case something does. Most of them are probably never used, but it’s still better than having a problem come up and being clueless about what to do about it when you might only have a minute before time runs out.”

  Strangely enough, the conversation helps me feel better. Willie, like Kylie a couple days ago, is suggesting I take control of the situation, even though Willie’s are hypothetical and Kylie’s had been practical.

  “Thanks, Willie. That’s been a help.”

  “Hey Willie!” Jared yells. “Can you come check this out?” He has finished the second rib. Willie trots over to inspect his work, pointing out a few spots to touch up before moving on. Then he comes back over towards me.

  “Help me measure for the spars, okay?” he asks.

  I get up slowly. He tosses me the measuring tape so I can hold it against the cowling while he makes his marks about two thirds of the way down the ribs. By the time we make it back around, Jared has moved on to another rib and we can finish the last one. The weld is still warm.

  “Let’s try something,” Willie says. I follow him out to the end of one of the welded ribs. “Give it a little lift,” he says. I straddle the rib, hook my hands underneath and pull. He easily slides the top supporting board out. “Okay. Lower it slowly,” he instructs me. The rib drops only a little, not even enough to touch the next board. “Good,” he comments with quiet satisfaction. He walks quickly over to the weld, and runs a finger around it. “It’s holding real well, even without the inside welds. This is going to be one strong ship. Lets just put this back for now though.” We slide the support board back in.

  “Jared should be able to finish all the welds by this weekend,” Willie estimates out loud. “Then we should remove the rib supports and start putting the skirts on.”

  “How’s that going to work?” I ask, feeling a little more confident and interested again.

  “We need to fashion eight pieces to weld onto the end of each rib. We’re going to need some sort of form to get the curvature precise. Those pieces need to overlap each other. Then we do a final measurement of the space between the ribs - that’s a critical one - clamp them and weld them up. Then we can weld the spars in between.”

  “Have you been thinking about this for a long time?”

  “About five minutes now.” He grins noticing the surprise on my face. Then he explains. “Well really, I’ve thought a lot more about it than that. But when it actually comes down to it, the plan always changes.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because circumstances change when you actually do something and that changes the plan. What seemed right yesterday, isn’t right today. Like when I walked in here tonight, I thought the bracing should be next. But now that I’ve seen that the ribs can support themselves, I think it would be better to put the skirt on next. That way the measurement in between the ribs will be more precise.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Hey! Are we done for the night?” Jared has raised his helmet shield and is looking over at us.

  “I’m done for the night,” Willie yells back.

  “Good!” Jared agrees. He takes off the helmet and runs the strap over the handle of the welder’s case before joining us. “Man, that’s fun. I love watching pieces of metal come together.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Willie says, “because there’s going to be plenty more to do.”

  “And what have you guys been doing?” Jared demands lightheartedly.

  “Planning the next steps,” I volunteer. “Willie was explaining to me how to fashion the skirt pieces.”

  “And you’re all set to go?”

  “I’ll do the fabricating. You just try and keep up,” I tell him.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Willie says.

  The next day, I begin to build a jig based on Willie’s suggestion of how to cut and bend the skirt pieces. “Where’s the measuring tape?” I ask Jared.

  “In the box here.” He pulls it from the tool box which is by the welding tanks and tosses it over to me, then gets set up to begin welding.

  “Give me a hand before you start,” I say. He looks at me questioningly. “I just need a little help measuring the diameter of the saucer.”

  Pulling on the tape, I crawl under the cowling so I can hand one end to him. He drags it to the end of the nearest rib and waits for me to get to the end of the rib opposite it. “Anxious to get welding?” I yell across to him.

  “Yep,” he briskly replies. I hold the tape up to take the measurement. “Fifteen feet, four inches,” I announce while writing it down on a scrap of paper from my pocket. I feel him drop the tape. “Wait! One more. Then your done.” I duck under the saucer again.

  He grudgingly picks up the loose end again. “Now where?”

  “The width between two of the rib tips,” I tell him as I crawl out from under the cowling.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to use the length from the drawings for this part?” he argues.

  “Maybe, if the ribs were the same length as they are on the drawing, which they’re not. It’ll just take a second.” He holds his end while I take another measurement. “Five foot, three or less,” I say to myself before writing it down. Jared drops his end of the tape again. This time I let it reel in.

  “You know you’re going to have to allow some for the curvature too?” Jared suggests, like he’s Mr. Know-It-All.

  “Yeah, yeah. Willie covered all of that yesterday. He thought an overlap of eight inches on each end would give us enough play for adjustments.” I wave him off. “You just go weld.”

  There was another thing Willie suggested too, but I don’t need Jared’s help with it. I pull a protractor and torpedo level from different pockets to get the angle at the end of the rib. “Thirty-two degrees,” I mutter to myself as I write it down.

  There were other suggestions too; string, duct tape and a washable black marker. I walk to the corner furthest from the door, keeping the saucer in between. Behind me I hear the crackle as Jared begins welding.

  Measuring out a length of string equal to the radius of the saucer, I tape one end to the floor. The other I wrap around the marker, and stretching th
e string gently so it doesn’t pull loose from under the tape, I draw an arc on the floor long enough to fit eight foot nine in between. Tape sure comes in handy when you don’t have enough hands.

  I retrieve one of the extra blocks of wood we had brought in for jacking up the ribs. With the angle of the rib’s end transferred to the wood, I pull a cordless saw from the toolbox and cut the angle through the middle to create two pieces. Then I do a second cut. Then I get my gloves.

  Dragging over a section of sheet metal we had brought in from the salvage yard, I position it over my form. It’s about three inches longer than needed but I don’t think that will make much difference. It is too wide, though. I retrieve the motorized tin snips from where we had been cutting slots and tabs. Cutting the sheet in half would leave about eight inches of width for each skirt piece. The end of the rib is less than that, but Willie said we should allow for the curvature of the piece too, and I hope that will be enough.

  With the sheet cut in half, I screw it to the blocks that I had cut the rib angle on to get an estimate of what the curvature is going to be. I carefully measure the gap from the floor to metal, transposing that measurement onto the metal all the way to the other end. Then I connect the dots and cut the excess off what will be the bottom of the skirt. It looks rough, but Willie said we can use a grinder to smooth out the edges.

  I use the first piece as a form for the second one and cut it as well. Then I drag them, one at a time, over to the saucer for a test fit. While Jared finishes up the weld on his second rib for the morning, I weigh and record both pieces. If anything, they will be lighter by the time they are finished.

  I hear the welding stop and get up to ask Jared for help. He is more than a third of the way around the cowling, and is inspecting his weld as I walk up. “How’s it going?” I ask.

  “Pretty good,” he answers confidently. “I love doing this. It’s like art.” I look more closely. The waves of metal, that form from the heat of the torch, are curved and soft in appearance, like ridges on a sea shell. They are neatly spaced and uniform. He is doing a good job.