The Courtney Entry

by Max Hennessy

  ‘When would it be ready?’

  Woolff rubbed his nose. ‘Well, hell,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve been reading all these reports about the other teams. They all talk about being ready but I guess they’re not. And they won’t dare start till the spring’s well along and the weather’s settled. We’ve got time.’

  ‘That’s the one thing we want,’ Ira said, lighting a cigarette. ‘How long?’

  Woolff paused to consider. ‘Record time,’ he said after a while. ‘The boys at the field’ll do all they can. They have to. If we fold they might be out of a job.’

  ‘Can you give us a definite date?’

  ‘Two months. Less if we hire more men. We’d have to take ’em off normal work for a while, of course. I don’t know whether Courtney’d like that.’

  ‘Perhaps we could work on him. Would it hold much up?’

  Woolff grinned. ‘We only have orders for three machines on the books, but I think we could stall around some, because nobody’s pushing. They’re supposed to be powered with Pratt and Whitneys and there’s a hold-up there. We could probably think up some good alibis.’

  ‘What about these modifications?’

  Woolff gave a deprecatory gesture. ‘Well, hell,’ he said. ‘Courtney’s older than I am but he’s not a college man and maybe I’ve picked up a few things that slipped by him. Maybe his fuselage could be shorter. He’s playing too safe and going for too much stability. After all, if the weather’s right, flying a straight course’s not going to tax a pilot too much. And I think he miscalculated on the landing gear like you said. He talked of running the axle all the way across but I said it would cause too much drag. It’s still not tough enough. I think it would need an upright strut here.’ He moved his hand over the drawings and jabbed with a plump forefinger. ‘I guess he’s always too optimistic about undercarriages.’

  ‘I’d like a gear that goes right up to the wing root,’ Ira said. Woolff nodded. ‘Why not? One single long strut with a good solid trombone shock absorber and molybdenum steel for the axles. They take around twenty thousand pounds to the square inch. We’d have to make ’em specially, of course, and clean ’em up with balsa-wood streamlining, but it could be done.’

  They were all eagerly leaning over the plan now, watching Woolff’s pencil.

  ‘We’d need a wider wheelbase, too,’ he said. ‘Maybe seven foot, because she could be a little unstable across the ground and we wouldn’t want her wandering like Fonck’s Sikorsky did, if the gas swilled about. If she hit a bump she might be difficult to hold. A ton and a half shifting position can be dangerous. Cockpits for the crew behind the engine.’

  ‘That puts the main tank behind the crew,’ Sammy pointed out. ‘If she came down with a bang we’d get it right in our necks.’

  ‘Perhaps we won’t come down with a bang,’ Ira suggested. ‘If we get her up, she ought to stay up.’

  ‘You’ll be lifting a hell of a load,’ Sammy said sombrely. ‘How about fixing some brakes?’

  Woolff stared at him. ‘Brakes? On an aeroplane?’

  ‘To hold her with the throttles open until she can build up a bit of power – so we can get off to a fast start.’

  Woolff considered for a time. ‘Won’t she nose over?’

  ‘Not with the stick well back.’

  Woolff frowned. ‘Suppose they jammed in the middle of the run? She’d go over, then, sure as hell.’

  ‘And we’d have a ton of petrol on top of a hot engine.’ Ira grinned. ‘Let’s forget brakes for the time being.’

  Woolff frowned. ‘How about a ramp?’ he said. ‘We could build one. Winch her up and cut the cables with the engine revving.’

  Ira chuckled. ‘Sounds worse than brakes,’ he said. ‘What about range?’

  Woolff gave a shy smile. ‘I haven’t worked it all out completely yet.’ He reached to the table and dragged a map of the world on to the floor and laid it over the drawing. ‘But I went into Charleston and talked to a ship’s captain down there. We reckoned it was around three thousand six hundred miles. I could give you fuel for three thousand nine hundred. That’s three hundred to spare. If you had a tailwind and a little luck, it could be as much as five hundred.’

  Sammy looked up. ‘Suppose we run into headwinds?’

  ‘That’s a chance we have to take,’ Ira said. ‘How about the motor?’

  ‘Wright,’ Woolff said immediately. ‘Wright Whirlwind. The Wasp’s maybe better but you can’t get ’em. The Navy’s grabbed ’em all. But everybody’s using Whirlwinds these days. Air-cooled, nine-cylinder two-twenty-horse jobs. Lightweight aluminium alloy. Economic fuel consumption. Good range. The new ones are probably even better because they’ve got enclosed rocker arms and the bearings are fed with grease from a magazine while you’re in the air. I’m told they’ll do nine thousand hours without failure.’

  They all sat back, smiling at each other. The job appeared to be done. It was Sammy who brought them down to earth.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ve got the aeroplane we want. The exact one. All we want now is the OK to build it.’

  They looked up at him with sheepish grins. In their enthusiasm they had been crossing their bridges before they’d come to them.

  Ira stared at Woolff’s specifications for a moment. ‘Has Courtney ever seen these?’ he asked.

  Woolff grinned shyly. ‘You know how fast he moves,’ he said. ‘I never got chance to get it on the desk. I thought of it some, but I guess I’m not the pushing kind.’

  Ira frowned. ‘Perhaps we ought to do some pushing for you, Hal. You ever spoken to Alix Courtney about it?’

  ‘Some. Not much. She thought the same way as me, I think, but they were too taken up with their own design for her to give it much thought.’

  ‘How much influence have you got with her?’

  Woolff blushed. ‘None. Maybe you would have.’

  Sammy looked up. ‘Sure,’ he said quickly. ‘Why not?’

  Ira nodded. ‘Hal,’ he said. ‘Get on that telephone, and get her over to the airfield. Now.’

  Chapter 8

  Alix Courtney arrived within half an hour, wearing a skirt for once and a shapeless green sweater, her face pale and strained. She was in an unpredictable mood and looked as though she hadn’t been to bed. Her hair was wild after the drive across the field and she eyed them warily as she lit a cigarette. The hostility of their last meeting was gone but she was still hesitant and cautious.

  They were waiting for her in the hangar, a cavernous place in the high-slung lights, shadowy in the darkness and echoing and empty without the movement of the workmen. They had rattled out of town in Woolff’s old car, trailing a cloud of dust, Sammy bouncing about in the rear seat like a pea in an empty pod.

  ‘You ought to do something about this bloody car,’ he had yelled over the noise of the engine to Woolff. ‘It’s no advertisement for Courtneys!’

  Woolff set the ball rolling as soon as they entered the office. ‘You heard anything from your Pa, Alix?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘He’s been probing around,’ she said. ‘I heard him on the telephone to Waco in Ohio and Travel Air in Wichita.’

  Woolff looked startled. ‘He’s not aimin’ to buy, is he?’

  She shrugged. ‘He’s thought about it. He’s written to Sikorsky and Lincoln and Laird and Breese and a few others. He even tried Bellanca but the only machine available there’s gone to the Columbia Corporation. They bought it for airmail work but the way they’re talking now, Chamberlain’s going to have it for a try at the Atlantic. The only other Bellanca’s owned by the Wright Corporation and they won’t be drawn into competition with manufacturers who’re likely to be customers for their engines.’

  Woolff glanced quickly at Ira, obviously disturbed by this unexpected turn in events. Sammy summed up the feelings of all of them.

  ‘He’ll sell no Courtneys flying a Bellanca,’ he said shortly.

  ‘No.’ Alix looked up and shook her head, her eyes worrie
d. ‘He won’t. But he was so set on the Atlantic, I guess he’ll try anything. Maybe he’s just trying to save face.’

  Woolff screwed his cigarette out in an ashtray made from a piston. ‘Alix, where’s he getting the dough from?’ he said. ‘I thought he was already after a loan?’

  Alix moved her head nervously, as though she’d already spent too many nights thinking about that. ‘I guess he’s worked it all out,’ she said. ‘I sure hope so. He’s done some damfool things lately. Maybe wanting to fly the Atlantic’s the stupidest.’

  Woolff looked at her closely. ‘Alix, he’s looked lousy lately. Is he fit?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I wish he’d slow down. He’s all on edge. One minute he’s up. The next he’s down. Maybe it’s the pills he’s taking.’

  Woolff gestured. ‘Well, I sure as hell hope he doesn’t waste his money on something nobody else wants. He won’t get anything worth having – even if it made sense to buy, which it doesn’t. They’re all involved in some attempt themselves and they won’t go into competition with themselves.’

  She moved her shoulders nervously. ‘He even talked about that place over in San Diego, but they’re building for this airmail pilot who wants to have a try.’

  ‘Alix,’ Ira said. ‘Whatever he’s after, he’s wasting his breath. Hal’s got something right here that could beat the lot.’

  She stared at him dubiously but her manner was not hostile for once, and she watched silently as Ira laid the specifications and plans of the Courtney in front of her and explained its shortcomings, then she listened carefully to what Woolff had to say.

  ‘It seems to me’ – Ira took up the argument as Woolff came to a halt – ‘that a committee-designed machine using the best ideas everybody can offer’s a much better proposition than going ahead with something we can’t agree about.’

  ‘He won’t OK it,’ she said at once.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Alix’ – Woolff gestured – ‘he’s been talking of buying!’

  ‘He won’t buy, Hal! He can’t afford to.’

  ‘Couldn’t he back it with some of the profits from the auto plant in Boston?’

  She gave him a quick look, then shook her head. ‘I guess not,’ she said.

  Ira smoothed the plans in front of her. ‘It doesn’t matter much, anyway,’ he said. ‘The way we’ve worked it out, it won’t cost much. And we thought that if everyone’s here to throw in suggestions we can build into it everything we want as we go along. And because we know how it’s built we’ll also know how to treat it when we come to fly it.’

  She lit a cigarette slowly and looked up at Woolff. ‘How much would it cost, Hal?’ she asked.

  Woolff’s eyes lit up at her show of interest. ‘Twenty grand altogether,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Maybe a bit more, including engine and instruments, but most of that we’ve budgeted for already. We’d need around another five. That’s all.’

  She made no comment and they discussed costs for a while, then she rose and began to walk about the office, her arms about herself, her face grave and unsmiling, deep in thought.

  They watched in silence, then she stopped and turned towards them. ‘How long would it take you to set things up?’ she demanded. ‘I mean, if you got down to work on it, how much of it could you have ready to show him when he comes?”

  Woolff considered. ‘We can get the men on it right off. We’re not selling much, Alix. In fact, if we don’t go ahead, we’ll have to fire some of ’em…’

  ‘How much?’

  The question stopped him dead in his tracks. He blushed. ‘We could use your Pa’s airframe,’ he said. ‘Maybe we could have the undercarriage ready and make a start on the wing.’

  ‘That ought to be enough to impress him.’ She considered for a moment, staring ahead of her and blowing out cigarette smoke. ‘OK, Hal,’ she said. ‘Go ahead. I’ll talk him round.’

  ‘Suppose he says no?’ Woolff was still hesitant. ‘We’ll have to account for the work we’ve done.’

  She crushed out her cigarette. ‘I’ll pay for that myself right now,’ she said. ‘I’ll put two and a half thou in. If he doesn’t like it, we’ll find the rest elsewhere.’

  * * *

  They had already begun to make progress when Courtney reappeared unexpectedly. Woolff had produced drawings which he’d hung up on an easel in front of Courtney’s fuselage, alongside which he’d arranged a new undercarriage and wheels, and work had already started on the new wing. He had been at his desk eighteen hours a day to get everything finished and they were all pleased with what they’d achieved.

  They were warned of Courtney’s approach by a telephone call from Magnolia. It was Alix.

  ‘He’s just arrived with Lave Boyle,’ she said. ‘They came down overnight. He’s on his way over in Lave’s auto.’

  ‘OK,’ Ira said. ‘We’re ready. Get over here yourself, too. We’ll need you.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake’ – she sounded panic-stricken – ‘I was in Charleston last night dancing. I haven’t got up yet. I’ve just jumped out of the tub. I’m in my birthday suit.’

  Ira grinned. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony. Come as you are.’

  When Courtney arrived he was walking so fast, in his huge strides, Boyle was having to run to keep up with him. He slammed open the side door of the hangar with such force that Boyle, who was close behind, had to jump aside as it rebounded off the wall.

  All work stopped as Courtney strode towards the office. A workman welding a steel tube in place on the skeleton of a fuselage paused to watch, and winked at the other men scattered about splicing cables, crouched with screwdrivers and spanners or bent over the big sewing machines that worked the heavy cotton fabric. At the far end of the hangar Sammy was standing with Hal Woolff examining a wing plan alongside a group of men who were fitting and glueing ribs to smooth pale spruce spars and brushing dope on to the smooth curves of a wing surface.

  He turned as he heard the door bang and watched Courtney heading for the office.

  ‘Looks as if the in-fighting’s started,’ he said.

  Ira was in Woolff’s office, bent over Woolff’s plans, when Courtney appeared in the doorway. He seemed more unkempt than ever as he stood in the entrance.

  ‘Ira…’ he began.

  Ira looked up and Courtney managed a half-smile.

  ‘First of all,’ he said in brisk no-nonsense tones, ‘I guess I owe you an apology, Ira. What I said the other day was uncalled for, unfair, and quite untrue. You’ve got the guts all right. Nobody more. And there aren’t any better fliers.’ He looked embarrassed and angry at the same time. ‘I hope that’s OK,’ he ended awkwardly.

  ‘Of course.’ Ira smiled. ‘I always fall for an apology, Felton. It takes a good man to make one.’

  Courtney seemed to relax. Boyle was standing beside him, his eyes on Courtney’s face, reflective as an old cat’s.

  Courtney drew a deep breath. ‘But I’m still going ahead with my own plane, Ira,’ he went on. ‘I put a lot of work into that design. I want to use it. That’s the one I want used.’

  Ira rose to his feet. ‘Not by me, Felton,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to insist, you’d better count me out.’

  Courtney paused, his eyes on Ira’s face, and Ira could see he was a sorely troubled man. He began to walk up and down the office, all his restless caged energy showing in his taut, impatient manner. He stopped dead and stared at Ira. ‘We’ve got to make up our minds, Ira. It’s my job to provide the ship. It’s yours to fly it.’

  Ira shook his head. ‘I think you’ve got it wrong, Felton,’ he said. ‘Producing an aeroplane for a job like this isn’t something you can do from a motor-car plant in Boston. You do it here, where the factory is, and where the airfield is.’

  Courtney eyed him for a long time, wondering how to reply, and he was just drawing his breath to continue the argument when the side door of the hangar slammed op
en and they saw Alix’s lean shape heading across the factory floor in her long tigerish stride, watched with interest by the grinning workmen. Sammy put down the plan he was holding and jerked his head at Woolff. ‘Come on, Hal,’ he said. ‘We’re in this, too.’

  The office door burst open. ‘Hello, Pa,’ Alix said. ‘I only just made it.’

  Courtney had turned to her. ‘Only just made what?’ he demanded.

  Alix gave Woolff a quick grin as he appeared behind her with Sammy. ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ she said.

  Courtney gestured. ‘Ira’s bowed out,’ he told her. ‘We don’t agree about the ship.’

  ‘I know.’

  Courtney’s jaw dropped. ‘How do you know? We’ve only just decided.’

  ‘Give me chance to speak and I’ll tell you.’

  Courtney held on to his impatience with difficulty. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Spill it, Alix.’

  The jetty eyes flashed. ‘When I’m good and ready I’ll spill it!’

  ‘You’re wasting breath already.’

  ‘Don’t holler at me, Pa! It’s my breath. You’ve not bought it. I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve decided I agree with what Ira said about the plane. I think we should change the plans.’

  Courtney stared at her, frowning. ‘I budgeted for a fixed sum for this aeroplane,’ he said. ‘I’m in no position to change the plans.’

  She stared at him angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Pa, don’t be so stubborn! Surely you’re not prepared to kill someone just to save a couple of thousand dollars.’

  Courtney looked weary. ‘Alix, when I went into this thing, I went into it to make a profit. To get publicity to help us sell aeroplanes. I didn’t want to get so involved I have to keep pumping dough into it.’

  ‘Pa, it doesn’t involve much!’

  ‘I’ve put all I can spare into it, Alix! I’m finished!’

  Before they could present him with the model they’d built, Courtney swung round on his heel and flung the door open. They watched him stalk across the wide floor of the hangar again, followed by Boyle, and eyed all the way by the workmen who had halted what they were doing to watch the drama of the quarrel. For a while there was a disappointed silence, then Woolff spoke, despair washing over him.