by T. E. Cruise
“You have to do it, Teddy,” he replied softly, sitting back down. “You said so yourself. You’re my chief engineer.”
Teddy took off his eyeglasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m still exhausted from the BroadSword project. We went for weeks at a time with little sleep and bad food.” He shook his head. “I’m fifty-three years old. I’m just not as young as I used to be,” he laughed weakly.
“Hey,” Gold shrugged. “Who is?”
“You’re missing the point—” Teddy began.
“No,” Gold cut him off. “You are. GAT has got to come up with a jet airliner. We’ve got to. Sales of our prop-powered Monarch GC series have been steadily tapering off as the airlines look ahead. Teddy, we have grown used to those revenues. If we want to survive, we are going to have to come up with an airplane we can sell in place of those Monarchs. If we don’t, someone else will, and GAT will become an also-ran.”
“But, Herman,” Teddy was pleading, “you can’t expect us to come up with an airplane in forty-eight hours?”
“That’s all I could get,” Gold replied. “General Simon is bending over backward just to give us that much time.”
“But we spent months working on the bomber proposal, and the Air Force shot it down.”
“Yeah, but Billy Burnett told me what they didn’t like about it,” Gold enthused. “So all we have to do is design out those flaws. And anyway, we were up against everyone in the business in the bomber competition, but we’ve got a head start concerning the tanker, and the Air Force needs a jet tanker fast enough to keep up with a jet bomber, so they’re going to be more willing to buy.”
Teddy sighed. “I guess the airlines will feel a whole lot better about investing in a jet airplane that has already met the Air Force’s high standards.”
“That’s the Teddy I know and love. Whatever we come up with has to be able to also serve as a commercial transport with only minor changes. Once we put this airplane into production we’re going to be able to save a lot of money if we can easily divert the product to either the commercial or military markets.”
“You sound awfully confident,” Teddy chided.
“We’re winners,” Gold declared. “Winners win.”
“Forty-eight hours,” Teddy mused, chuckling. “Everybody is going to have to fucking sleep here.”
“Suzy!” Gold yelled.
A second later she stuck her head inside the office. “Daddy!” she scolded. “There’s an intercom buried somewhere on Teddy’s desk, so you don’t have to yell like some crazy person.”
“Honey!” Teddy put his fingers to his lips. “Be quiet, and listen. I want you to order some folding cots and have them delivered ASAP.”
“But not too many,” Gold cautioned. He glanced at Teddy. “We want them sleeping in shifts. While some sleep others should be working. And we’ll keep an eye on all of them,” he elaborated. “The best ones won’t want to sleep. They’ll be too afraid that they might miss something.” He glanced back at his daughter. “Call the cafeteria in this building. I want the place open around the clock for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Daddy, what’s going on?” Suzy demanded. When Gold was done telling her, she said, “It sounds exciting, Daddy. I’d like to stay as well. It’d be my chance to really contribute something to GAT.”
Gold looked at Teddy, who said, “She’s the best secretary I’ve ever had. She’d be useful to us.”
“Okay,” Gold shrugged, smiling at Suzy. He pulled his leather-bound note pad out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You can start by typing up the notes I took during lunch.”
“Yes, sir!” Suzy said, leaving the office.
“And make lots of carbons!” Gold called after her. He sighed. “I’d better telephone home and break the news to Erica.”
Teddy laughed. “That’s what you get for being a family man,” he teased.
“Wise guy,” Gold muttered. Teddy had once been married, but the marriage hadn’t worked out and had ended, childless, years ago. Teddy had been a bachelor ever since.
“Actually, I’m jealous,” Teddy said.
Gold was hardly listening. “When Suzy’s done typing up that list of revisions Billy Burnett gave me, have her distribute copies to all your people.”
“Will do.”
Gold got up to leave the office. He was halfway out when he remembered what Howie Simon had jokingly said. “Oh, and one more thing—”
Teddy looked up. “Yeah?”
“Remind everyone to backdate every piece of paper we generate.”
Teddy laughed. “That part’s easy, my friend. But how the fuck are we going to age the paper?”
CHAPTER 10
* * *
(One)
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
16 May 1949
The office suite where Steven Gold worked was in the basement of the Pentagon. The suite had tan-painted walls and dark brown carpeting. Round milk-glass light fixtures hung from the low ceiling. Steve and the others called it “the bunker,” and joked that in the event of an enemy air strike they would be all that would be left of the Air Force in the nation’s capital; it would be up to them to represent the Air Force against the commie hordes.
The joke had led Steve and some of the others to while away their time by working on a joint effort: The USAF Public Relations Counterinsurgency Defense Manual. Some of the chapters that had already been surreptitiously written, mimeographed, and circulated to selected recipients were: Sniping with the Hand-held, Elastic-Operated Standard Air Force Issue No. 2 Paper-Clip; Enemy Sentry Neutralization/Immobilization Utilizing the Air Force Regulation Red/Black Manually Operated Typewriter Ribbon; Psychological Warfare Utilizing Anonymous Telephone Techniques; and The Spitball: Germ Warfare As the Defense of Last Resort. Steve, thanks to his experience with the Flying Tigers, was working on a chapter outlining some Burmese hand-to-hand combat techniques of inflicting paper cuts.
At the moment, however, Steve’s desk was piled high with real work as it had been for months. A couple of days ago Russia had capitulated, ending the Berlin airlift. That American air-power victory in the skies over Berlin had capped a tremendous half year for the Air Force.
In February a Boeing XB-47 prototype jet bomber had set a coast-to-coast speed record, and in March a B-50 prop-driven bomber had flown nonstop around the world in ninety-four hours, demonstrating, in the words of a press release that had come out of this department, that “the United States could drop atomic bombs at any spot on earth at any time.”
A lot of people on the Hill were giving the B-50’s achievement the credit for convincing the doubters in Western Europe to join with the United States in a mutual defense treaty—NATO—against the Soviets. As the line of reasoning went, if the Air Force could beat the Soviets in Berlin, it could beat the Soviets anywhere in Western Europe.
The consensus was that the battle of wills against the Reds had been won in April, when the Air Force had been able to announce that it was landing a plane a minute in Berlin every day. In retrospect it was clear that the achievement had struck a tremendous psychological blow against the Reds. It had also handed the Air Force a domestic public relations bonanza. Steve had been up on the Hill almost every day to lobby for more appropriations for the Air Force.
From his desk Steve could see his CO Colonel Stewart talking on the phone in his glass-enclosed office. Steve needed to talk with the colonel. He needed a giant favor, and figured now was as good a time as any to ask for it. He’d already checked with Stewart’s secretary and had found out that the colonel had no meetings scheduled for the next couple of hours.
He waited until Colonel Stewart was off the telephone, and then went up and rapped on the door of the colonel’s “aquarium.” Stewart waved him in.
Steve opened the door. “Colonel, could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Come in, Captain.” Stewart was a balding, pudgy guy in his forties. He gestured to the red vinyl
and chrome chair in front of his green metal desk. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, sir.” Steve tried to get comfortable, but the stiff plastic acted like a whoopie cushion, making a fart sound every time he shifted his weight.
“What can I do for you?” the colonel asked.
Steve hesitated. He knew what he wanted to say. How to say it was the issue. Stewart had made bird colonel during the war, thanks to the outstanding job he’d done holding down a desk in the USAAF’s Office of Public Information. The man had a sore spot when it came to those who thought polishing up the Air Force’s shiny reputation wasn’t every bit as vital to the Air Force as flying airplanes. Steve was about to hit that sore spot with a hammer.
“I’d like to talk to you about my career, sir,” Steven began, feeling nervous. He wished that he could smoke, but there were no ashtrays in Stewart’s office. “I’ve been stuck at captain for over three years now—”
“I realize that,” Stewart interrupted. “But I want you to know that I’m doing everything I can to get you what I consider to be a long-overdue promotion,” he comforted smoothly. “You know that I’ve written you up as an outstanding officer?”
“Thank you, sir,” Steve said.
“The problem is that promotions have been scaled back due to fiscal constraints.”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but the budget has allowed for the promotions of some of the others in the department with less seniority than me.”
“Than I—” the colonel corrected, sounding miffed.
“Uh, right….”
“The rule is simple, Captain. Just think to yourself: ‘less seniority than I have—’”
“Pardon me, sir….” Steve murmured.
Stewart’s severity abruptly softened. “No, pardon me,” he apologized, smiling. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you, but you know how I hate grammatical errors.”
“Yes, sir. No problem, sir.” Steve thought Stewart was basically okay for a desk jockey, even if he was, at times, chickenshit.
The colonel was drumming his fingers on the desktop. He stared longingly at his telephone. “Well, go on, Captain. What was it you were saying?”
“Well, sir, I think I know why I’ve been passed over for promotion.”
That got Stewart’s attention, all right. He leaned back in his chair. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Fill me in.”
“Yes, sir. Well, sir, I think my present career flight path has hit ceiling because the war has been over a long time now,” Steve said. “You’re the public relations expert, not me, but I do remember that one of the first things you taught me was that in public relations you’ve got to stay current. Well, if the war is yesterday’s news, it stands to reason that my propaganda value to the Air Force has also faded with the passing years.”
Stewart looked uncomfortable. “Maybe I agree to a certain extent—”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re still an asset to this department,” Stewart said quickly.
“Thanks for saying so, sir,” Steve replied. “But that’s not really the issue, is it, sir?”
The colonel frowned. “I’m afraid I’ve lost you.”
“I mean, all the other officers in the department have at least some college education,” Steve explained. “All I’ve got is my high school equivalency diploma. I think that when promotions are decided, what’s mostly taken into account is how the new rankings will affect the chain of command. If you think about it, Colonel, you’ll probably agree that it’s not likely the Air Force is going to put a high school dropout in command of a bunch of college men. Leastways, sir, not when the officers in question are doing desk duty during peacetime.” Steve shrugged. “These other guys are really good at their specialty. They don’t make mistakes in the way they talk or write.”
“Everything you’ve said is true,” Stewart admitted. “But there’s more to the job than good formal communications skills. In this line of work you’ve got to know how to handle people, and that’s something you’ve become very good at, Captain. Why do you think I’ve let you represent us in meetings and at hearings and to the press?”
“Well, sir,” Steve hesitated, “I guess I’d always figured it was on account of my war record….”
Stewart shook his head impatiently. “As you said, the war is yesterday’s news. I have you as one of the department’s front men because you know how to get along with people.”
“I do?” Steve asked, unconvinced.
The colonel laughed. “You’ve been working for me for almost three years, and during that time I’ve seen you grow tremendously in confidence and maturity. Sure, your lack of an education is increasingly holding you back, but it’s a sign of how far you’ve come that you’re finally ready to face that fact, and hopefully make a stab at doing something about it.”
Stewart paused. Steve’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next.
“Now then,” the colonel began, “I’ve talked to you on many occasions about the educational opportunities that can be enjoyed by Air Force personnel—”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon,” Steve interrupted, “but school is hard work, and frankly, I’m not sure that I want to work that hard in order to get somewhere I don’t think I want to be….” Steve paused. “It’s about choices, I guess. And anyway, there’s another aspect to the problem of my stalled career, and that’s my father.”
“What’s your father got to do with this?” Stewart asked.
“Sir, the Air Force is buying a lot of my father’s Broad-Sword fighters, and procurement has recently authorized preliminary funding to GAT for a jet tanker.”
“Yes? So what?” Stewart demanded.
“Well, sir, I’ve spent a lot of time these last few years nursemaiding the various congressional committees that are always sticking their noses into Air Force business. They’re always looking for corruption.”
“I know that,” Stewart cut him off. “Politicians love publicity, and nothing grabs the headlines like charging that somebody or something’s corrupt.”
“Yes, sir, you taught me that,” Steve replied quickly. “Well, it’s occurred to me that maybe it wouldn’t look so good if it came out that the Air Force was buying airplanes from Herman Gold while his son was a high-ranking desk jockey in the Pentagon.”
The colonel slowly nodded. “Excellent assessment, Captain. I have to admit that I never thought of it that way.”
“But maybe the brass has,” Steve suggested. “I think the brass is going to go out of its way to keep me from being promoted.”
“You mean to say that they’re going to be tougher on you than other officers in order to cover themselves, due to who you are.”
“Due to who my father is, sir,” Steve corrected firmly. “The way I see it, each of my negatives by itself might not be enough to hold me back, but when they get added together…” He shrugged. “It seems to me that I’m going to be stuck at a junior level for the rest of my career.” Steve paused. “Unless—”
“Unless what?” Stewart asked.
“Sir, unless I get transfered off desk duty and into my specialty.”
“Which is?”
“Flight duty, sir. Being back in the cockpit of a fighter.”
“We’ve been through all this, Captain,” Stewart said tiredly.
“But, Colonel, sir, back during the war they made me a captain because I’d earned the promotion.”
“You’ll earn your promotion here—” Stewart began.
“No, sir!” Steve objected. “With all due respect, sir, I have to differ. You may suggest that I be promoted because I’ve been around a long time or because I’ve improved or whatever, but when I’m compared to the other guys, there’s no way you can say that I’ve earned it, and that’s because I’m simply not as good as the others in this particular assignment.”
“Well,” Stewart said dryly, “I must say that I see your point. But I don’t see what I can do to help you. I assume that all this is leading u
p to the possibility of your being transferred to flight duty?”
“Yes, sir.” Steve waited, hopeful. Now we find out just how much I have learned about public relations, he thought.
“I’d like to help you out,” Stewart said affably. “But I simply don’t have that kind of pull.”
Gotcha! Steve exalted. As he’d hoped, Stewart was more than willing to make the concession, as long as he was convinced that he couldn’t be held to it.
“Well, sir, you see I’ve been working on something for myself for quite a while,” Steve began.
“You’ve been working on something for yourself?” Stewart echoed, sounding startled. “What could you possibly—?”
“Sir, remember what you taught me about how the essence of this job is the art of doing favors and asking favors in return?”
“I do.”
“Well, sir, a few months ago Colonel Harris—He works as an aide for the Joint Chiefs—”
“I know where Len Harris works,” Stewart interrupted.
“Yes, sir. Of course you would, Colonel.”
“Get to the point!”
Stewart was beginning to sound angry. Steve guessed that the man was beginning to suspect that he’d been suckered.
“Well, sir, I happened to hear through the grapevine that Colonel Harris was looking to get his son a job as a Senate page. It so happened that during the B-45 Senate hearings I got to be pretty good friends with an aide to Senator Hill. I put in a good word for Harris’s son with my buddy, who worked it out for the kid to get the job.” Steve allowed himself a smile. “Colonel Harris was pretty happy with the way things turned out, sir. He told me that if there was ever anything he could do for me…”
Stewart waved him quiet. “You got Harris to get you your transfer. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve nodded. “Colonel Harris was good enough to use his influence with his boss General Slade to pull the necessary strings to get it done.”
“And you said you weren’t any good at public relations,” Stewart remarked, deadpan.