II






July 13th, 1947


"Here we are....."

One military issue Jeep came up to the gates of the newly-christened Rome Air Depot in Rome, New York, its driver, a young soldier who couldn't have been more than an airman, nodding to the guard. The guard, in return, quickly stood up straight and saluted.

"Sir!"
"Nice place you got here, colonel." The man on the right, looked around at the new, almost glittering military base. "Damn nice."
"Thank you, sir." The man to the left, the lt. colonel, nodded. "Your commendation is welcome to me and to all of us here."
"Well...." The other man looked the lt. colonel in the eye. "I'm not exactly here to praise. I'm here to command."
"...Yes, sir."

They drove past the barracks, past the hangars that held the various Cessnas, Boeings, Lockheeds and Douglases, past the unfinished training center, and finally onto the gigantic airfield and runway which the new base boasted. Being the home of the newly created Northeastern Air Defense System, which served to fight against Soviet attacks on some of the nation's largest cities, it seemed fitting that the Rome Air Depot was blessed with the Northeast's longest military runway.

On July 13th, 1947, that was something that Army Air Force Lt. Colonel John West wanted to show his superiors for a very good reason. One reason that was not yet finished, but one that he was confident he would be able to help with.

"I went over the application again last night, Lt. Colonel." The Jeep began to drive around the runway. "Your man seems to have the right qualifications we have been looking for. Over 2,000 hours of airtime during three years of service in Europe, in which he shot down over 20 Luftwaffe planes and 5 Italian bombers. At least 4,000 hours of air time and training since 1945. However…" The man flipped through the pages. "I checked over the flight data, and I see that there are others who have done much more than that. Are you sure he's qualified?"
"Sir, if I may speak freely…" West looked behind him, scratching the graying hair in his crew cut. A buzzing noise began to echo through his ears. "All men go through intense flying on my time. However, how much it says he's flown on the data sheets isn't the only thing that put my decision to nominate him in the forefront."

The hot, clear July sky was sashayed by the smoke of a biplane as it suddenly zoomed right next to the Jeep on the runway. It was red with white stripes, and as it slowed down next to the Jeep its wheels were almost touching the ground. The airman looked frightened at the sudden sight, and he quickly swerved to the right to avoid a seemingly certain mishap.

"Sir! SIR!!" In response, the biplane began to edge towards the car. "Sir, what's going on?!"
"Its ok, airman." West chuckled. "He's fine, he won't crash into you."

Several seconds later, a "yee-haw" sound came from the open cockpit, followed by another, higher-pitched "yee-haw". It flew back up into the sky, high above them, high above even the watchtower, before circling back towards the end of the runway.

"Lt. Colonel..." the other man in the back, wearing the decorations of another high-ranking official, turned to look at the colonel. "I'd like to ask what exactly that pilot was doing."
"Sir, I don't think you wish to doubt the skill of Captain Garnet just yet." West smiled. "He's not one of those cocky hotshot pilots you see at other bases."
"Hah," The man only scoffed. "Trust me, with where I come from, this guy's normal."

The man watched, his eyes staring at the biplane, as it landed. Its wheel came out; the nose was up, the distribution of the wings was even. It touched down on the ground smoothly, riding past the Jeep again as it slowed down. The airman's mouth dropped as the red plane sailed by, slowing down and stopping nearby.

"A Boeing Red Baron...." The airman stared.
"And he handled it with skill." The man commented.
"Most of the more experienced pilots can't get a smooth landing like that, sir." The lieutenant colonel beamed. "He's ridden some of tougher planes in his life, and has landed in tough terrains – even managed to survive a head-on collision with a German bomber out in Salerno, and still managed to save the flight book for us when we got him back."
"Really now?"
"He can fly and land anything you give him just as smooth anywhere, as if all there was under him was flat land. What's more, he's a plane mechanic and can almost immediately spot any problem with his eyes and ears."

From the cockpit of the biplane, the man saw a helmeted head pop out from unfastening the belts, then a body with a standard pilot jacket, then the pant legs of a uniformed pilot. He almost seemed to leap out of his seat and onto the wing, where he proceeded to unstrap his passenger.
Turning his back, the man could see a strange design on the back of the pilot's jacket. It was a blue half-saw of some sort, slightly tattered and re-sewn in some parts, but obviously well-worn.

"What's that on his back, colonel?"
"Oh…" West smirked. "His wife sewed that on for him."
"That's a damn ugly thing."
"From what I know its something that his wife made up for him, sir."
"What in the…?!"

The man's eyes widened as the passenger was lifted out by the pilot. It was a little child, barely four, with curly dirty blonde hair spurting out from under the helmet it was wearing. It was also wearing suspenders and a small pilot jacket. Laughing, the child proceeded to fiddle with the helmet until the pilot finally took it off for them.

"That…..that's a girl!" The man's shock seemed to have no end. "Is that……his daughter?! In a Red Baron?!"
"Yes, general…." West turned to the man. "Which brings me to the next reason I chose Captain Garnet…."

The pilot now took his helmet off. He was a relatively young man, only about twenty-three or so, as his looks had still not yet lost their boyish charm. He had a soft square face and brown eyes, seemed lean in his 5'8 stature, and was all smiles. But the one thing that attracted (though not exactly in a good way) the colonel was his hair. It was a dark brown hue, and short, though not in the standard crewcut that the general would have preferred. What was more, it was sticking straight up in the air, thus looking spiky and almost tacky to the military official as he walked towards them, the girl's hand in his.

"He has a very good temperament He'll get along with anyone." Beaming, West took two steps towards him and saluted. "Captain Scott Garnet!"

Quickly, the captain snapped to attention, saluting to both officers before walking over to them. The girl looked up at the two men, smiling.

"Colonel West." The boy smiled. "I apologize for keeping you waiting…"
"Not at all, sir."
"There was something you wished to see me about, sir?"
"Yes, Garnet." West turned towards the general. "Colonel Albert Boyd of Wright-Patterson."

The officer saluted, and once more Scott returned the favor. The colonel himself was no slacker - though pushing forty, he was a very built man, towering over Scott Garnet even though they were almost the same height.

"Sir."
"He's come from Muroc Field in California to talk to you." Scott's eyebrow slightly crimped up. "Its official military business, so…at the moment I'm afraid your daughter will have to leave."
"Of course." Quickly, Scott bent down. "I'll be right there. Meet me at the car, Sherry."
"Ok, daddy."

After slowly pronouncing the words, so that she would not be loud, the little girl immediately skipped off to a blue pickup truck on the other side of the field. The colonel, despite his distaste for a girl in suspenders, could not help but let out a chuckle.

"That's a, uh, rather cute young lady right there, captain."
"My daughter, sir." Scott smiled as he looked after her, skipping to the car. "She just turned four a week ago."
"Splendid, son." The general turned back to Scott. "I'm sure you do well to make her and your wife happy."
"Indeed." Scott's smile went even wider. "I try my best."

Colonel Boyd looked at West for a moment before looking back at Scott. Realizing his place, Scott snapped back to attention, clearing his throat. He gave a salute.

"Forgive me, sir."
"Its no problem, Captain." The officer folded his hands behind his back. "Actually, it's I whom must be forgiven, son. I'm about to interrupt your idyll here."
"Sir?"
"I see you like to make your wife and child happy." The colonel finally found the words he was looking for and resumed a more formal air. "Son, I am here because I have been told by your superior officer about your outstanding record for your country in the past four years. You have served your country, your family, and your community, and on this….fine Sunday….." He paused. It really was a fine Sunday even though it was hot. "….On this fine Sunday, in this time of uncertainty, your country is calling upon you once more. To give your services one more time….."

-------------------------

The door slammed behind Scott as he came in with Sherry in his arms.

"Mary?" His voice echoed through the house. "Are you home?"
"Coming, Scott…."

Down the stairs of the old, yellow, wooden-and-plaster house came a shapely young woman, not too much more than twenty. Her blond hair wasn't coiffed; rather, it was up in a towel, and her face was covered in a facial mask. This was Mary Garnet, a young woman in the prime of her age, and showing it. She looked at Scott and smiled.

"I'm sorry, honey." She chuckled. "I just got out of the shower."
"No problem." Scott stiffened up. "Mary, I need to pack my bags."
"Hedgehog,…?"
"I'm going to California. Tomorrow." Scott looked up at his wife, whose eyes were fast widening. "I've been called up."
"Called up? Again? For what?"

The gruff voice interrupted Mary, giving a cough as it entered the hall. It was an old man in his fifties, his grey hair slicked back and a pipe in his mouth. Puffing it leisurely, he turned to Scott, then back to Mary.

"Leaving again, are you?" The gruff voice gave out an obvious Long Island accent. "Well, not a shock to this old boy here."
"….Dad…." Scott looked away from the old man.
"They're always sending you off, Hedgehog." The old man gave another cough. "And you're willing to let them! I'm telling you, for Christ's sake, it's a conspiracy. Ever since you were transferred here, a conspiracy. They enjoy taking fathers away from their children and children away from their fathers."
"Dad, please…" Scott turned back to his father. "Not now."
"I invited him over to dinner, Hedgehog." Mary looked at Scott's father. "Remember, you agreed?"
"So!" The father took another puff. "Where're the military men hauling you off this time? Somewhere halfway around the world from us, where you can pick ice chunks off your plane in Siberia? Or are they taking you to some whore house down in Fiji where the heat of-"
"Pops!" Scott's voice became sharp. "No. California."
"Close enough."
"Mommy…" Sherry looked up at Mary. "What's a whore house?"
"Sir…." Quickly, Mary grabbed Sherry and placed her into the old man's arms. "Take Sherry with you to the dining room? I need to talk to my husband."
"Of course. Talk your brains out."

With another cough and a grunt, the old man took Sherry into the dining room, mumbling as he did. Shaking his head, Scott turned back to Mary.

"Mary…"
"Hedgehog…" Mary turned to go back upstairs. "Let's talk."
"Mary, I'm sorry. They're making me go. I wouldn't be going if they didn't make me. You know that, Mary."
"No, you don't have to be." Mary walked briskly upstairs. "I just don't get why its always gotta be you. You can't possibly be the only person at the depot that knows what the hell the difference between transmission fluid and gas is."
"That's not the only reason why they're sending me to California. At least that's what they told me."
"Really?" There was a hint of sarcasm in Mary's voice. "That's a surprise."

With a sigh, Scott followed her upstairs into their room. Walking over to the closet, he took out his military suitcase.

"You really think I want to go?"
"I understand you don't want to go." Mary opened a drawer. "But God, Scott, what do they want now?"
"…Testing." Scot sat down. "They want me to be maintenance on some kind of….airplane."
"And you can't do it here?"
"Mary…" Scott shook his head. "I don't know what kind of plane it is. They seem desperate to get me over there, and I can't just turn my employer down. You know that."

Mary gave a huff as she halfheartedly plopped some clothing onto the suitcase. Quickly, Scott took her wrist.

"Let go of me. I need to wash my face."
"Mary…." He let go of her arm. "I'm…..I'm sorry. I don't want to go, and if I could take you I could."
"So we're not even going with you?" Mary gave him a slightly suspicious look. "What is so important out there that they have to separate a man from his family, the people he needs to take care of?"

Scott gave no reply, and Mary shook her head as she continued throwing some clothing onto the suitcase.

"….Mary…." he finally said. "I don't know. I wish I could tell you. And I wish you knew how angry this made me too. But…..I don't have a choice. I've never had much of a choice…"
"Scott…." Mary very rarely ever called him by his real name unless she was upset. "You are barely home for Sherry as it is. How….long is it going to be for?"
"…..Four months. Maybe six."
"…Six months….." Mary's shoulders relaxed. "Well…..its better than some of the others you've had, I suppose."
"Yeah...."

Scott looked down at the bed, his eyes looking down to the floor. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"I...need to wash my face."

With that, Mary walked out of the room, leaving Scott alone.

----------------------------

The behavior of his wife preyed on Scott's mind as the plane touched down in Muroe several days later.

Ugh..... Scott wiped his brow as the sand blasted the windows of the propeller plane. The plane touched down with several sharp jolts to the rear. It must be one hell of a secret if its out in a no-man's land like this...at least, it better be one hell of a secret.

Scott could only see sand, and mountains, as far as the eye could see. In the distance of the tiny airfield, there was sweltering heat, a few shoddy military buildings and mountains. The only trace of anything other than desert was a single, small (empty) lake - Rogers Dry Lake, his pamphlet told him. Indeed, it lived up to its name; there was nothing in the crater as the plane passed by it, slowly coming to a stop.

"Everyone off!" The pilot, an older man whom was balding, smirked at Scott. "This means you."
"Yeah." Scott mumbled as he stood up. Wiping his brow, he began to exit the plane.
"Oh, say, sonny!"

Scott stopped. He turned towards the pilot.

"No, turn back around, sonny." The pilot made turning motions. "What's that on your back? Little cutesy thing from your wife?"
"Oh...."

Scott got the question a lot, at least from those who knew little of him. It was a sewed-on emblem on the back of his fighter jacket, in blue, that looked like a fireball.

"Them boys down there, them two," the pilot chuckled. "They have some things around them from their wives. But none on their jackets like that."

The words grated on Scott's mind. He didn't feel the need to explain it to the old pilot, nor did he really want to. So he just nodded.

"Yeah, from my wife."
With a huff, Scott disembarked off of the plane, the wall of desert heat almost smacking into him even more the moment he got off. His brow was full of sweat again; wearing his pilot's uniform had been a bad choice for one used to the cold of the wintry Adirondacks and, before, the icy waters of Montauk and the Long Island Sound.

"Heey! Over here!"

Scott turned to the side. Two men - strapping, handsome, slightly tanned, their dark hair shaved to the military tee, both near his own age - approached him.

"Heey! You must be the New Yorker from the Air Depot!"

The taller of them smiled, holding out his hand. Scott gave a small smile at this, returning the hand gesture with a shake. not completely sure what to say to these men.

"Well, this is new, eh Bob?" The taller one smiled. "Not from Bell, and not from the Flight Test Division. Truly.....what's your name?"
"Garnet. Captain Scott Garnet."
"...Yes. A fellow captain, I see." The taller one smiled, his gleaming teeth flashing in the desert's noon sun. "Another outsider to Project Blue Gale, at least at the moment."
"Hmm?"
"Not yet, Chuck." The other man - Bob - snorted as he nudged him. "You're not supposed to tell the new arrivals anything. Al said so....we'd have to kill him if we did."
"...Project Blue Gale?" Scott looked at the two. "What's this?"
"Nothing, Captain." 'Bob' smacked 'Chuck' in the head. "Nothing this 'Big Yapper' Yeager fella here can't blab about, huh?"
"Aww, Bob!" The other man slapped him on the back. "You're too goddamn modest!"
".....Yeager?"

Scott's eyes widened; his military bag dropped in surprise at the name. Boyd had promised him something good; he wasn't expecting this.

"You.....are Chuck Yeager?"
"Hmm?" The taller one looked up. "Yup, thats me."
"The Maquis Miracle." Scott looked down. "An ace pilot in the 357th Air Division. Forgive if I sound a little idolizing, but....your record, your plight, and your return to combat afterwards, made you well-known to many pilots. I wasn't expecting to meet you, especially since I last heard that you were assigned to Wright Field."
"Not now." Chuck shook his head. "I'm here now. At least, until they no longer need me, right Bob?"
"Right."
"But you still haven't answe-"
"In good time, Scott." Chuck looked him up and down. Turning around him, Scott could feel his finger on the "SONIC" emblem. "Your wife?"
"...My wife."
"I have a wife as well." Chuck seemed to beam through his words. "Name's Glennis. Like a movie star. Smart and pretty. You have a nickname?"
"Huh?"
"Chuck isn't my real name, of course." he laughed. "Its an old nick, but we like using nicks around here. Builds up friendships. They give you a nickname in Rome? Or do we call you Scott?"
"....Well....they called me Hedgehog."
"What?!" Chuck's surprise, and Bob's laughing, made Scott turn a little red. "No offense, but damn, where'd that come from?"
"...Ah...." Scott searched. "My wife again. She said my hair stood up like 'hog spikes."
"...That they do, Hedgehog." Chuck's voice wasn't jesting anymore; it's tone indicated that it made sense to him. "Well, time's wasting. At 1200, Al wants us in the briefing room again. Project Blue Gale's going to be revealed to the ground crew! So, come on, Hedgehog! This way; its in the little shack right there."
"...Sure...."
So Scott followed, his heart sinking. Though he was glad that he had finally met a man he considered his hero - who else could have done what Chuck Yeager had done? - it was his feats that sobered Scott, sobered him to a part of himself that he wished never to see again. A part he had left behind.

.....Guys...

The door suddenly slammed behind him; there was no time to brood on the past. Instantly, Scott sat in a seat of the briefing room, which was nothing more than what Yeager had said it would be; a shack with a little projector in the back.

"Good morning, men. Good morning, Captain." Col. Albert Boyd, back in fatigues, nodded to Scott. Scott weakly nodded back. "Welcome to your first, and only, briefing on USAAF Project DFRS; code name Project Blue Gale. For you on the ground crew who smoke, please put out your cigarettes; this is important."
Immediately, the cigarettes were taken out; ashtrays and bowls of butts whirled around Scott, and several curses came from some when it was their turn to burn their cigarette butts out into the bowls. Finally, however, the cigarettes were gone, and two men took the trays and bowls out. The windows were then shuttered.

"Sirs," Boyd began to pace inside the smoky, darkened room. "I've called you all here to begin a great battle. Not against Nazis, Japs, Ruskies or anything of that sort - remember, that war is over." A few chuckles came from the back. "No. Our enemy this time is science, and physics. You are all here because you are to be a part of the greatest project that the United States Air Force has ever undertaken in its short history. It's a project which must be successful if we are to survive in future wars." He looked to the back. "Play it."

The projector suddenly flashed to life, and footage of airplanes exploding into bits came on progressively. Boyd, paying no mind to the gasps and grumblings in the room, continued to pace and talk.

"This is what our enemy is doing to our planes. But no, gentlemen, as I said this enemy is one that is invisible - we call it the 'wall of air'. However, what we are seeing is the result of pilots trying to break through the sound barrier - yes, the sound barrier, they're trying to go as fast as the speed of sound! - and failing miserably, their lives the cost of their failure." There were still some murmurs; Boyd waited until they had died down. "This is because of the existence of wind resistance, gentlemen. The engineers whom studied the explosions are calling this resistance the 'sonic wind' - the wind that primarily makes up this so-called 'wall of air'. According to engineers, this wind accompanies and pushes against any object attempting to break the sound barrier."

This had Scott interested. He sat up a little straighter, listening intently to this new, innovative process he had never heard of before. It fascinated him for some reason.

"Its all in Newton's laws; with any action there is an equal reaction. Well, the 'sonic wind' - the air resistance - is this reaction." Boyd paced more. "The faster you go, the harder the resistance. When you go fast enough, the resistance will conk your engines, your steering, everything, out. Its called compressibility, gentlemen - you, your plane gets squashed by the wind. And when that happens, BOOM! Your plane explodes because it can't handle the pressure." Several people shifted uncomfortably. "You know how hard it is to fly at 500 miles an hour? Well, these guys are trying to do 1,000 in less than twenty minutes, because that's how fast this is. The speed of sound is 1116 feet per second. That's a mile in five seconds, 12 miles in a minute, we're looking at about 7,200 miles in an hour...if the sound barrier is broken.

"We don't know for sure that this "wall of air" exists, gentlemen, though it is certain that the 'sonic wind' theory has plausibility. It is by breaking through the 'sonic wind' air resistance - by achieving Mach 1, the speed of sound - that we are looking at." The colonel continued. "At least….unofficially….I don't buy that that this 'wall of air' should be a deterrence to you gentlemen. I believe that technology will prove to be the savior of mankind, and the key to breaking the 'wall of air', as well as your asses. This is do-or-die, gentlemen; the future of the Air Force is supersonic, no matter what they tell you back home!"

At this, Chuck and Bob stood up; everyone turned to look at them.

"We have been working on this for many years with Bell Technologies." Chuck and Bob walked to the front. "We had a civilian pilot who chickened out at .85 Mach speed. All piloting has reverted back to the USAAF. Our primary pilot is Capt. Charles Yeager, and the secondary is Lt. Robert Hoover, who will also act as the air speed gauge for the XS-1 model rocket planes we will be using." Another man stood up. "This man, Capt. Jack Ridley, is the USAAF's main engineer on Project Blue Gale; however, we will still be working with Bell closely." Several others stood up as well. "Jack Russel and Richard Frost; Frost is from Bell and will be monitoring our process. Jack is the civilian officer you will be minding."
"Excuse me..." a voice piped up from the back. "Rocket? Doesn't that mean..."
"Yes." Boyd turned to them. "You heard correctly. The XS-1 is a rocket propelled plane. Because it doesn't have any wheels it has to be dropped from the sky, from another plane. Which brings me to my next man." Another man then stood up. "Capt. Edward Swindell will be the pilot for the B-29 we will be using to hold and drop the XS-1."

So I'm a part of the fixers on the ground crew.... For reasons he could not understand, Scot could almost feel his heart break. I......I....guess its ok....

"You'll mind them, and remember these two things." Boyd looked up at them all. "One, this is top secret. Not even high-ranking Army brass know the full extent of our operation, and so indiscriminate telling is frowned on. You'll be kicked out and court-martialed if you belong to the USAF." The group murmured again. "Second, you will make pals with everyone on this team, administrative, engineering, ground, and pilot. If any problem, be it about the B-29 and XS1s, or about each other, arises, do not feel hesitant to tell me or someone else in the chain of command. I don't think it'd be hard; you are hungry men. Good Americans, and we all want the same thing, right?"
"YES, SIR!" The answer was resounding.
"We want to kick this problem in the nuts, right?"
"YES, SIR!"

Scott echoed, but his heart longed; for someone of his rank, out of combat, it was strange. The hunger was there like it was for the other men, regardless of their job. Yet something else was there as well in him, something that the colonel had said, which sparked something inexplicable.....free....to him.

To match the sonic wind....

"You all now know, and you will get your papers tomorrow at this time." Boyd put his hands behind his back, beaming at the fired-up men. It was truly the beginning of success. "DISMISSED!"