X
October 12, 1947
It started out as a simple horse ride.
"Chuck!" He could hear Glennis laugh as she beckoned to him from ahead. "Come on over here, Chuck!"
It was a nice, cool night in the desert, perfect for horseback riding. It was October; the weather temperatures in the area, particularly in the mountains and the forests around them, were dropping drastically. It was definite change over the past few months; there was no buzzing sound around them that night, no sweltering heat, no sweat clinging to the brows of the Yeagers as they explored the trails of the hills and peaks of the lower Sierra Nevada on rented horseback.
"Well, well!" Chuck was at Glennis' side as he rode up from behind. He was on a bigger horse than she, a chestnut. "I daresay this is a brisk little ride you have here!"
"I like Palmeros." Glennis grinned. "Especially these smaller types. You never can tell when these things are going to buck up and throw you to the floor!"
The two then continued their climb up the forested trail. Soon, they were at the peak of their hill; they could see for miles around them. To the north, they could see the tiny caps of snow on the larger mountains in the distance, though these sometimes meshed in with the surrounding clouds and sky. To their south, east and west were the beginnings of the Mojave Desert, which glittered purple and blue in the dipping sunset.
"If we look close enough," Glennis teased. "We may just see that bar of yours."
"Now, Glennis, I-"
*SNAP!*
He heard the branch break on one of the larger trees; he did not see what had caused it. All he saw a glimmer of light, like the reflection of the sun on steel or metal. Then the horse bucked.
"AAARGH!"
He was airborne for about ten seconds; he was lifted high into the air, at least fifteen feet into the air. He could see Glennis' horse, just as she started to rear it around to see what was happening. He felt no sensation in his body as he flew; he only felt the wind as it whistled through his ears, as well as the ringing from the horse's startled neigh. He only saw the blues of the sky, and the greys of the clouds that dotted it. For one instant - he could not explain why - the feeling of flight, and the sky above him, almost made him feel like he was ascending into the heavens.
Then he fell. *WHAM!!!!!*
He felt everything simply shut down as he slammed into the tree. His head bobbed up and down for a moment as his neck took in the impact of the throw. Colors danced in front of his eyes from the tremendous whiplash he was receiving. Most of all, however, and most painfully, he could feel the bones in his chest snap and pop as he hit. The pain of it overtook him almost instantly; with a cry, he crumbled to the ground like a rag doll.
"CHUCK!!!!!!!!!!" He heard Glennis' anguished, shocked screams, could hear her dismount from her horse and run to him. "CHUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He opened his mouth to respond, but felt himself slipping. Before he could feel Glennis pull him up, set him down, and then mount her horse once more and gallop towards the outpost of the trail, everything had gone black.
---------------------------
"The situation's not good here, Albert." The general shook his head. "Among other people, we've got the administration tapping their feet and I've got the War Department breathing down my throat. The Secretary was not pleased with the report concerning the saboteur."
"Yes, I know." Boyd slowly nodded at this. "And I'm sure the Marines down at Pendleton don't enjoy having Army hardware being stocked at their base, right?"
"That's not the point." The general almost seemed to glare at Boyd. "The point is that someone is trying to destroy the mission on the inside, and no one is happy about it, least of all me."
The meeting had been called in haste with the arrival of the general. Boyd hadn't even been expecting him; the fact that he had just been at Chuck Yeager's side after a frantic call from Glennis, up in the mountains near the base, only to find that Yeager...
Boyd shut this out of his mind for the moment; he had the feeling it was only going to get worse before it got better.
"With all due respect, sir, we're trying the best we can with locating the saboteur..in fact," The colonel leaned forward in his chair. "I've got a hunch as to who it is. I just need to figure out how to catch him in the act."
"Well, I suppose that's fine and good with me, Colonel," The general shook his head. "But when you've got to personally tell the Secretary of War about there being this type of problem in the first place, you wouldn't be so self-assured. You don't want to be in my shoes with the shit hitting the fan."
"What does he want?"
"He wants Project Blue Gale done."
"We'll have all the tests finished in another month and a half, sir; a month ahead of the time table. According to Bell, we still have to conduct several more resilience tests-"
"No, Boyd." The general shook his head. "I mean he wants it done."
Boyd looked at the general, not sure if he was really hearing what was being said. He rubbed his hand over his head.
"Sir, you can't mean to tell me that-"
"The Secretary wants the full, final report for his consideration on his desk in Washington by October 21st, Albert."
"W..what?!" There was a shocked chuckle in Boyd's voice when he heard this. "You can't be serious. We haven't completely tested everything for post- Mach speeds! The engine and wing compression, in particular, is a problem that will take several weeks. I know he's seen the NACA reports along with my entries."
"I know. I'm the one who gave them to him."
"And now he wants it all done in less than two weeks?! What the hell kind of time table is that?!"
"Listen, Boyd. This project is running on thin ice as it is." The general stood up. "Do you know how hard it was for me to get a timetable for the 21st, let alone any feasible projection from the Secretary? He wanted to send everyone home right this instant and cancel Project Blue Gale; he didn't want any more sabotaging and he has always had the notion that this technology is doomed to fail. We both know that nobody wants a military embarrassment - or worse, a cover-up - for the Soviets to play with and use to their advantage in the next several months." He turned back to the colonel. "You can do this; you've come very far very quickly since taking over the project. You have a flight scheduled two days from now, on the 14th, correct? Do what you have to do then and it's all you'll need to do. Get it over with."
"Not anymore.at least, there won't be when I announce it to the men." Boyd's face darkened. "My primary pilot's been injured since two hours ago. He was in a horsing accident."
"And you just came back from learning that?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'm not sure of the extent of the damage, but he was in some pain."
"But you have a back-up pilot."
"Captain Scott Garnet?" Boyd shook his head. "I can't. He's got no time in the XS-1. I'd need at least a week to prep him to just get into the jet, let alone to fly it at the speed of sound."
"Well, Boyd, you've got very little options left on the table." The general put a hand on the desktop. "And I don't understand why you didn't train your back-ups."
"For two reasons, sir." Boyd looked up at the general. "First off, you and I both know its not standard procedure to train too many pilots for something as dangerous as this, and the War Department's timetable gave me no time to train more than one pilot properly to begin with. Secondly."
"Secondly.?"
".it was probable that one of the pilots was the saboteur at one point. I didn't want the saboteur to know how everything ran so they could simply blow all of the jets to kingdom come, sir."
"Well, at this point," The general turned and walked to the door. "You and your pilot may be better off in kingdom come if you don't get this done. Remember, all you have now is seven days, colonel. Don't screw yourself over or its everyone's ass."
With that, the general left, leaving Boyd to himself. The colonel could only growl with frustration after the man left; after several moments of brooding, he stood up.
It was true; he really had no other choice at the moment. He didn't know the extent of Chuck's injuries, and he wasn't sure if Chuck himself knew. He had already ordered Yeager to take the week off and see a doctor if the pain didn't subside; that had been before the ultimatum. Now he didn't even have a week if he used Yeager.
Boyd rubbed his temple. There was that, and the saboteur. He had a good idea - almost certain, in fact - of the identity of the saboteur. The problem was catching him in the act. There had been nothing since the fire last month; the saboteur had been smart enough to lay low since then, and he had been smart enough to get rid of traces of fingerprints or such. The question remained as to how to get him to reveal himself, to blunder, without endangering the crew. Unfortunately, Boyd knew that doing that would be virtually impossible. The saboteur was out for something and by the looks of what he was doing he didn't care if he killed the entire crew - Yeager in particular. Of course, if the injuries incurred from the last two attacks were any indication, the cocksucker was willing to take some collateral with him if necessary.
At this, an idea began to form in Boyd's head. It was a terrible, horrible, radical, illegal idea that came to him, one he wouldn't have even dared to mull upon in normal circumstances. It was one that could not only result in the complete stripping of his rank and jail time, but in serious repercussions and even possible criminal action against the rest of the workers on Project Blue Gale. He knew who was doing all of the brazen acts against the base; he just needed to make for certain that it was the right guy. There was only one recourse to save what Boyd truly felt was the key to the future of the Army Air Force. That recourse was called entrapment.
It was an idea that he didn't want to think of, especially at a moment when so much was already on the line. On top of all the legal action that could be taken if there was so much of a suspicion of Boyd playing the entrapment card, there was also the problem of the saboteur himself. Any indication that Boyd was onto the saboteur could completely blow everything out of the water - at least in catching the crook - and destroy what was left of Project Blue Gale. Trust and morale was significantly lower since the fire, and it showed; Boyd knew that even he was viewed with suspicion, even though he knew full well he wasn't the saboteur. Plus, he didn't think that the saboteur would be so presumptuous to think he could get away with anything if Boyd handed him an obvious chance to strike on a silver plate, wrapped with a bow. On top of that, if no one caught anything wrong, and someone went up in that plane...
But the more he thought of his options, he realized that such a terrible move could be the only option to get in for the kill and possibly to save lives. The temptation of getting away with something like blatant sabotage would appeal to the attacker; from a psychological point of view, the colonel knew that, to a hell bent individual, it would be madness to waste an opportunity to prove a point. What was more, Boyd never once actually publicly pointed a finger at anyone and outright accused them (not even when he thought it was Hoover), and he was an expert of hiding his feelings without arousing suspicion. Plus, the plan he was formulating required a certain amount of innocent bureaucratic procedures that everyone had to comply with, from a signed log of everyone who guarded the hangar to permissions that everyone had to sign to even get onto the base, as a result of the attacks. He could easily make it look like he wasn't entrapping anyone; technically, the saboteur would be entrapping himself with items he had a hand in implementing.
There was, however, one very important piece of this plan that had to be dealt with accordingly, and thoroughly, before anything else. And the colonel still had to inform him of the change of plans.
-------------------------
The sun was well below the mountains when Scott entered his room. He wore nothing but his brown undershirt, his military issue pants and his boots.
"Jesus Christ..."
He took several deep breaths, taking in the coolness of the shelter. It had been a long, hot day for the captain; with only two days left until the next flight, and so much work to do on the plane both inside the sweltering hangar and in the blistering sun, he was easily worn out. He had even drunken three full cantinas of water in less than an hour, and it only helped in soothing his head. His exposed skin was beet red to the point where his old scars were dark brown, and touching was not a good idea. He dropped onto his bed with an exhausted sigh, barely managing to kick his boots off.
Man oh man..
It had been sweltering hot the past several days on the base, sweltering and sticky. He had been wearing just his undershirt for the past five days, sometimes even being forced to take it off, which left him topless. It was to the chagrin and shock of some of his co-workers; after all, they had never seen a man with so many burn welts on his body in their lives. On the other hand, it didn't affect all of them; in fact, the "Nazi love taps" (as Ridley had come to call them) actually became a source of humor for some. Chuck himself told Scott just that afternoon, before taking off with his wife, that if the burns became any darker they'd have to classify Scott as a Negro.
The humor helped. Before, Scott would have been embarrassed, even ashamed, to show them; they had been a source of humiliation for him, a sign of his terrible crimes in Salerno because two men died under his watch. Yet after talking to Ridley and Mary, Scott's disposition towards them changed. Neither had seemed disgusted of it, especially Mary, as she was basing her stories on something Scott thought would change how she felt about him. He thought she saw him as a monster for letting those men die since that night two years ago. But when he realized that Mary, in fact, admired him for admitting what had bothered him, he realized that he probably wouldn't fare much worse with his co-worker's reactions. They had, after all, fought in the same damn war.
It wasn't just the scars from the war, either. Scott's mind slowly turned towards a more recent betrayal, one that had been real and even more personal than any he could have dreamt up. He still seethed at that man he had called father for what he did; out of everyone he had ever thought to hate, Hiram Garnet was the one man Scott knew he would never forgive for as long as he lived. In fact, Scott almost relished the fact that the old man was languishing, deteriorating, inside that overcrowded hospital out in San Ysidro, dying slowly and painfully - and most importantly, alone.
To the young man, it was the least God could have done for what that disease of a human had tried to do to Mary and Sherry. Of course, Scott would have rather had his father shot in the head at point blank range and slung up on a tree branch where dogs and crows could systematically disembowel the remains, piece by infected piece. All of this while Scott watched, laughing with delight. But the fate Hiram was experiencing, though Scott did not yet comprehend anything about himself that his father had, was nevertheless satisfying to him.
Mary.. A thought occurred to him as his eyes closed from exhaustion. I need to write to them. I haven't written in a wee-
The sudden knock at the door interrupted Scott's thoughts. Instantly, Scott was up, out of bed and walking briskly towards the door. He opened it and nearly gave a start.
"Colonel."
'Captain Scott Garnet?' Boyd's face stared right into Scott's. "I need to speak with you."
".Yes, sir."
Scott was somewhat taken aback by the visit, as it was after working hours. It had to be important - practically a moment where the last thing Scott would expect to hear from Boyd's mouth would come out - if the colonel was visiting him alone at 2000 hours. Despite these thoughts of wonder, he snapped to attention and saluted as soon as the colonel entered his room.
'Sir!'
'As you were.' Colonel Boyd looked down. 'Captain, you're going to fly the Bell XS-1 on October 14.'
Those were the last words Scott had expected, particularly as a first sentence. He opened his mouth to speak; at first, he couldn't speak.
'....Sir...?'
'..I need your help, Garnet." With a motion, Boyd sat Scott down. "Remember; everything I tell you is not to be repeated outside of this room until I tell you, right?"
"Y..yes, sir."
"You are going to fly in two days." Boyd bent over the boy, his hand clasping his sides. "I know what I'm about to ask you for next is going to be next to impossible, but hear me out. You're going to fly the XS-1 here at Muroe...and you're going to shoot for a speed of Mach 1.0 or better. Understood?"
The words hit Scott from left field. Now this was the last thing he was expecting to hear out of Boyd's mouth, especially since he never even flown the damn thing.
"..Do I understand you correctly, sir..?" Scott took a deep breath. "You're asking me to fly the XS-1 to the sound barrier...cold turkey. Am I correct to assume that, sir?"
"Yes," Boyd began to pace. "That is exactly what I'm asking you."
"May I ask permission to inquire why I'm being asked, sir?"
"Because I told you to." Boyd looked at Scott. "That, and Yeager...was called up to a base up north for a week. They rejected my override to have him stay here at Muroe."
It was a flat-out lie, but it was the only way. Boyd didn't want anyone to know the truth, at least not yet, because of the saboteur. Injuries afflicted onto primaries normally proved a useful advantage to such scum suckers. The truth of the matter was that Boyd was determined that few others were to even know Yeager was not going to be there at all on October 14th. In some ways, Boyd was hoping the saboteur would attack; if the saboteur thought that Chuck was still primary, it would be an added advantage for Boyd to spring a trap.
"You're my only hope, Garnet." Boyd looked back up at him. "I know what I'm asking you is dangerous, even fatal. But..its not just Yeager. Its..a number of other things as well. If I just leave it at that, at the fact that you have to do this no matter what, I'm hoping it will be enough. Because of this, also.." Boyd looked directly into Scott's eyes. "I have to ask you that you tell no one that you'll be flying. No one is to know you're flying until the moment you open your mouth on vox as that B-29 drops the rocket into the sky. And before you enter that plane, you make sure you give it a good look so that's nothing's wrong. It is very important you do all of this for me. Do you understand what I'm asking of you, Garnet? For that matter...are you up for it?"
"...Sir.."
For a moment, Scott was not sure what to say. He did not understand why the colonel would be asking him to fly transonic and yet keep the fact that he was going fly such an important mission a secret. However, the strange feeling of excitement, the knowledge that he was to fly the XS-1 to Mach 1.0 - something within that feeling seemed to tell him to trust the colonel's unusual orders. Slowly, he nodded and saluted.
"Yes, sir!"
"Very well." The colonel turned and walked out of the door. "Dismissed."
----------------------
As he left, Boyd accidentally slammed the door behind him. He felt sheepish in not going back to apologize to the captain, but he knew he couldn't. He had work to do, and little time to do it in. His mind went over the names of other officers, and other men, as he left the barracks. He was going to call a meeting, and he was going to announce the 13th's sentry - the saboteur - tomorrow.
But nothing would be said of Scott. As far as the saboteur was concerned, Chuck was flying. Boyd was almost confident he would have wanted it that way.
Almost.
-----------------------
Indeed, the next day passed by with little, if any, mention of Yeager by anyone on the ground crew. No one, save for Boyd and Scott, actually knew or had a clue of the change of plans.
"Hey there, Hedgehog!"
Scott turned around to face the speaker. He was working on screwing in several loosened bolts in the undercarriage of the XS-1; it was not abnormal to check them before flights to ensure that the flaps didn't open and let the Black Betsy engine fall out from its place.
"Long time no see!" Capt. Bud Anderson, accompanied by Redson and Ridley, walked over to him with a big smile on his face. "You and the boys excited? Chuck's going to be making history tomorrow!"
"Its actually at midnight tonight, my friend - its also our first night test. We just got the news!" Ridley whistled. "Boyd must be really confident in Chuck."
"Ha, Chuck? He'll probably just laugh and it'll be over in twenty seconds." Bud turned back to Scott. "So, what do you think? You happy too?"
"Yeah..." Scott smiled. "Can't wait, Bud."
"Uh huh." Redson had his Bowie knife out, and he was twirling it in between his fingers. "I bet you're like me; you can't get wait to get out of here."
"Baah, you know you like Barnes' place, Johnny!" Bud chuckled. "You with your friend 'Margarita.'"
"I don't drink margaritas, I'm afraid.." Redson ran his fingernail on the side of the blade, flicking off a speck of rust as he did. "Not strong enough for me, I'm afraid. Hate to disappoint you."
"Ha! Finally, a drink Redson hates." Ridley pat Scott on the back. "Well, we'll leave you alone for the moment, and we'll go and get the tower ready for tomorrow, eh?"
"Uh..sure." Scott nodded. "Sounds nice."
"Right then."
With a nod, the three left, leaving Scott in complete disbelief. It was mostly at himself; he had not once felt inclined to tell them that Yeager was not flying the next day. He was not sure why he didn't want to tell them, Boyd's orders notwithstanding. The truth was, he wanted to tell everyone he knew that he was going to fly. As he pondered, several strange, even disturbing possibilities came to mind about his feelings.
The first possibility, naturally, was that he wanted the glory, but not they attention. He wanted to fly; he had always wanted to fly the XS-1. And now, Boyd was letting him on the condition he say nothing about him doing it. By not saying anything and doing his job, therefore, would make him more modest, seem more trustworthy to do bigger and better things after the completion of Project Blue Gale. And if he landed Mach 1.0 on his first shot..his first ride.
No... Scott slowly shook his head. That doesn't sound right..That's not it.
At this, the strange feeling, the strange, excited feeling that had pervaded him the whole time he had been at Muroe, began to come back. This time, however, it felt different. It was not as exciting as it had been before; the sensation somehow felt dulled, and it seemed to churn his insides and almost made him sick. It so took him by surprise that he had to close his eyes, turn his head slightly, and swallow before he could open his eyes and feel better.
When he opened his eyes, he spotted the three men - Anderson, Ridley and Redson - in the middle of walking into Boyd's office, the sun directly on their backs, which were faced towards Scott's direction. For reasons he could not understand, their shapes seemed distorted and wavy, like a mirage, yet hazier than a normal illusion. The area around them started to look redder, almost as if the desert heat had set them on fire. And one of them...one of them looked darker.
What in... Scott blinked in disbelief. Is that...
He could not discern which one of them was turning darker; they were too far away. Nor could he understand why the redness around the three almost seemed to shrink until it was centered on the darkened figure. He had to be seeing things, but not matter how hard he blinked, or rubbed his eyes, the illusion did not go away. And the figure still grew darker, the area around him growing redder until it truly could have been fire around them if it had been real.
Finally, the figure's silhouette was darkened to the blackest shade of color that Scott had ever seen with his naked eyes. Fire surrounded the figure as the black, with no shadows, no light, started to swirl around him. But it wasn't swirling, it was fluttering in the wind. It was like a cloak, and where the figure's head was, a cloak.
For one instant, even though he was not a very religious type, Scott could have sworn he saw the shadow of death standing in front of Boyd's door. It could only have been a reaper from beyond, come to take someone back with him; the flames of the afterlife, a fire of damnation (or was it the flames of the sun?) encircling him. In his hand was the glittering scythe, which he would use to cut down his victim upon touch. Scott almost had a mind to run over and warn them; one of them was going to die, and how he knew was seeing death at Boyd's door.
"Hedgehog!"
Scott blinked again. The figure, the flames, the other two pilots - all of it vanished that time.
"There you are." The captain gave a sign of relief as a crewman - a sergeant - walked over and handed him a folded piece of paper. "I've been looking for you for twenty minutes. Colonel Boyd wanted me to give it to you."
"..Thank you, sergeant." Slowly, Scott took the paper.
"No problem, sir...sir?" The boy looked at him. "You ok, sir?"
"Hmm?"
"You jumped a bit when I called you, sir. And you look a little...startled." The sergeant began to look concerned. "You ok, sir?"
Scott took a deep breath. He looked down at the paper, then back up, then finally towards Boyd's office. There was nothing there now.
"Perfectly fine, sergeant."
------------------------
Despite his reassurances, the vision was still on Scott's mind as the sun began to set behind the mountains.
My god... Scott almost drove off the road in his mind wandering. That seemed too real. It was real. It had to be.
It had been several hours since he had seen it; now, he was on his way to a gas station nearly an hour out of the base, practically in Los Angeles. The note Boyd had given him was one of recommendation; as he was going to undertake an ambitious (and dangerous) flight, the colonel thought it prudent that Scott should be allowed to call his family beforehand. Because there were no phones at the base, Scott would have to go somewhere else to make the call. Plus, he had to so it without saying anything of the nature of his work, of course; on the other hand, Scott wanted to give Mary and Sherry an idea that he was going to do something incredibly big in less than five hours.
Maybe I should go to Chuck and Glennis' and place the call there.would cost less, and give me more time.. Scott fingered the change in his pocket. No. Chuck's not there, and it'd be rude after what my dad did.
Any further thought of going to the Yeager residence was banished the moment he spotted the gas station. It was a beat up, obviously local place; the only other person there, it seemed, was the clerk. It was the perfect place for the call.
Without another word, Scott put on the brake and pretty much leaped out of the car. He had been smart to bring his jacket with him, as it was starting to get a little cold for him. Adjusting his jacket and zipping it up, he went though the door.
"Howdy." Behind the counter was an old man wearing a greasy shirt, his white hair slicked back. "You need gas?"
"Uh...no." Scott spotted what he was looking for and pointed. "I just need to use your phone for a few minutes?"
"Uh huh." The man nodded. "Go on. Not like there's a line or nothin', kid."
"Thank you."
Quickly, he entered the corner booth where the phone lay and closed the door behind him. Fumbling with the change in his pocket, he inserted seventy-five cents into the machine and began to dial his home number. He tapped his fingers against the side of the phone as the ringing began.
"...*click* Hello.."
"Mary." Scott's heart stopped. "Mary, I-"
"I'm sorry." The voice sounded annoyed. "You need seventy-five cents for me to connect the call. Its long distance."
"..Operator?"
"You need seventy-five cents, sir."
"..Of course. Hang on."
With a huff, Scott quickly produced seventy-five more cents. He knew full well that many operators grew impatient with customers and would hang up if the correct amount of change was not provided as soon as possible.
"The rates have gone up," he mumbled as he inserted three more quarters. "I should be good to go."
"Of course, sir." The voice suddenly became chipper. "Please hold. I'll put you through to that number. You'll have five minutes before you have to insert seventy-five cents to continue your call."
Oh, I'll put you through something, lady, Scott thought to himself as the phone resumed ringing. Finally, after several rings, there was an answer.
"...*click* Hello?"
"..Mary." Scott was completely relieved at hearing her voice. "It's me, Scott."
".Scott?" Mary's voice was surprised. "How are you calling me? I thought you weren't allowed to?"
"Well.." Scott hesitated. "My boss let me this time."
"You telling the truth, Hedgehog?"
"You bet I am." Scott smirked. "If I wasn't, I'd be dead."
"Eheh.."
"Um." Scott knew that was the wrong thing to say. "How are you doing?"
"Good, but tired." Scott could hear two faint thumps in the background. Those, he reasoned, were her shoes. "I've been working since 7 this morning. I just got in the door. Can you believe it?"
"Yeah, I can." Scott paused. "Look, I haven't much time, but...is Sherry awake?"
"'Fraid not, Hedgehog." She took a deep breath. "She was asleep when Mrs. Cianfracco left a few minutes ago. It's a little more difficult without someone more static looking after her, of course, and she's a bit upset about..well, you understand. I'm.still not sure how to explain it."
There was an eerie pause after this. Scott had to bite down hard on his lip so that he would not go crazy on the subject of his father. Mary and Sherry didn't need to know the full story, didn't need to know what he knew.
"Well...Mary.." Scott knew he was running out of time. "Just tell her..daddy's coming home very soon, and that..he's going to be doing something incredible for the people he's working for. That's..all I can say right now. You understand.."
"..Yeah..."
"I'm coming home, Mary." Scott nodded. "Within the week. And when I get ho- "
"*click* Please insert seventy-five more cents, sir."
"Ga..God..DAMMIT!"
Scott had to scramble to get the change into to machine; he almost jammed it in. Fortunately, he was quick enough, and had to give a sigh of relief when Mary's laughing came through the receiver.
"Bitch." Mary took in a deep breath. "It was only four minutes!"
"I seem to be having problems with her. I don't care if she can hear me." Scott took in a deep breath. "Well...when I get home...I'm going to take you, and Sherry, and we'll do something."
"Like what?"
"..I don't know." Scott chuckled. "Something. Maybe go to Canada for the week, or Pennsylvania. Maybe drive to Niagara Falls. Do something to celebrate, when I come back, if you get a book deal. I don't know. Just something."
"But not California."
"No." Scott shook his head. "Of course not.."
"Well.." A yawn came from Mary. "Well, I'll be seeing you soon then. I need to be getting to bed."
"Right then." Scott smiled. ".I love you, Mary. And tell Sherry I love her too."
"Right back to you, Hedgehog." It was obvious Mary was going to bed a happy woman. "Good night."
Scott was practically beaming when Mary hung up. He hung up before the operator could again insult him; then again, he was, at the moment, too happy to care. He couldn't wait to get home.
--------------------------
The night in which October 13 passed on to become October 14 was still, clear and cold. There was little wind on the ground, if any, as the XS-1 was carted out into the open field, which was lit by field lights.
"Ok.." Ridley and several others pushed the jet inside the B-29. "There! Finished!"
"Think we should do another check on it, Jack.?"
"Nope." Ridley shook his head and waved his hand. "I checked it with Boyd about ten minutes ago. Nothing was in it, no nails, no nothing."
"Hmm." Redson rubbed his chin. "Screw's a bit loosened."
"Ah, ok." Ridley handed Redson a screwdriver. "Just screw it in."
"Right."
With that, Redson took the screws and tightened them as far as he could. So tight were the screws that he almost snapped the screwdriver in half.
"Aw, damnit."
"No harm, no harm." Ridley chuckled. "We wouldn't want the flap to open in mid-air, right?"
"Of course not..damn, that hurt," Redson swore as he wriggled his hand. He stood up and walked off. "'Scuse me.I think my hands bleeding.."
"At least it didn't jam into your eye..Oh!" Ridley looked up. "Hedgehog! There you are.."
Ridley's voice slowly trailed off as Scott walked forward into full view. Ridley's expression became shocked as Scott, dressed in complete pilot clothing and smocked in his pilot jacket, walked forward with a cockpit helmet tucked under his arm. Behind him was Boyd, his face solemn as he walked with his hands behind his back.
"H..Hedgehog?" Ridley crimped an eyebrow in surprise. "What's going on?"
"Chuck's not here."
"What?"
"Chuck," Boyd looked at Ridley. "Is not here. Garnet will be flying this one."
Scott's face did not convey his secret excitement; it instead conveyed seriousness, perhaps even sadness, at Yeager's absence. In some ways, he truly was sorry Yeager was not there; even at this hour, flying cold turkey was still not exactly something Scott preferred.
"Sir..." Ridley stepped forward as other ground crew members looked on. "Do you think this is a good idea?"
"I'm afraid, Jack," Boyd replied. "That I have little choice. I'll explain it to you once Garnet's in the air."
"..Yes, sir." Ridley slowly nodded. "I.understand."
"In the meantime, get him in." Boyd turned back. "Let's go. Time is not on our side."
Ridley looked at Scott, confused, as he led Scott up the platform and into the plane. Slowly, Ridley unlocked the cockpit door and stepped aside. Slowly, Scott began to climb in.
"Scott." He felt Ridley's hand on his arm. "How long have you known you were doing this one?"
"...Last night, Jack." Scott looked down. "He told me...Yeager wasn't doing it."
"Do you know why?"
"..To tell the truth, no." Scott looked up. "Boyd just said he was doing army business."
"...No." Ridley shook his head. "I don't buy it. But whatever. It doesn't matter.." Ridley looked at Scott. "But its just like operating a normal plane; all of the panels are the same. Just don't accelerate fast like Crazy Yeager does and don't do crazy sideshow shit. Take your time, and watch your altitude - if you go too high, the engine might stop. It's easy beyond that."
".Thank you, Jack."
Nodding, Scott took a deep breath as he closed the hatch beside him. He put his helmet on with a firm hand and flipped on the switches. He had spent three months studying the controls for the ground crew, and memorized what Chuck had to do. He had to turn it on just as the hatch of the B-29 carrying opened off to ignite it at the right time. Too soon, the B-29 would go on fire; too late, he would start freefalling. After that, it was a matter of staying in the air and accelerating until he got to Mach 1.0. He'd have wind resistance along the way, but he always had that on a flight, and if the modifications held, the resistance would not be so much of a hinderance.
He gave a nod as he felt the B-29 start to lift. He could do this; he just had to be careful.
"XS-1," Anderson's voice came over the speaker. "Take note, I will be checking your speed after drop-off. Over."
"Roger," Scott found the plane's microphone. "This is XS-1. Taking note of that, over."
"We are at 1,000 feet now, base, command, over."
Scott took several deep breaths as the plane went higher into the sky. He took swallows to keep his ears popping, and waited. He couldn't get excited now; that could wait until later, when he was back on the ground. Right now, he had to concentrate, and concentrate hard on the job ahead of him.
"Command, we are at 20,000 feet, over."
"Get ready, Captain," Boyd's voice came back on. "You'll be dropping in less than two minutes. Stand by, over."
"Copy that, over."
Scott clasped onto the wheel in front of him with a small bit of nervousness. It was almost time for him to start, almost time to begin the flight. He had to do it, and he had to do it right. Somehow he knew there was only one shot for him to succeed. So if there was ever a time to get scared, now was not the time.
"Command, we are at 28,000 feet." Scott licked his lips as he heard the loud whine of the rotors on the trap door under him. "Proceeding to drop at your command, over."
"Drop command given. Begin flight. Over."
The black of the night met him as he looked down, and the next thing he knew, he was falling into blackness. There was no light up where he was, just the sound of the wind as he fell.
Then he caught himself. Scott's hand immediately went for the jet ignition.
*FOOOOOOOM*
The sky instantly lit up as the volatile Black Betsy fired up and brought the XS-1 to life. There was a instant jolt, and Scott found himself plastered to his seat, trying vainly to control the bird.
"Garnet, this is control." Boyd's voice was calm. "You're a bit unstable up there. Lower the acceleration level on the engine by two and you'll have a much smoother ride, over."
"C-copy that."
Instantly Scott's free hand was on the knob. Seconds later after turning it, the bird was his. The steering stick was still a little stiff, as that was exposed under him and was subjected to the winds, but Scott found that it was much easier to move and control.
"Command, this is Garnet." Scott gave a sigh of relief. "I have control now, over."
"Roger."
"Flight, I am gauging speed." Anderson's voice came on. "We are at .21 Mach, over."
"Copy. Good luck, Garnet, and take your time, over."
"Roger."
And so Scott did just that. As a result, the flight lasted for almost and hour and forty minutes. It was the longest flight recorded by Project Blue Gale - and, in the long run, the most eventful.
It was mostly Scott's inexperience that contributed to the long flight. Unlike Yeager, who had months in advance training under his belt, Scott had little more than the basics of how wind resistance worked in this type of jet, at least in practice. He knew that the faster one went, that worse the wind resistance, the 'sonic wind', got, but he had never actually gotten into the cockpit of the XS-1 before that night to try it out. Therefore, at every tenth increment, he found it more difficult to steer and control the jet, and so he took five to ten minutes to get used to flying faster. When he felt he had mastered it, he would then accelerate slowly from the accustomed speed to newer, faster levels.
"We are at .85 Mach, Garnet. Over!"
Scott felt the excitement rise within him, just as could hear it with Anderson. It took everything he had to suppress it, and even then, he felt the thrill of his escalating speed almost explode from within his very being.
..Yes... For a second, Scott's mind wandered, and wondered, all at once, getting itself lost in the slight shuddering of the plane. This..feels like..what I am supposed to do. This was what I was born to do. This is what my life has led up to..
As soon as the thought came, he had to shake them out of his head. It was not the right time for celebration. Better men had died at the point he was at. He just had to go faster.
Yet Scott knew that this was the ride of his life, and despite his inexperience, he pressed forward towards his goal. Slowly, he did go faster. And he pressed on. The closer he came, the lower he went towards the ground. Everything was so tiny, even from 10,000 feet; if he hasn't been flying, Scott would have pretended he was God looking down upon the darkness just before he said "Let there be light". He figured he probably wouldn't have been the first. And so faster he went.
Soon, it was only a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds; he was already almost up to Yeager's fastest trial. Now came questions in Scott's mind. What would happen at Mach 1.0? Would he simply fly through it? Would he lose power from going so fast? No one knew, least of all the pilot. All the pilot knew was that he just had to go faster. It had been a bumpy ride, and it had been a difficult stick to play with. All in all, though, Scott knew it had been a relatively smooth ride with practically no problems. And it would be a story to tell when he got back on the ground.
Then, from out of nowhere, just as he began to make a turn towards the mountains in the north, he felt the violent shudder under him. *FOOOOOM!*
He was at .99 Mach; he was so close. And then the plane rocked violently. It felt as though the engine had suddenly exploded under him. Suddenly, he lost control of the stick.
"SHIT!!!!!!!!!!"
"Garnet?!" Boyd's voice came on. "Garnet, what's wro-"
*FOOOOOOOOM!!!*
Scott gave a shout of fear as the chain reaction began without notice. First the engine combusted; he could tell because smoke began to fill the cabin. Then, his legs were being consumed by the flames that began to pour in from below. The heat and the flames built up so fast that the metal of the chair was melting onto him, and his helmet began to weld onto his head like sheet metal. He screamed in pain; the flames instantly became more intense, the pain unbearable.
"GARNET! YOU'RE BREAKING UP! EJECT! EJECT!"
The radio came in like distant, worthless static. The screams from his superiors did little good; his hands were welded onto the steering stick of the plane like glue to paper. The flames roared around him like an endless inferno. He was trapped.
"GAR--*BZZZ*--RE-*BZZZZHMMMMMMM-CLK*"
The radio was gone. The flames were greater. He could feel more flames leap onto his arms, creating the smell of burning flesh. He choked as he felt the skin literally peel off of his body, could feel things on his person melting. The tears began to come to his eyes from all the pain. From knowing.
He knew. The plane was about to explode. Everything he thought he had done right was wrong, and nothing could save him now.
All he could do, as his life flashed before him, was scream.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Scott running into the water
Help me dad mom can't swim
Look I won dad hug
Mary
Oh yes
No Shelley
No
Mary
Yes
No
Miles
Max don't leave
*BOOM THUUUUUM THUUUUUUM*
Chuck this bird
Damn you dad
Boom BOOM
Goodbye Scott
Good bye
Scott
Scott
Scooooot
Hedgehooooog
....Scott...Hedgehog...
His head jerked up at the sound of his voice. The flames still surrounded him, but suddenly, there was no pain.
"Hedgehog..."
He looked towards the dashboard, but there was nothing there in the flames. Simply white, and two figures in front of him. Two figures, shadowed in the light
"Come on." One of them held out their hand. "Its time to go."
"Time..." The roar of the flames was a distant sound. "Am I..I..I can't be..."
"It depends upon your definition, Sonic."
"...Sonic? Who are you and why..."
Suddenly, their faces looked towards Scott, and he almost gave a cry of shock. It was them.
"Max...Miles..!"
They were there; but they were different. Their forms, Scott could decipher, were no longer that of any living man, though their forms were covered by a cloak of what looked like a night sky filled with stars. In the light, it was hard to tell what they were, but it was obvious to him what was going on. They had been dead, and now he knew.
"It really is my time, isn't it.death, it was for me, wasn't it? The death I saw...this afternoon.."
Suddenly, the light dissipated, and no longer was Scott in the burning plane, his hands welded into the wheel, the smell of burning flesh stinging his nose. Instead, the smell of coffee and cheap cigarettes suddenly filled the air.
"It depends upon how you define time, Hedgehog."
"Huh?!" Scott's eyes widened. "Where.."
"How can you define time when it doesn't exist?" The Max figure spoke, his accent as heavy as it has been in life, as the scene of an Italian coffee house materialized all around them. "There's no time here. Nothing to prevent you from coming back."
"Coming back? How..how do you mean back?" Scott cocked his head. His hair almost dipped into the cup of a passing waitress. "You can't return when you're dead."
"Is that so?" Miles' voice came through. "We may have shed our original bodies, but now, we are again alive. Thanks to you."
"Me?"
Scott sat down in the ethereal café, not quite sure how to make of what was going on. As he did, he splintered his hand on the table. The pain of the wood in his hand nearly made him yelp.
I have to be dreaming...this couldn't be real. It's just too real to be death, for God's sake.
Then he looked and saw two figures. One was male, one was female. Both were at least in their fourties, if not fifties. They looked at him, smiled, and waved.
"Buenvenudo!"
The Italian word nearly floored Scott. He looked again at the café he was in and realized. Realization brought back the one word he had always dreaded, even after his night with Mary several weeks ago, came to him. Termoli.
"Death is real." Suddenly, the two figures were sitting with him. Max's voice came through. "It's a lot like life, only when you die, you are no longer tied down to certain human emotions, like hate or anger. Because when you pass, you realize that you are not that evil person you thought you were, with all of the enemies you thought you had. It goes the same with those who thought they were always righteous."
"But death is different from life in that we live knowing what we truly did right," Miles continued, "and what we truly did wrong. When that happens, we become ourselves, and when we are ourselves there is no boundary between life and death."
"And in death, we truly become ourselves when we see the one who gave us the ability to forgive, when we are tied by a thread to someone who is truly special." The figure that had Max's voice looked at Scott. "And no matter what you say, Sonic, you are not evil. You never were evil. Just human."
"I..." Scott looked at the two of them, unable to comprehend. "Why are you calling me Sonic? And why am I so special?"
"Because you are the one whom united us, even though you don't realize it, Sonic." Despite his confusion, Scott somehow began to again experience the feeling of excitement start to bubble up in him for reasons he still did not understand as Miles spoke. "When we were as humans, you befriended us and did us our favors. You left me to my quiet death when we crashed. During those last minutes when that happened, I saw a vision of your future, and of mine. That I would live forever in a land beyond that is not unlike the living world, with its own struggles and battles. A place where we could visit an everlasting paradise and through its magic still inhabit bodies of the flesh. I had no friends before I met you, and the thought that perhaps I could see you again in a new form made me smile."
"It was the same for me." Max's voice spoke again. "When you were my prison charge, you took those injuries for me. And when the assault on Termoli began, I was wounded mortally. I knew I could not be saved, and I was afraid of death. But then I looked up, and saw Miles beckoning me to follow to that place beyond. I never knew him, but somehow I realized it was because of you that he was beckoning me. So I, too, smiled when I realized I had another friend."
"And when we met here, we realized we were still missing you. So we waited. Then, your wife began to tell the tale of a strange little hedgehog who was boastful but innocent, and of his many friends." Scott's eyes widened. "It was then we knew why we had met. It was because we were to meet again, here, but in newer, purer bodies than what we had inhabited in our previous lives. We would fight on for everyone, both real and imaginary, and for that inner excitement and freedom we could never experience in our own lifetimes. This is a freedom you, Hedgehog, could have only achieved in finally battling the sonic wind; not just the resistance of nature, or even of just technology, but also the resistance of inevitable change. Not just for us, but..for the whole world, even."
"The resistance of change.." Scott closed his eyes. "So my whole life, then..was leading up to this one moment? Am..Am I supposed to change now or something?"
"..You already have, Hedgehog."
Scott opened his eyes at this. He realized that Max, in whatever form he was in, was right. He had the feeling as to what forms his friends had ultimately taken, and he almost smiled at that.
"So this isn't just a dream.." He reached out his hand towards Max's form. He had to see. "So now what do I do to complete what I must do?"
"Simple."
The cloaks the two wore then disappeared, and Scott could see them clearly. He had been right; they were no longer human. They were something else, something..cooler. He didn't know why the wording came to his mind like that, and a small part of him still doubted that what he was seeing was not human, not animal, but both. It was Max, a bright red echidna-human thing, and Miles, an orange fox-human thing.
Yet even his doubt, as small as it was, felt drawn into whatever it was that had them all as he touched Max's face. It was smooth, soft, even furry. He did the same to Miles' face, with the same results. They looked back at him, smiling as he did this.
It was in feeling how warm, how alive these two spirits were, and felt - because of him - and knowing that they had died because of him, and yet they had welcomed him with open arms that he knew. It was in seeing how they smiled at him, bringing him to a place that should have held so much pain - and yet the Italian shop owner and his wife smiled at him as he looked and caught their gaze - that he knew. It was in seeing how they had come to him on the threshold of the world of the living and the world of drifting souls at such an hour of seeming finality to tell him they he was the one whom had done such good things that he knew. It was in all of these things combined, seeing all that was going on, being at what should have been the wrong place at the wrong time, that he knew. There was no turning back. There was no more reason to turn back. There was no more Scott.
"Let go, Sonic. Its time to let go."
*KA-THOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*
It was a loud, deafening explosion that clapped and echoed through the mountain, through the base, through a surrounding radius of three miles, one that sounded like that which was heard when a speeding car slammed headfirst into a wall. It was a sonic boom; it was the sound of something breaking through a force of nature, defying the will of everything that stood in man's way since the beginning of time. It was up where gods supposedly dwelled and ruled the very fate of humanity, even as man clung to life and surged ahead to the day when it could defy those gods that said that no man should break the sound barrier, lest the sonic wind tear them to pieces. Yet the plane itself did not make it.
For a moment after, it was like a Fourth of July fireworks display in the night sky. It was a menagerie of many colors; blue, red, yellow, white and orange sparks flew about in giant cascades and sparks over the mountains. The nucleus of the explosion was a bright orange and yellow, the exploding flames pulsing out like a nova star, several hundred feet in all directions. The spectacle lit up the California night sky for miles; for one single moment, it was as bright as day, and all of the desert colors sparkled under the horrendous light.
Then it fell. Like a comet, the X-1, so close to its goal that its pilot could touch the sound barrier with his fingers, fell to the earth below. Smoke simply billowed from the falling jet like a stack, covering the night sky with a black haze. It spiraled out of control, and the remains simply shot towards the mountains. Anywhere the wreckage fell, there was a small explosion, and a fire; none rivaled the one which first started it all.
And watching it all with complete and utter horror were the men on the ground. They all stared, their mouths simply open with total disbelief. He had been close. He had been so close. And suddenly...there had been no warning. There had been no sign that something was to happen. No omens to the other crewmen. Nothing.
"HEDGEHOG!!!!!!!!" Bud's voice nearly shattered the speakers inside the tower. He had been closest to the explosion; he almost went down with it. His voice squeaked vainly as he tried to get an answer. "HEDGEHOG! SPEAK TO ME, MAN! SAY SOMETHING!"
*CLUNK!*
The dispatch speakers made a thump, followed by feedback, as the microphone simply dropped out of Boyd's fingers. Everyone turned to look at him; his face spoke volumes, as he was not an emotional man. His mouth was moving, as if to form words, but none came out. His eyes simply stared out the windows at the spectacle before him. For several minutes, everything was eerily silent.
Finally, he spoke.
"...Go get Yeager."
"W..what?" Jack Russell, Bell's officer, turned to Boyd. "Colon-"
"Get him." Boyd's voice shook slightly, but that was all the emotion he'd let slip. "He's at his base housing near Los Angeles."
Russel stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, and with constant glances up towards the lit sky, he stumbled blindly out of the room.
October 12, 1947
It started out as a simple horse ride.
"Chuck!" He could hear Glennis laugh as she beckoned to him from ahead. "Come on over here, Chuck!"
It was a nice, cool night in the desert, perfect for horseback riding. It was October; the weather temperatures in the area, particularly in the mountains and the forests around them, were dropping drastically. It was definite change over the past few months; there was no buzzing sound around them that night, no sweltering heat, no sweat clinging to the brows of the Yeagers as they explored the trails of the hills and peaks of the lower Sierra Nevada on rented horseback.
"Well, well!" Chuck was at Glennis' side as he rode up from behind. He was on a bigger horse than she, a chestnut. "I daresay this is a brisk little ride you have here!"
"I like Palmeros." Glennis grinned. "Especially these smaller types. You never can tell when these things are going to buck up and throw you to the floor!"
The two then continued their climb up the forested trail. Soon, they were at the peak of their hill; they could see for miles around them. To the north, they could see the tiny caps of snow on the larger mountains in the distance, though these sometimes meshed in with the surrounding clouds and sky. To their south, east and west were the beginnings of the Mojave Desert, which glittered purple and blue in the dipping sunset.
"If we look close enough," Glennis teased. "We may just see that bar of yours."
"Now, Glennis, I-"
*SNAP!*
He heard the branch break on one of the larger trees; he did not see what had caused it. All he saw a glimmer of light, like the reflection of the sun on steel or metal. Then the horse bucked.
"AAARGH!"
He was airborne for about ten seconds; he was lifted high into the air, at least fifteen feet into the air. He could see Glennis' horse, just as she started to rear it around to see what was happening. He felt no sensation in his body as he flew; he only felt the wind as it whistled through his ears, as well as the ringing from the horse's startled neigh. He only saw the blues of the sky, and the greys of the clouds that dotted it. For one instant - he could not explain why - the feeling of flight, and the sky above him, almost made him feel like he was ascending into the heavens.
Then he fell. *WHAM!!!!!*
He felt everything simply shut down as he slammed into the tree. His head bobbed up and down for a moment as his neck took in the impact of the throw. Colors danced in front of his eyes from the tremendous whiplash he was receiving. Most of all, however, and most painfully, he could feel the bones in his chest snap and pop as he hit. The pain of it overtook him almost instantly; with a cry, he crumbled to the ground like a rag doll.
"CHUCK!!!!!!!!!!" He heard Glennis' anguished, shocked screams, could hear her dismount from her horse and run to him. "CHUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He opened his mouth to respond, but felt himself slipping. Before he could feel Glennis pull him up, set him down, and then mount her horse once more and gallop towards the outpost of the trail, everything had gone black.
---------------------------
"The situation's not good here, Albert." The general shook his head. "Among other people, we've got the administration tapping their feet and I've got the War Department breathing down my throat. The Secretary was not pleased with the report concerning the saboteur."
"Yes, I know." Boyd slowly nodded at this. "And I'm sure the Marines down at Pendleton don't enjoy having Army hardware being stocked at their base, right?"
"That's not the point." The general almost seemed to glare at Boyd. "The point is that someone is trying to destroy the mission on the inside, and no one is happy about it, least of all me."
The meeting had been called in haste with the arrival of the general. Boyd hadn't even been expecting him; the fact that he had just been at Chuck Yeager's side after a frantic call from Glennis, up in the mountains near the base, only to find that Yeager...
Boyd shut this out of his mind for the moment; he had the feeling it was only going to get worse before it got better.
"With all due respect, sir, we're trying the best we can with locating the saboteur..in fact," The colonel leaned forward in his chair. "I've got a hunch as to who it is. I just need to figure out how to catch him in the act."
"Well, I suppose that's fine and good with me, Colonel," The general shook his head. "But when you've got to personally tell the Secretary of War about there being this type of problem in the first place, you wouldn't be so self-assured. You don't want to be in my shoes with the shit hitting the fan."
"What does he want?"
"He wants Project Blue Gale done."
"We'll have all the tests finished in another month and a half, sir; a month ahead of the time table. According to Bell, we still have to conduct several more resilience tests-"
"No, Boyd." The general shook his head. "I mean he wants it done."
Boyd looked at the general, not sure if he was really hearing what was being said. He rubbed his hand over his head.
"Sir, you can't mean to tell me that-"
"The Secretary wants the full, final report for his consideration on his desk in Washington by October 21st, Albert."
"W..what?!" There was a shocked chuckle in Boyd's voice when he heard this. "You can't be serious. We haven't completely tested everything for post- Mach speeds! The engine and wing compression, in particular, is a problem that will take several weeks. I know he's seen the NACA reports along with my entries."
"I know. I'm the one who gave them to him."
"And now he wants it all done in less than two weeks?! What the hell kind of time table is that?!"
"Listen, Boyd. This project is running on thin ice as it is." The general stood up. "Do you know how hard it was for me to get a timetable for the 21st, let alone any feasible projection from the Secretary? He wanted to send everyone home right this instant and cancel Project Blue Gale; he didn't want any more sabotaging and he has always had the notion that this technology is doomed to fail. We both know that nobody wants a military embarrassment - or worse, a cover-up - for the Soviets to play with and use to their advantage in the next several months." He turned back to the colonel. "You can do this; you've come very far very quickly since taking over the project. You have a flight scheduled two days from now, on the 14th, correct? Do what you have to do then and it's all you'll need to do. Get it over with."
"Not anymore.at least, there won't be when I announce it to the men." Boyd's face darkened. "My primary pilot's been injured since two hours ago. He was in a horsing accident."
"And you just came back from learning that?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'm not sure of the extent of the damage, but he was in some pain."
"But you have a back-up pilot."
"Captain Scott Garnet?" Boyd shook his head. "I can't. He's got no time in the XS-1. I'd need at least a week to prep him to just get into the jet, let alone to fly it at the speed of sound."
"Well, Boyd, you've got very little options left on the table." The general put a hand on the desktop. "And I don't understand why you didn't train your back-ups."
"For two reasons, sir." Boyd looked up at the general. "First off, you and I both know its not standard procedure to train too many pilots for something as dangerous as this, and the War Department's timetable gave me no time to train more than one pilot properly to begin with. Secondly."
"Secondly.?"
".it was probable that one of the pilots was the saboteur at one point. I didn't want the saboteur to know how everything ran so they could simply blow all of the jets to kingdom come, sir."
"Well, at this point," The general turned and walked to the door. "You and your pilot may be better off in kingdom come if you don't get this done. Remember, all you have now is seven days, colonel. Don't screw yourself over or its everyone's ass."
With that, the general left, leaving Boyd to himself. The colonel could only growl with frustration after the man left; after several moments of brooding, he stood up.
It was true; he really had no other choice at the moment. He didn't know the extent of Chuck's injuries, and he wasn't sure if Chuck himself knew. He had already ordered Yeager to take the week off and see a doctor if the pain didn't subside; that had been before the ultimatum. Now he didn't even have a week if he used Yeager.
Boyd rubbed his temple. There was that, and the saboteur. He had a good idea - almost certain, in fact - of the identity of the saboteur. The problem was catching him in the act. There had been nothing since the fire last month; the saboteur had been smart enough to lay low since then, and he had been smart enough to get rid of traces of fingerprints or such. The question remained as to how to get him to reveal himself, to blunder, without endangering the crew. Unfortunately, Boyd knew that doing that would be virtually impossible. The saboteur was out for something and by the looks of what he was doing he didn't care if he killed the entire crew - Yeager in particular. Of course, if the injuries incurred from the last two attacks were any indication, the cocksucker was willing to take some collateral with him if necessary.
At this, an idea began to form in Boyd's head. It was a terrible, horrible, radical, illegal idea that came to him, one he wouldn't have even dared to mull upon in normal circumstances. It was one that could not only result in the complete stripping of his rank and jail time, but in serious repercussions and even possible criminal action against the rest of the workers on Project Blue Gale. He knew who was doing all of the brazen acts against the base; he just needed to make for certain that it was the right guy. There was only one recourse to save what Boyd truly felt was the key to the future of the Army Air Force. That recourse was called entrapment.
It was an idea that he didn't want to think of, especially at a moment when so much was already on the line. On top of all the legal action that could be taken if there was so much of a suspicion of Boyd playing the entrapment card, there was also the problem of the saboteur himself. Any indication that Boyd was onto the saboteur could completely blow everything out of the water - at least in catching the crook - and destroy what was left of Project Blue Gale. Trust and morale was significantly lower since the fire, and it showed; Boyd knew that even he was viewed with suspicion, even though he knew full well he wasn't the saboteur. Plus, he didn't think that the saboteur would be so presumptuous to think he could get away with anything if Boyd handed him an obvious chance to strike on a silver plate, wrapped with a bow. On top of that, if no one caught anything wrong, and someone went up in that plane...
But the more he thought of his options, he realized that such a terrible move could be the only option to get in for the kill and possibly to save lives. The temptation of getting away with something like blatant sabotage would appeal to the attacker; from a psychological point of view, the colonel knew that, to a hell bent individual, it would be madness to waste an opportunity to prove a point. What was more, Boyd never once actually publicly pointed a finger at anyone and outright accused them (not even when he thought it was Hoover), and he was an expert of hiding his feelings without arousing suspicion. Plus, the plan he was formulating required a certain amount of innocent bureaucratic procedures that everyone had to comply with, from a signed log of everyone who guarded the hangar to permissions that everyone had to sign to even get onto the base, as a result of the attacks. He could easily make it look like he wasn't entrapping anyone; technically, the saboteur would be entrapping himself with items he had a hand in implementing.
There was, however, one very important piece of this plan that had to be dealt with accordingly, and thoroughly, before anything else. And the colonel still had to inform him of the change of plans.
-------------------------
The sun was well below the mountains when Scott entered his room. He wore nothing but his brown undershirt, his military issue pants and his boots.
"Jesus Christ..."
He took several deep breaths, taking in the coolness of the shelter. It had been a long, hot day for the captain; with only two days left until the next flight, and so much work to do on the plane both inside the sweltering hangar and in the blistering sun, he was easily worn out. He had even drunken three full cantinas of water in less than an hour, and it only helped in soothing his head. His exposed skin was beet red to the point where his old scars were dark brown, and touching was not a good idea. He dropped onto his bed with an exhausted sigh, barely managing to kick his boots off.
Man oh man..
It had been sweltering hot the past several days on the base, sweltering and sticky. He had been wearing just his undershirt for the past five days, sometimes even being forced to take it off, which left him topless. It was to the chagrin and shock of some of his co-workers; after all, they had never seen a man with so many burn welts on his body in their lives. On the other hand, it didn't affect all of them; in fact, the "Nazi love taps" (as Ridley had come to call them) actually became a source of humor for some. Chuck himself told Scott just that afternoon, before taking off with his wife, that if the burns became any darker they'd have to classify Scott as a Negro.
The humor helped. Before, Scott would have been embarrassed, even ashamed, to show them; they had been a source of humiliation for him, a sign of his terrible crimes in Salerno because two men died under his watch. Yet after talking to Ridley and Mary, Scott's disposition towards them changed. Neither had seemed disgusted of it, especially Mary, as she was basing her stories on something Scott thought would change how she felt about him. He thought she saw him as a monster for letting those men die since that night two years ago. But when he realized that Mary, in fact, admired him for admitting what had bothered him, he realized that he probably wouldn't fare much worse with his co-worker's reactions. They had, after all, fought in the same damn war.
It wasn't just the scars from the war, either. Scott's mind slowly turned towards a more recent betrayal, one that had been real and even more personal than any he could have dreamt up. He still seethed at that man he had called father for what he did; out of everyone he had ever thought to hate, Hiram Garnet was the one man Scott knew he would never forgive for as long as he lived. In fact, Scott almost relished the fact that the old man was languishing, deteriorating, inside that overcrowded hospital out in San Ysidro, dying slowly and painfully - and most importantly, alone.
To the young man, it was the least God could have done for what that disease of a human had tried to do to Mary and Sherry. Of course, Scott would have rather had his father shot in the head at point blank range and slung up on a tree branch where dogs and crows could systematically disembowel the remains, piece by infected piece. All of this while Scott watched, laughing with delight. But the fate Hiram was experiencing, though Scott did not yet comprehend anything about himself that his father had, was nevertheless satisfying to him.
Mary.. A thought occurred to him as his eyes closed from exhaustion. I need to write to them. I haven't written in a wee-
The sudden knock at the door interrupted Scott's thoughts. Instantly, Scott was up, out of bed and walking briskly towards the door. He opened it and nearly gave a start.
"Colonel."
'Captain Scott Garnet?' Boyd's face stared right into Scott's. "I need to speak with you."
".Yes, sir."
Scott was somewhat taken aback by the visit, as it was after working hours. It had to be important - practically a moment where the last thing Scott would expect to hear from Boyd's mouth would come out - if the colonel was visiting him alone at 2000 hours. Despite these thoughts of wonder, he snapped to attention and saluted as soon as the colonel entered his room.
'Sir!'
'As you were.' Colonel Boyd looked down. 'Captain, you're going to fly the Bell XS-1 on October 14.'
Those were the last words Scott had expected, particularly as a first sentence. He opened his mouth to speak; at first, he couldn't speak.
'....Sir...?'
'..I need your help, Garnet." With a motion, Boyd sat Scott down. "Remember; everything I tell you is not to be repeated outside of this room until I tell you, right?"
"Y..yes, sir."
"You are going to fly in two days." Boyd bent over the boy, his hand clasping his sides. "I know what I'm about to ask you for next is going to be next to impossible, but hear me out. You're going to fly the XS-1 here at Muroe...and you're going to shoot for a speed of Mach 1.0 or better. Understood?"
The words hit Scott from left field. Now this was the last thing he was expecting to hear out of Boyd's mouth, especially since he never even flown the damn thing.
"..Do I understand you correctly, sir..?" Scott took a deep breath. "You're asking me to fly the XS-1 to the sound barrier...cold turkey. Am I correct to assume that, sir?"
"Yes," Boyd began to pace. "That is exactly what I'm asking you."
"May I ask permission to inquire why I'm being asked, sir?"
"Because I told you to." Boyd looked at Scott. "That, and Yeager...was called up to a base up north for a week. They rejected my override to have him stay here at Muroe."
It was a flat-out lie, but it was the only way. Boyd didn't want anyone to know the truth, at least not yet, because of the saboteur. Injuries afflicted onto primaries normally proved a useful advantage to such scum suckers. The truth of the matter was that Boyd was determined that few others were to even know Yeager was not going to be there at all on October 14th. In some ways, Boyd was hoping the saboteur would attack; if the saboteur thought that Chuck was still primary, it would be an added advantage for Boyd to spring a trap.
"You're my only hope, Garnet." Boyd looked back up at him. "I know what I'm asking you is dangerous, even fatal. But..its not just Yeager. Its..a number of other things as well. If I just leave it at that, at the fact that you have to do this no matter what, I'm hoping it will be enough. Because of this, also.." Boyd looked directly into Scott's eyes. "I have to ask you that you tell no one that you'll be flying. No one is to know you're flying until the moment you open your mouth on vox as that B-29 drops the rocket into the sky. And before you enter that plane, you make sure you give it a good look so that's nothing's wrong. It is very important you do all of this for me. Do you understand what I'm asking of you, Garnet? For that matter...are you up for it?"
"...Sir.."
For a moment, Scott was not sure what to say. He did not understand why the colonel would be asking him to fly transonic and yet keep the fact that he was going fly such an important mission a secret. However, the strange feeling of excitement, the knowledge that he was to fly the XS-1 to Mach 1.0 - something within that feeling seemed to tell him to trust the colonel's unusual orders. Slowly, he nodded and saluted.
"Yes, sir!"
"Very well." The colonel turned and walked out of the door. "Dismissed."
----------------------
As he left, Boyd accidentally slammed the door behind him. He felt sheepish in not going back to apologize to the captain, but he knew he couldn't. He had work to do, and little time to do it in. His mind went over the names of other officers, and other men, as he left the barracks. He was going to call a meeting, and he was going to announce the 13th's sentry - the saboteur - tomorrow.
But nothing would be said of Scott. As far as the saboteur was concerned, Chuck was flying. Boyd was almost confident he would have wanted it that way.
Almost.
-----------------------
Indeed, the next day passed by with little, if any, mention of Yeager by anyone on the ground crew. No one, save for Boyd and Scott, actually knew or had a clue of the change of plans.
"Hey there, Hedgehog!"
Scott turned around to face the speaker. He was working on screwing in several loosened bolts in the undercarriage of the XS-1; it was not abnormal to check them before flights to ensure that the flaps didn't open and let the Black Betsy engine fall out from its place.
"Long time no see!" Capt. Bud Anderson, accompanied by Redson and Ridley, walked over to him with a big smile on his face. "You and the boys excited? Chuck's going to be making history tomorrow!"
"Its actually at midnight tonight, my friend - its also our first night test. We just got the news!" Ridley whistled. "Boyd must be really confident in Chuck."
"Ha, Chuck? He'll probably just laugh and it'll be over in twenty seconds." Bud turned back to Scott. "So, what do you think? You happy too?"
"Yeah..." Scott smiled. "Can't wait, Bud."
"Uh huh." Redson had his Bowie knife out, and he was twirling it in between his fingers. "I bet you're like me; you can't get wait to get out of here."
"Baah, you know you like Barnes' place, Johnny!" Bud chuckled. "You with your friend 'Margarita.'"
"I don't drink margaritas, I'm afraid.." Redson ran his fingernail on the side of the blade, flicking off a speck of rust as he did. "Not strong enough for me, I'm afraid. Hate to disappoint you."
"Ha! Finally, a drink Redson hates." Ridley pat Scott on the back. "Well, we'll leave you alone for the moment, and we'll go and get the tower ready for tomorrow, eh?"
"Uh..sure." Scott nodded. "Sounds nice."
"Right then."
With a nod, the three left, leaving Scott in complete disbelief. It was mostly at himself; he had not once felt inclined to tell them that Yeager was not flying the next day. He was not sure why he didn't want to tell them, Boyd's orders notwithstanding. The truth was, he wanted to tell everyone he knew that he was going to fly. As he pondered, several strange, even disturbing possibilities came to mind about his feelings.
The first possibility, naturally, was that he wanted the glory, but not they attention. He wanted to fly; he had always wanted to fly the XS-1. And now, Boyd was letting him on the condition he say nothing about him doing it. By not saying anything and doing his job, therefore, would make him more modest, seem more trustworthy to do bigger and better things after the completion of Project Blue Gale. And if he landed Mach 1.0 on his first shot..his first ride.
No... Scott slowly shook his head. That doesn't sound right..That's not it.
At this, the strange feeling, the strange, excited feeling that had pervaded him the whole time he had been at Muroe, began to come back. This time, however, it felt different. It was not as exciting as it had been before; the sensation somehow felt dulled, and it seemed to churn his insides and almost made him sick. It so took him by surprise that he had to close his eyes, turn his head slightly, and swallow before he could open his eyes and feel better.
When he opened his eyes, he spotted the three men - Anderson, Ridley and Redson - in the middle of walking into Boyd's office, the sun directly on their backs, which were faced towards Scott's direction. For reasons he could not understand, their shapes seemed distorted and wavy, like a mirage, yet hazier than a normal illusion. The area around them started to look redder, almost as if the desert heat had set them on fire. And one of them...one of them looked darker.
What in... Scott blinked in disbelief. Is that...
He could not discern which one of them was turning darker; they were too far away. Nor could he understand why the redness around the three almost seemed to shrink until it was centered on the darkened figure. He had to be seeing things, but not matter how hard he blinked, or rubbed his eyes, the illusion did not go away. And the figure still grew darker, the area around him growing redder until it truly could have been fire around them if it had been real.
Finally, the figure's silhouette was darkened to the blackest shade of color that Scott had ever seen with his naked eyes. Fire surrounded the figure as the black, with no shadows, no light, started to swirl around him. But it wasn't swirling, it was fluttering in the wind. It was like a cloak, and where the figure's head was, a cloak.
For one instant, even though he was not a very religious type, Scott could have sworn he saw the shadow of death standing in front of Boyd's door. It could only have been a reaper from beyond, come to take someone back with him; the flames of the afterlife, a fire of damnation (or was it the flames of the sun?) encircling him. In his hand was the glittering scythe, which he would use to cut down his victim upon touch. Scott almost had a mind to run over and warn them; one of them was going to die, and how he knew was seeing death at Boyd's door.
"Hedgehog!"
Scott blinked again. The figure, the flames, the other two pilots - all of it vanished that time.
"There you are." The captain gave a sign of relief as a crewman - a sergeant - walked over and handed him a folded piece of paper. "I've been looking for you for twenty minutes. Colonel Boyd wanted me to give it to you."
"..Thank you, sergeant." Slowly, Scott took the paper.
"No problem, sir...sir?" The boy looked at him. "You ok, sir?"
"Hmm?"
"You jumped a bit when I called you, sir. And you look a little...startled." The sergeant began to look concerned. "You ok, sir?"
Scott took a deep breath. He looked down at the paper, then back up, then finally towards Boyd's office. There was nothing there now.
"Perfectly fine, sergeant."
------------------------
Despite his reassurances, the vision was still on Scott's mind as the sun began to set behind the mountains.
My god... Scott almost drove off the road in his mind wandering. That seemed too real. It was real. It had to be.
It had been several hours since he had seen it; now, he was on his way to a gas station nearly an hour out of the base, practically in Los Angeles. The note Boyd had given him was one of recommendation; as he was going to undertake an ambitious (and dangerous) flight, the colonel thought it prudent that Scott should be allowed to call his family beforehand. Because there were no phones at the base, Scott would have to go somewhere else to make the call. Plus, he had to so it without saying anything of the nature of his work, of course; on the other hand, Scott wanted to give Mary and Sherry an idea that he was going to do something incredibly big in less than five hours.
Maybe I should go to Chuck and Glennis' and place the call there.would cost less, and give me more time.. Scott fingered the change in his pocket. No. Chuck's not there, and it'd be rude after what my dad did.
Any further thought of going to the Yeager residence was banished the moment he spotted the gas station. It was a beat up, obviously local place; the only other person there, it seemed, was the clerk. It was the perfect place for the call.
Without another word, Scott put on the brake and pretty much leaped out of the car. He had been smart to bring his jacket with him, as it was starting to get a little cold for him. Adjusting his jacket and zipping it up, he went though the door.
"Howdy." Behind the counter was an old man wearing a greasy shirt, his white hair slicked back. "You need gas?"
"Uh...no." Scott spotted what he was looking for and pointed. "I just need to use your phone for a few minutes?"
"Uh huh." The man nodded. "Go on. Not like there's a line or nothin', kid."
"Thank you."
Quickly, he entered the corner booth where the phone lay and closed the door behind him. Fumbling with the change in his pocket, he inserted seventy-five cents into the machine and began to dial his home number. He tapped his fingers against the side of the phone as the ringing began.
"...*click* Hello.."
"Mary." Scott's heart stopped. "Mary, I-"
"I'm sorry." The voice sounded annoyed. "You need seventy-five cents for me to connect the call. Its long distance."
"..Operator?"
"You need seventy-five cents, sir."
"..Of course. Hang on."
With a huff, Scott quickly produced seventy-five more cents. He knew full well that many operators grew impatient with customers and would hang up if the correct amount of change was not provided as soon as possible.
"The rates have gone up," he mumbled as he inserted three more quarters. "I should be good to go."
"Of course, sir." The voice suddenly became chipper. "Please hold. I'll put you through to that number. You'll have five minutes before you have to insert seventy-five cents to continue your call."
Oh, I'll put you through something, lady, Scott thought to himself as the phone resumed ringing. Finally, after several rings, there was an answer.
"...*click* Hello?"
"..Mary." Scott was completely relieved at hearing her voice. "It's me, Scott."
".Scott?" Mary's voice was surprised. "How are you calling me? I thought you weren't allowed to?"
"Well.." Scott hesitated. "My boss let me this time."
"You telling the truth, Hedgehog?"
"You bet I am." Scott smirked. "If I wasn't, I'd be dead."
"Eheh.."
"Um." Scott knew that was the wrong thing to say. "How are you doing?"
"Good, but tired." Scott could hear two faint thumps in the background. Those, he reasoned, were her shoes. "I've been working since 7 this morning. I just got in the door. Can you believe it?"
"Yeah, I can." Scott paused. "Look, I haven't much time, but...is Sherry awake?"
"'Fraid not, Hedgehog." She took a deep breath. "She was asleep when Mrs. Cianfracco left a few minutes ago. It's a little more difficult without someone more static looking after her, of course, and she's a bit upset about..well, you understand. I'm.still not sure how to explain it."
There was an eerie pause after this. Scott had to bite down hard on his lip so that he would not go crazy on the subject of his father. Mary and Sherry didn't need to know the full story, didn't need to know what he knew.
"Well...Mary.." Scott knew he was running out of time. "Just tell her..daddy's coming home very soon, and that..he's going to be doing something incredible for the people he's working for. That's..all I can say right now. You understand.."
"..Yeah..."
"I'm coming home, Mary." Scott nodded. "Within the week. And when I get ho- "
"*click* Please insert seventy-five more cents, sir."
"Ga..God..DAMMIT!"
Scott had to scramble to get the change into to machine; he almost jammed it in. Fortunately, he was quick enough, and had to give a sigh of relief when Mary's laughing came through the receiver.
"Bitch." Mary took in a deep breath. "It was only four minutes!"
"I seem to be having problems with her. I don't care if she can hear me." Scott took in a deep breath. "Well...when I get home...I'm going to take you, and Sherry, and we'll do something."
"Like what?"
"..I don't know." Scott chuckled. "Something. Maybe go to Canada for the week, or Pennsylvania. Maybe drive to Niagara Falls. Do something to celebrate, when I come back, if you get a book deal. I don't know. Just something."
"But not California."
"No." Scott shook his head. "Of course not.."
"Well.." A yawn came from Mary. "Well, I'll be seeing you soon then. I need to be getting to bed."
"Right then." Scott smiled. ".I love you, Mary. And tell Sherry I love her too."
"Right back to you, Hedgehog." It was obvious Mary was going to bed a happy woman. "Good night."
Scott was practically beaming when Mary hung up. He hung up before the operator could again insult him; then again, he was, at the moment, too happy to care. He couldn't wait to get home.
--------------------------
The night in which October 13 passed on to become October 14 was still, clear and cold. There was little wind on the ground, if any, as the XS-1 was carted out into the open field, which was lit by field lights.
"Ok.." Ridley and several others pushed the jet inside the B-29. "There! Finished!"
"Think we should do another check on it, Jack.?"
"Nope." Ridley shook his head and waved his hand. "I checked it with Boyd about ten minutes ago. Nothing was in it, no nails, no nothing."
"Hmm." Redson rubbed his chin. "Screw's a bit loosened."
"Ah, ok." Ridley handed Redson a screwdriver. "Just screw it in."
"Right."
With that, Redson took the screws and tightened them as far as he could. So tight were the screws that he almost snapped the screwdriver in half.
"Aw, damnit."
"No harm, no harm." Ridley chuckled. "We wouldn't want the flap to open in mid-air, right?"
"Of course not..damn, that hurt," Redson swore as he wriggled his hand. He stood up and walked off. "'Scuse me.I think my hands bleeding.."
"At least it didn't jam into your eye..Oh!" Ridley looked up. "Hedgehog! There you are.."
Ridley's voice slowly trailed off as Scott walked forward into full view. Ridley's expression became shocked as Scott, dressed in complete pilot clothing and smocked in his pilot jacket, walked forward with a cockpit helmet tucked under his arm. Behind him was Boyd, his face solemn as he walked with his hands behind his back.
"H..Hedgehog?" Ridley crimped an eyebrow in surprise. "What's going on?"
"Chuck's not here."
"What?"
"Chuck," Boyd looked at Ridley. "Is not here. Garnet will be flying this one."
Scott's face did not convey his secret excitement; it instead conveyed seriousness, perhaps even sadness, at Yeager's absence. In some ways, he truly was sorry Yeager was not there; even at this hour, flying cold turkey was still not exactly something Scott preferred.
"Sir..." Ridley stepped forward as other ground crew members looked on. "Do you think this is a good idea?"
"I'm afraid, Jack," Boyd replied. "That I have little choice. I'll explain it to you once Garnet's in the air."
"..Yes, sir." Ridley slowly nodded. "I.understand."
"In the meantime, get him in." Boyd turned back. "Let's go. Time is not on our side."
Ridley looked at Scott, confused, as he led Scott up the platform and into the plane. Slowly, Ridley unlocked the cockpit door and stepped aside. Slowly, Scott began to climb in.
"Scott." He felt Ridley's hand on his arm. "How long have you known you were doing this one?"
"...Last night, Jack." Scott looked down. "He told me...Yeager wasn't doing it."
"Do you know why?"
"..To tell the truth, no." Scott looked up. "Boyd just said he was doing army business."
"...No." Ridley shook his head. "I don't buy it. But whatever. It doesn't matter.." Ridley looked at Scott. "But its just like operating a normal plane; all of the panels are the same. Just don't accelerate fast like Crazy Yeager does and don't do crazy sideshow shit. Take your time, and watch your altitude - if you go too high, the engine might stop. It's easy beyond that."
".Thank you, Jack."
Nodding, Scott took a deep breath as he closed the hatch beside him. He put his helmet on with a firm hand and flipped on the switches. He had spent three months studying the controls for the ground crew, and memorized what Chuck had to do. He had to turn it on just as the hatch of the B-29 carrying opened off to ignite it at the right time. Too soon, the B-29 would go on fire; too late, he would start freefalling. After that, it was a matter of staying in the air and accelerating until he got to Mach 1.0. He'd have wind resistance along the way, but he always had that on a flight, and if the modifications held, the resistance would not be so much of a hinderance.
He gave a nod as he felt the B-29 start to lift. He could do this; he just had to be careful.
"XS-1," Anderson's voice came over the speaker. "Take note, I will be checking your speed after drop-off. Over."
"Roger," Scott found the plane's microphone. "This is XS-1. Taking note of that, over."
"We are at 1,000 feet now, base, command, over."
Scott took several deep breaths as the plane went higher into the sky. He took swallows to keep his ears popping, and waited. He couldn't get excited now; that could wait until later, when he was back on the ground. Right now, he had to concentrate, and concentrate hard on the job ahead of him.
"Command, we are at 20,000 feet, over."
"Get ready, Captain," Boyd's voice came back on. "You'll be dropping in less than two minutes. Stand by, over."
"Copy that, over."
Scott clasped onto the wheel in front of him with a small bit of nervousness. It was almost time for him to start, almost time to begin the flight. He had to do it, and he had to do it right. Somehow he knew there was only one shot for him to succeed. So if there was ever a time to get scared, now was not the time.
"Command, we are at 28,000 feet." Scott licked his lips as he heard the loud whine of the rotors on the trap door under him. "Proceeding to drop at your command, over."
"Drop command given. Begin flight. Over."
The black of the night met him as he looked down, and the next thing he knew, he was falling into blackness. There was no light up where he was, just the sound of the wind as he fell.
Then he caught himself. Scott's hand immediately went for the jet ignition.
*FOOOOOOOM*
The sky instantly lit up as the volatile Black Betsy fired up and brought the XS-1 to life. There was a instant jolt, and Scott found himself plastered to his seat, trying vainly to control the bird.
"Garnet, this is control." Boyd's voice was calm. "You're a bit unstable up there. Lower the acceleration level on the engine by two and you'll have a much smoother ride, over."
"C-copy that."
Instantly Scott's free hand was on the knob. Seconds later after turning it, the bird was his. The steering stick was still a little stiff, as that was exposed under him and was subjected to the winds, but Scott found that it was much easier to move and control.
"Command, this is Garnet." Scott gave a sigh of relief. "I have control now, over."
"Roger."
"Flight, I am gauging speed." Anderson's voice came on. "We are at .21 Mach, over."
"Copy. Good luck, Garnet, and take your time, over."
"Roger."
And so Scott did just that. As a result, the flight lasted for almost and hour and forty minutes. It was the longest flight recorded by Project Blue Gale - and, in the long run, the most eventful.
It was mostly Scott's inexperience that contributed to the long flight. Unlike Yeager, who had months in advance training under his belt, Scott had little more than the basics of how wind resistance worked in this type of jet, at least in practice. He knew that the faster one went, that worse the wind resistance, the 'sonic wind', got, but he had never actually gotten into the cockpit of the XS-1 before that night to try it out. Therefore, at every tenth increment, he found it more difficult to steer and control the jet, and so he took five to ten minutes to get used to flying faster. When he felt he had mastered it, he would then accelerate slowly from the accustomed speed to newer, faster levels.
"We are at .85 Mach, Garnet. Over!"
Scott felt the excitement rise within him, just as could hear it with Anderson. It took everything he had to suppress it, and even then, he felt the thrill of his escalating speed almost explode from within his very being.
..Yes... For a second, Scott's mind wandered, and wondered, all at once, getting itself lost in the slight shuddering of the plane. This..feels like..what I am supposed to do. This was what I was born to do. This is what my life has led up to..
As soon as the thought came, he had to shake them out of his head. It was not the right time for celebration. Better men had died at the point he was at. He just had to go faster.
Yet Scott knew that this was the ride of his life, and despite his inexperience, he pressed forward towards his goal. Slowly, he did go faster. And he pressed on. The closer he came, the lower he went towards the ground. Everything was so tiny, even from 10,000 feet; if he hasn't been flying, Scott would have pretended he was God looking down upon the darkness just before he said "Let there be light". He figured he probably wouldn't have been the first. And so faster he went.
Soon, it was only a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds; he was already almost up to Yeager's fastest trial. Now came questions in Scott's mind. What would happen at Mach 1.0? Would he simply fly through it? Would he lose power from going so fast? No one knew, least of all the pilot. All the pilot knew was that he just had to go faster. It had been a bumpy ride, and it had been a difficult stick to play with. All in all, though, Scott knew it had been a relatively smooth ride with practically no problems. And it would be a story to tell when he got back on the ground.
Then, from out of nowhere, just as he began to make a turn towards the mountains in the north, he felt the violent shudder under him. *FOOOOOM!*
He was at .99 Mach; he was so close. And then the plane rocked violently. It felt as though the engine had suddenly exploded under him. Suddenly, he lost control of the stick.
"SHIT!!!!!!!!!!"
"Garnet?!" Boyd's voice came on. "Garnet, what's wro-"
*FOOOOOOOOM!!!*
Scott gave a shout of fear as the chain reaction began without notice. First the engine combusted; he could tell because smoke began to fill the cabin. Then, his legs were being consumed by the flames that began to pour in from below. The heat and the flames built up so fast that the metal of the chair was melting onto him, and his helmet began to weld onto his head like sheet metal. He screamed in pain; the flames instantly became more intense, the pain unbearable.
"GARNET! YOU'RE BREAKING UP! EJECT! EJECT!"
The radio came in like distant, worthless static. The screams from his superiors did little good; his hands were welded onto the steering stick of the plane like glue to paper. The flames roared around him like an endless inferno. He was trapped.
"GAR--*BZZZ*--RE-*BZZZZHMMMMMMM-CLK*"
The radio was gone. The flames were greater. He could feel more flames leap onto his arms, creating the smell of burning flesh. He choked as he felt the skin literally peel off of his body, could feel things on his person melting. The tears began to come to his eyes from all the pain. From knowing.
He knew. The plane was about to explode. Everything he thought he had done right was wrong, and nothing could save him now.
All he could do, as his life flashed before him, was scream.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Scott running into the water
Help me dad mom can't swim
Look I won dad hug
Mary
Oh yes
No Shelley
No
Mary
Yes
No
Miles
Max don't leave
*BOOM THUUUUUM THUUUUUUM*
Chuck this bird
Damn you dad
Boom BOOM
Goodbye Scott
Good bye
Scott
Scott
Scooooot
Hedgehooooog
....Scott...Hedgehog...
His head jerked up at the sound of his voice. The flames still surrounded him, but suddenly, there was no pain.
"Hedgehog..."
He looked towards the dashboard, but there was nothing there in the flames. Simply white, and two figures in front of him. Two figures, shadowed in the light
"Come on." One of them held out their hand. "Its time to go."
"Time..." The roar of the flames was a distant sound. "Am I..I..I can't be..."
"It depends upon your definition, Sonic."
"...Sonic? Who are you and why..."
Suddenly, their faces looked towards Scott, and he almost gave a cry of shock. It was them.
"Max...Miles..!"
They were there; but they were different. Their forms, Scott could decipher, were no longer that of any living man, though their forms were covered by a cloak of what looked like a night sky filled with stars. In the light, it was hard to tell what they were, but it was obvious to him what was going on. They had been dead, and now he knew.
"It really is my time, isn't it.death, it was for me, wasn't it? The death I saw...this afternoon.."
Suddenly, the light dissipated, and no longer was Scott in the burning plane, his hands welded into the wheel, the smell of burning flesh stinging his nose. Instead, the smell of coffee and cheap cigarettes suddenly filled the air.
"It depends upon how you define time, Hedgehog."
"Huh?!" Scott's eyes widened. "Where.."
"How can you define time when it doesn't exist?" The Max figure spoke, his accent as heavy as it has been in life, as the scene of an Italian coffee house materialized all around them. "There's no time here. Nothing to prevent you from coming back."
"Coming back? How..how do you mean back?" Scott cocked his head. His hair almost dipped into the cup of a passing waitress. "You can't return when you're dead."
"Is that so?" Miles' voice came through. "We may have shed our original bodies, but now, we are again alive. Thanks to you."
"Me?"
Scott sat down in the ethereal café, not quite sure how to make of what was going on. As he did, he splintered his hand on the table. The pain of the wood in his hand nearly made him yelp.
I have to be dreaming...this couldn't be real. It's just too real to be death, for God's sake.
Then he looked and saw two figures. One was male, one was female. Both were at least in their fourties, if not fifties. They looked at him, smiled, and waved.
"Buenvenudo!"
The Italian word nearly floored Scott. He looked again at the café he was in and realized. Realization brought back the one word he had always dreaded, even after his night with Mary several weeks ago, came to him. Termoli.
"Death is real." Suddenly, the two figures were sitting with him. Max's voice came through. "It's a lot like life, only when you die, you are no longer tied down to certain human emotions, like hate or anger. Because when you pass, you realize that you are not that evil person you thought you were, with all of the enemies you thought you had. It goes the same with those who thought they were always righteous."
"But death is different from life in that we live knowing what we truly did right," Miles continued, "and what we truly did wrong. When that happens, we become ourselves, and when we are ourselves there is no boundary between life and death."
"And in death, we truly become ourselves when we see the one who gave us the ability to forgive, when we are tied by a thread to someone who is truly special." The figure that had Max's voice looked at Scott. "And no matter what you say, Sonic, you are not evil. You never were evil. Just human."
"I..." Scott looked at the two of them, unable to comprehend. "Why are you calling me Sonic? And why am I so special?"
"Because you are the one whom united us, even though you don't realize it, Sonic." Despite his confusion, Scott somehow began to again experience the feeling of excitement start to bubble up in him for reasons he still did not understand as Miles spoke. "When we were as humans, you befriended us and did us our favors. You left me to my quiet death when we crashed. During those last minutes when that happened, I saw a vision of your future, and of mine. That I would live forever in a land beyond that is not unlike the living world, with its own struggles and battles. A place where we could visit an everlasting paradise and through its magic still inhabit bodies of the flesh. I had no friends before I met you, and the thought that perhaps I could see you again in a new form made me smile."
"It was the same for me." Max's voice spoke again. "When you were my prison charge, you took those injuries for me. And when the assault on Termoli began, I was wounded mortally. I knew I could not be saved, and I was afraid of death. But then I looked up, and saw Miles beckoning me to follow to that place beyond. I never knew him, but somehow I realized it was because of you that he was beckoning me. So I, too, smiled when I realized I had another friend."
"And when we met here, we realized we were still missing you. So we waited. Then, your wife began to tell the tale of a strange little hedgehog who was boastful but innocent, and of his many friends." Scott's eyes widened. "It was then we knew why we had met. It was because we were to meet again, here, but in newer, purer bodies than what we had inhabited in our previous lives. We would fight on for everyone, both real and imaginary, and for that inner excitement and freedom we could never experience in our own lifetimes. This is a freedom you, Hedgehog, could have only achieved in finally battling the sonic wind; not just the resistance of nature, or even of just technology, but also the resistance of inevitable change. Not just for us, but..for the whole world, even."
"The resistance of change.." Scott closed his eyes. "So my whole life, then..was leading up to this one moment? Am..Am I supposed to change now or something?"
"..You already have, Hedgehog."
Scott opened his eyes at this. He realized that Max, in whatever form he was in, was right. He had the feeling as to what forms his friends had ultimately taken, and he almost smiled at that.
"So this isn't just a dream.." He reached out his hand towards Max's form. He had to see. "So now what do I do to complete what I must do?"
"Simple."
The cloaks the two wore then disappeared, and Scott could see them clearly. He had been right; they were no longer human. They were something else, something..cooler. He didn't know why the wording came to his mind like that, and a small part of him still doubted that what he was seeing was not human, not animal, but both. It was Max, a bright red echidna-human thing, and Miles, an orange fox-human thing.
Yet even his doubt, as small as it was, felt drawn into whatever it was that had them all as he touched Max's face. It was smooth, soft, even furry. He did the same to Miles' face, with the same results. They looked back at him, smiling as he did this.
It was in feeling how warm, how alive these two spirits were, and felt - because of him - and knowing that they had died because of him, and yet they had welcomed him with open arms that he knew. It was in seeing how they smiled at him, bringing him to a place that should have held so much pain - and yet the Italian shop owner and his wife smiled at him as he looked and caught their gaze - that he knew. It was in seeing how they had come to him on the threshold of the world of the living and the world of drifting souls at such an hour of seeming finality to tell him they he was the one whom had done such good things that he knew. It was in all of these things combined, seeing all that was going on, being at what should have been the wrong place at the wrong time, that he knew. There was no turning back. There was no more reason to turn back. There was no more Scott.
"Let go, Sonic. Its time to let go."
*KA-THOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*
It was a loud, deafening explosion that clapped and echoed through the mountain, through the base, through a surrounding radius of three miles, one that sounded like that which was heard when a speeding car slammed headfirst into a wall. It was a sonic boom; it was the sound of something breaking through a force of nature, defying the will of everything that stood in man's way since the beginning of time. It was up where gods supposedly dwelled and ruled the very fate of humanity, even as man clung to life and surged ahead to the day when it could defy those gods that said that no man should break the sound barrier, lest the sonic wind tear them to pieces. Yet the plane itself did not make it.
For a moment after, it was like a Fourth of July fireworks display in the night sky. It was a menagerie of many colors; blue, red, yellow, white and orange sparks flew about in giant cascades and sparks over the mountains. The nucleus of the explosion was a bright orange and yellow, the exploding flames pulsing out like a nova star, several hundred feet in all directions. The spectacle lit up the California night sky for miles; for one single moment, it was as bright as day, and all of the desert colors sparkled under the horrendous light.
Then it fell. Like a comet, the X-1, so close to its goal that its pilot could touch the sound barrier with his fingers, fell to the earth below. Smoke simply billowed from the falling jet like a stack, covering the night sky with a black haze. It spiraled out of control, and the remains simply shot towards the mountains. Anywhere the wreckage fell, there was a small explosion, and a fire; none rivaled the one which first started it all.
And watching it all with complete and utter horror were the men on the ground. They all stared, their mouths simply open with total disbelief. He had been close. He had been so close. And suddenly...there had been no warning. There had been no sign that something was to happen. No omens to the other crewmen. Nothing.
"HEDGEHOG!!!!!!!!" Bud's voice nearly shattered the speakers inside the tower. He had been closest to the explosion; he almost went down with it. His voice squeaked vainly as he tried to get an answer. "HEDGEHOG! SPEAK TO ME, MAN! SAY SOMETHING!"
*CLUNK!*
The dispatch speakers made a thump, followed by feedback, as the microphone simply dropped out of Boyd's fingers. Everyone turned to look at him; his face spoke volumes, as he was not an emotional man. His mouth was moving, as if to form words, but none came out. His eyes simply stared out the windows at the spectacle before him. For several minutes, everything was eerily silent.
Finally, he spoke.
"...Go get Yeager."
"W..what?" Jack Russell, Bell's officer, turned to Boyd. "Colon-"
"Get him." Boyd's voice shook slightly, but that was all the emotion he'd let slip. "He's at his base housing near Los Angeles."
Russel stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, and with constant glances up towards the lit sky, he stumbled blindly out of the room.