Check Pilot
Rick had joined in the enthusiasm for moving up the date of the Pegasus
shoot, but as he gazed around the project he began to wonder if they
hadn't all been carried away. There were parts and pieces everywhere. He
couldn't begin to make heads or tails out of all the confusion.
Fortunately, he didn't have to. Now that zero hour was closer, the
confusion turned into order like a miracle.
Rick continued to work on the drone section. The drone mechanism was
actually in two parts. The part on which Rick worked was to be installed
in the rocket. The other part would be installed in the blockhouse where
it would be operated by the drone pilot.
Dick Earle maintained a constant check on the work, and Frank Miller was
always on hand. Miller had designed the drone system, based on
principles developed by Dr. Bond and other pioneers. As Rick worked, he
learned how the system operated. The drone pilot in the blockhouse sat
at a panel on which normal plane controls were duplicated in miniature.
In front of him were elaborate radar screens. The drone pilot watched
the radar screens and "flew" the rocket. As he moved the controls, code
signals were transmitted and picked up by the unit inside the rocket
where they were translated into mechanical movements of the rocket's
control surfaces by the number of servomotors.
Rick had to consult with Frank Miller several times, and he began to
grow apprehensive about the design engineer's health. Miller's face was
gray with pain most of the time, and he often held both hands on his
stomach when he thought no one was watching. Rick mentioned it to Dick
Earle.
"I know," Earle said. "I've tried to get him out of here, at least to
see the doctor, but he won't go. He says there'll be plenty of time when
the shoot is over."
Then, in the coolness of a Scarlet Lake dawn, Lieutenant Colonel Jerry
Lipton, one of the Air Force's crack pilots, arrived in one of the
latest jet trainers. The staff of Pegasus greeted him and got to work at
once. The jet trainer would take the place of the rocket for testing
purposes.
This was the field test of the drone system--the only time it would be
checked in actual flight until the day of use. While Rick, Dr. Bond, and
Dick Earle installed the flying portion of the system in the plane,
Gee-Gee Gould, Phil Sherman, and Charlie Kassick installed the control
section in the blockhouse.
The installation took all day. The sun was dropping behind the
blockhouse when final checks were made.
A guard arrived at Dick Earle's summons and mounted watch on the plane.
Another guard was always on duty at the blockhouse, and still another at
the now fenced-in pad where the sections of Pegasus were being
assembled.
The staff secured for the night. Test flight was scheduled for
midmorning. Rick had asked, and been given permission, to see the test
from the blockhouse. Jerry Lipton would run the blockhouse controls.
Another test pilot, who was driving up from the big test station at
Muroc Dry Lake, was due in the morning to serve as check pilot in the
drone-controlled jet trainer.
Rick went back to his barracks filled with excitement. The flying horse
was about to try his brains, if not his wings. Zero hour was getting
close.
When Scotty asked how things were coming, Rick described their
activities in enthusiastic detail. But Scotty only grinned. "I didn't
want a connection-by-connection description of each circuit in the
rocket. What I meant was, is there anything new on the Earthman?"
Rick shook his head. "I've kept my eyes open, but everything's normal as
Sunday at home."
Scotty got serious. "Better be alert every second. Don't forget, boy.
You're now sitting on the target."
"You're dead right," Rick agreed, somewhat subdued. "How are you doing?"
"Not bad. I have a list of eight people who go in and out of the
warehouses regularly. They go in and out so often none of them would
even be noticed. Also, I think I know how the transistors and servos
were taken out."
Rick stared. "Honest?"
"I think so. Ever notice how the cleaning men work? They have carts. Big
ones, made of metal. At one end is a kind of well, for brooms, mops, and
the vacuum cleaner wand and tubes. But most of the cart is just a metal
box. The sides open. They carry rags, soap, that sawdust stuff for the
floor, and so on. Get the picture? The warehouse janitor could have had
empty boxes all ready inside his cart. Then, in about two minutes flat,
he could have changed them for full boxes."
"You've got something there," Rick said with excitement. "Any idea which
janitor?"
Scotty nodded. "The one who gets the warehouses to clean most often is a
character named Dusty Rhoads. He's in and out a dozen times a day,
pushing his wagon. He empties the waste cans and sweeps up and generally
puts things in order. No one even notices him."
"Have you reported this to Preston or John Gordon?"
"No. It's only an idea so far. No evidence at all. There's nothing to
connect him with Mac or Pancho."
"Well," Rick said, "you're sure making faster progress than I am.
There's absolutely nothing suspicious at the project, and, believe me,
I'm watching closely."
Morning brought trouble, but not of the suspicious kind. Lieutenant
Colonel Jerry Lipton walked into the project shed with a note in his
hand.
"Test is off," the pilot said. "For today at least."
Dick Earle motioned to Rick. "Get Dr. Bernais."
Rick rushed to the phone and called the project technical director. Dr.
Bernais promised to come over at once. He wasted no time, arriving
almost before Rick had a chance to report back to Dick Earle. With him
was John Gordon.
Jerry Lipton greeted them. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. The other pilot
cracked up in his car last night on Route 66 just west of Barstow. He's
not in bad shape, but he won't be flying for a week or two. We can get
another pilot, but it will take a day."
"We can't spare a day," Bernais said forcefully. "Surely there must be
something we can do!"
John Gordon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You've controlled drones many
times, Colonel. Is there anything unusual about this job?"
"There is nothing unusual about the test we're going to run. There will
be plenty unusual about the actual rocket flight," Lipton replied.
"Then the pilot who sits in the plane doesn't necessarily have to be
what you might call a 'hot shot'?"
Lipton shrugged. "Not particularly. He only takes over if the drone
control goes out."
"Then any pilot would do?"
"Any pilot who could handle the jet."
Rick wondered what Gordon was leading up to.
"Then why can't we find a check pilot here on the base?"
Rick now understood what Gordon was leading up to!
"We could do that," Lipton agreed. "Do you have any pilots on hand?"
Gordon turned suddenly and looked straight at Rick. "Don't I recall that
you were flying your own plane when you worked on that job at
Spindrift?"
Rick gulped. "Yes, sir. I fly my own plane. But it isn't a jet, sir!"
"What is it?" Lipton asked.
Rick named it.
"Ever fly a jet?"
Rick had, and for the moment he was sorry. Thanks to his friends at
JANIG, he had been given an opportunity to try out a Navy jet trainer
after the case of _The Wailing Octopus_ in the Virgin Islands. Steve
Ames had made special arrangements at the Naval Air Station when Rick
wistfully said he would like to fly a jet just once.
Lipton studied him. "Hmmm. This jet is hotter than those trainers by a
factor of three, except in landing. Since landing is the critical
factor, I'll buy it. First, though, we'll take a little ride."
Rick was filled with mixed excitement and apprehension.
"I'll be glad to try, sir," he said, with more confidence than he felt.
The test pilot rode to the lake bed with Rick in the jeep. On the way he
inspected the boy critically. "You're pretty young," he said at last.
"Yes, sir," Rick said, thinking that Lipton wasn't very old himself,
especially for his rank.
"Remember the first rule of flying?"
"Yes, sir. Keep your nerve and your flying speed."
"Correct. Remember that, and follow it, and you'll have no trouble."
Lipton followed with a rapid-fire description of instruments, controls,
and procedures that left Rick's mind reeling. Finally the test pilot
produced a check list. "Think you can follow it?"
Rick swallowed hard. "Can I sit in the plane for a few minutes and
study, sir?"
Lipton smiled. "Sure. Call me when you're ready."
Rick climbed into the pilot's seat and took the stick, put his feet in
the stirrups, and started getting acquainted with the feel of the
controls while eyes and brain concentrated on the incredible clutter of
instruments that every pilot has to know better than the working of his
own hand.
More study wouldn't help. It was now or never. He called to the pilot.
"Ready, sir."
Lipton climbed up on the wing and motioned to Rick to put on the helmet
and plug in his phones. There was a spare helmet-and-phone set in the
rear seat for the Air Force officer. Rick switched the radio on and
heard the soft hum of dynamotors. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do
you read me?"
"All right, Rick. Follow your check list and start the blowtorch going."
Rick mopped sweat from his face and went through the starting procedure.
The jet flared into sudden life with a roar.
"Ready to taxi," he said.
"Roger. Proceed when ready."
Cautiously Rick fed throttle, aware of the tremendous power under his
hand--power that could be deadly if misused. Using the brakes he turned
the jet and then let it roll forward to the edge of the black strip that
marked the runway.
"Ready to take off, sir," he said.
"Roger. Fire away."
He made a quick survey of the sky to be sure no other aircraft were in
the vicinity. There was no control tower with which to check out. Now!
He made himself relax a little and pushed the throttle to take-off
position.
Fast acceleration snapped him back against the seat. The jet began to
wander a little and he corrected automatically, and almost
overcorrected! With infinite care he straightened out again, just as the
plane was air-borne. Eyes riveted on the horizon, he felt for the switch
that pulled up the landing gear and felt the plane spurt ahead as the
drag of wheels and struts was removed.
Lipton's voice came through the phones, relaxed and a little amused. "No
need to treat this bucket of bolts like a baby, Rick. You've got power
to burn. Go, man! Make like a bird!"
Rick had to grin. He was flying automatically, as he flew his own Sky
Wagon. But Lipton was right. This was a jet, not a low-powered sports
plane. Suddenly exuberant he cracked the throttle and stood the jet on
its tail. It climbed vertically, an amazing sensation for Rick. Power to
burn!
The altimeter read ten thousand feet. He asked, "Can I sort of toss it
around a little?"
Lipton chuckled. "You're flying, and I have a strong stomach."
Rick kicked the plane over and let it drop, saw the Nevada mountains
rushing up to meet him. He leveled off and pulled into a tight turn,
much as he might turn the Sky Wagon. G forces slammed him into the
bucket seat and the world went gray as blood drained from his head.
"Let up," Lipton snapped.
Rick corrected groggily. Wow! He had forgotten that power had its
limitations, too. A tight turn meant pulling too many G's--too many
times the force of gravity--for safety. "Sorry," he said huskily.
"It's all right. Feel your way."
Rick did so, for an ecstatic ten minutes, then, realizing that time was
moving and he was burning fuel at a terrific rate, he asked reluctantly,
"What now, sir?"
"Let's go home," Lipton said calmly.
Landing was the tricky part. He hurriedly read through the landing
checkoff list, then started in. Flaps, throttle setting. Then, wheels
down and locked. Air speed correct.
"Better keep flying speed," he thought grimly. "This bucket has the
gliding angle of a brick."
For a moment habit almost fouled him up again, as he waited for the
plane to "sell out," then he remembered that he had to fly it in. With
an anxious eye on his air-speed indicator he gave it a little more
throttle, then felt the struts compress as the wheels hit. He chopped
the throttle and tried out the brakes with tender care. He didn't intend
to flip them over through carelessness now. Gradually he brought the jet
to a halt, reset flaps, and then rolled the plane back to their starting
point. After he had killed the engine he just sat there, too limp to
move. Then, slowly, and with vast relief, he started to get up.
Jerry Lipton, who had climbed out on the wing, reached over and put a
hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"
Rick looked up in surprise. "I was getting out, sir."
"Stay put. I'm getting out. You're going for another ride."
He asked weakly, "Right now, sir?"
"No time like the present," Lipton said. He grinned. "How did you like
it?"
Rick returned the grin. "I guess you know the answer to that."
"I guess I do. It was a good flight, Rick. You only let your normal
habits get in the way twice, and you corrected fast both times. Keep
your helmet on now. I'll be talking to you from the blockhouse in five
minutes."
It was less than that. Apparently Dick Earle and the staff had the
control circuits warmed and ready.
Lipton's voice came through the phones. "Visual take-off, Rick. The
radar will pick you up at five hundred feet. I may overcontrol a little
until I'm used to the equipment, but don't let it bother you. Do not
take control yourself unless I give the word. There is one exception. If
we lose communication in anyway, take over at once and bring it in. Now,
repeat back."
"I will not take over controls, except on order from you. If
communications fail, I will assume control at once and land the plane."
"Correct. Now, switch on. Start 'er up."
Rick did so.
"Release all controls and sit back. I am now controlling."
"Roger. Controls are all yours."
Servomotors held the brakes and advanced the throttle. The plane turned
and taxied to the end of the runway. Rick sat there, trying not to feel
uneasy. Just the same, it was weird to realize that Jerry was handling
the plane from within the blockhouse.
"Take off. Here goes."
The roar increased and the plane picked up speed. Rick marveled as it
lifted smoothly and the wheels retracted. Then, almost before he
realized it, the plane had climbed and the earphones emitted, "I have
lost visual contact. You are now under control by radarscope."
The jet climbed rapidly, then started through a series of maneuvers.
Rick began to enjoy it. But the flight was almost over. "I'm bringing
you in," the pilot said.
The plane turned, leveled, and the throttle was retarded. The nose
dropped, in perfect alignment with the runway.
"You're off the scope and I have you on visual contact. Have faith, boy.
You're almost home."
Rick braced himself and waited for the shock of landing. There was none.
The jet skimmed along the runway, touched wheels, and settled so
smoothly he couldn't have said exactly when the plane touched down.
Lipton, Earle, and the staff came hurrying from the blockhouse. Rick
climbed down, pulling the helmet off hair that was swimming-wet with
perspiration.
Now the brains for winged horse had been tried and proved. Rick looked
at the great rocket, almost hidden by the crane and its equipment. Soon,
he thought. Soon Pegasus would make the payoff flight!