The Last Pilot: A Novel (6 page)

How’s Gracie?

She’s okay.

I’ll bet she’s not.

Look, we knew it’d be something like this, Glen.

Might not be a surprise, Glennis said, but that don’t mean it hurts any less bad.

Just one them things, Harrison said.

I’m gonna come over tomorrow, see her, she said.

You’re gonna have plenty enough on your plate tomorrow, he said.

Might need the company myself.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, hon, Yeager said.

If I didn’t think you could do it, hotshot, I wouldn’t be letting you fly, she said.

You’re my good luck charm, Glen; I’m gonna paint your name on the nose.

You can’t do that, she said.

Hell I can’t, it’s my ass on the line. Jim, let’s get in early; I’ll bring some paint.

Sounds good, Harrison said.

Glamorous Glennis
, Yeager said.

Glennis cracked a smile. Pancho appeared behind the bar and called them all miserable pudknockers.

You havin a goddamn s
é
ance or are you gonna drink something? she said.

Scotch, Harrison said.

That’s more like it.

Pancho brought four drinks and they sat around the table and toasted the
Glamorous Glennis
.

Best be gettin home, Harrison said.

Be good to that wife of yours, Glennis said.

He nodded. Five-thirty? he said to Yeager.

Bright and early.

Gonna be a hell of a day, Pancho said.

Say, hon, Yeager said to Glennis, what say we saddle up a coupla Pancho’s best mares an have ourselves a little ride? Damn pretty night, tonight.

Sure, she said, assuming you can catch me.

Yeager watched her stand and leave. He smiled, then followed.

Harrison, Pancho said, come here, would you?

She led him over to the serving hatch and picked up a brown paper package.

Saw Gracie earlier, she said.

She told you?

Pancho nodded.

Couple steaks, she said, handing him the package. Give her a big kiss from me.

Thanks, Pancho.

Get out of here, would you? You’re making this place look like a goddamn soup kitchen.

He got home at midnight. The bedroom was dark. Grace breathed into the silence, sleeping on her side. He sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoned his shirt, unlaced his shoes. He pulled open the curtains. The desert was white. The milky light fell into the room. He felt heavy. He pulled a pack of Luckies from his shirt pocket, tapped it on his leg, put one in his mouth. He reached over to the box of matches on his bedside table. Grace stirred. The flame flared orange on her bare shoulder. He sat and smoked and thought of nothing.

First light was a diesel spill across the sky. The ground was gray. The hard silence of the desert sung. In the main hangar, men worked in old fatigues and brown coveralls. They worked in yellow light. When they got tired, they drank dark coffee from the pot at the back. When they got cold, they smoked cigarettes in the janitor’s office. Black leads laid thick across the concrete floor. The X-1 sat quiet in the commotion. Harrison ate a sweet roll, drank hot coffee and watched the men work.

Anyone get that Drene? he said.

We got it, one of the mechanics called out.

Hey, Harrison, got a minute?

It was Yeager.

Sure.

They stepped out of the hangar to talk. It was cold.

Got me a little ol problem, Yeager said. Horse threw me at Pancho’s last night. Sorta dinged my goddamn ribs.

What do you mean, sorta dinged?

Well, guess you might say I damn near like to broke a coupla sonsabitches.

You seen a doctor?

Hell, no. I made Glen call out the vet. Taped me up pretty tight. Told me to take it easy an get myself to a doctor. Old man ground me if he found out.

No doubt about that, Harrison said. How’s it feelin?

Feels kinda okay now but last night damn near killed me.

Uh-huh.

If this was the first flight, Yeager said, I wouldn’t even think about tryin it, but, hell, I know every move I gotta make.

Okay, Harrison said, if you think you can do it, but how in the hell are you gonna lock the cockpit door? That takes some liftin and shovin.

Hadn’t thought of that, Yeager said.

Hang on a second, Harrison said. I got an idea.

He walked over to the janitor’s office.

Hey, Sam, he said.

Captain Harrison. You look like a man who needs something.

You could say that. You got a broom?

Sure do.

Mind if I borrow it a second? We got a little situation here.

Be my guest, Sam said, nodding to where the broom leaned against the wall. Harrison picked it up and laid it on the table.

Here, he said to Sam. Hold this.

Sam held the end of the handle. Harrison found a saw and cut a foot off the end.

That ought to do it, he said.

Yes, sir, Sam said.

Thanks, Sam. Sorry about the broom.

What you got? Yeager said, as Harrison walked back.

Latest breakthrough in supersonic flight engineering, he said, handing Yeager the broom handle. That’ll fit right into the door handle. You can use your left hand to raise it up and shove it locked.

Let’s give it a try, Yeager said.

They walked back into the hangar, climbed up to the cockpit and tested the technique. No one saw.

Looks good, Harrison said. How you gonna get down the ladder though?

One rung at a time. Either that or Ridley can piggyback me.

You bring the paint?

Sure did.

Let’s get on with it, case any brass show up.

The sun moved west a foot an hour. The sky was empty and long. Pancho stood outside, cigar burning between her teeth. The flight was scheduled for ten. Inside, Glennis sat up at the bar. Pancho took one last pull then put the cigar out on the rail and went back inside.

Get you anything, sweetie? she said.

No, Glennis said. Thanks, Pancho.

You okay?

Glennis looked up.

Never know how many places to set for supper, she said.

They sat and waited.

How’s his side this morning? Pancho said.

Says it aches, but the vet fixed him up pretty good, least for today.

The radio was on. It was almost ten. Technicians were preparing the flight.

Gracie, Pancho said.

Glennis turned around.

Hey, Glennis said. I was coming to see you later.

She slid from the stool and the women embraced.

Thought I might as well be here, Grace said. Hi, Pancho.

You want a drink? Pancho said.

I’ll have a beer.

Grace, honey, I’m so sorry, Glennis said, sitting back down. Jim told me last night.

It’s fine, Grace said, really.

Let me come over later.

Sure, that’d be nice.

Pancho put a bottle down in front of her.

I just want this over with, Glennis said.

Almost ten, Pancho said. Sure you don’t want nothin?

Beer’d be good I guess, she said.

On me. Both of them, Pancho said, reaching beneath the bar and passing her a bottle.

Glennis stared at the bottle of suds, turning it clockwise with her fingertips.

There’s this thing, she said, happens time to time. Sure wish it didn’t. Don’t know how I see it, but I do; I always do. I’m on the airplane with him. He’s strapped in, door locked, waiting for the drop. And I see, over his shoulder, the pressure fall on the fuel gauge. Needle drops fast, to zero. Only he doesn’t see it, so I tell him, Chuck, your fuel pressure’s dropped, you need to call for an abort, but he can’t hear me, so I shout at him to check his dials—which, course, he does anyway—and I feel so relieved. He turns everything off and calls for an abort over the loop. Tower hears him, Jim and Kit flying chase hear him, boys in the NACA truck hear him—I hear him—but the B-29 pilot up there—and I never know who it is—doesn’t hear him. He’s accidentally got his finger punched down on the microphone transmission key. I
know
because, my God, I can
see
it; I’m there in the B-29 cockpit too. So I start shouting,
Don’t drop him!
but he can’t hear me and he starts the countdown, ten through one, which everyone on the loop hears, including Chuck, who starts yelling,
Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!
and Jim and Kit and the others are yelling
Don’t drop him!
and I start screaming
Don’t drop him!
until I’m hoarse and crying and the countdown finishes and he reaches over to the handle and releases the plane, and … that’s when I wake up screaming.

Christ, Pancho said.

What you tell Chuck? Grace said.

That I had a bad dream.

You tell him about it?

I can’t. It don’t feel right. Like I’d be damaging his confidence. And if I do that, it might affect the flight. Just thinking it feels wrong; like letting the thought in is enough to … I tell him, one of the kids had a fall, or got hit by a car; something like that.

She drank her bottle down.

That’s why I didn’t want my name on that damn airplane, she said, wiping her lips. Ain’t nothing glamorous about it.

Grace nodded. On the radio, Ridley said, let’s go.

They listened as the B-29, with the X-1 mated beneath it, rolled down the runway, took off and began to climb.

It’s a beautiful day, Grace said.

Yes it is, Glennis said.

The women sat and drank and the sun beat down on the bar.

Harrison’s voice; Pancho looked at Grace. He was taking off in a Shooting Star, flying chase with Kit Murray. Pancho poured herself a scotch. From the mothership, they heard four minutes called, then two minutes, then Ridley’s voice again, to Yeager, waiting in the plane below.

You all set, Chuck?

Hell, yeah, I’m tired of waitin; let’s drop this crate.

Countdown numbers tumbled from the radio. Pancho turned up the volume. The X-1 was dropped. They stared into their drinks and listened. Yeager lit the four rocket chambers and climbed, steep, up. His voice on the radio was faint, that West Virginian drawl.

Had a mild buffet […] jus the usual instability.

The X-1 reached point nine-six Mach.

Say Ridley, make a note here […] elevator effectiveness regained.

The Mach needle moved to point nine-eight, fluctuated, then went off the scale. Pancho heard a sudden, hard crack; sharp and loud enough to ripple the beer in the bottles and rattle the frames on the wall.

Say Ridley, make another note, will ya? There’s something wrong with this ol Machometer … it’s gone kinda screwy on me.

If it is, Chuck, we’ll fix it. Personally, I think you’re seeing things.

Well, guess I am, Jack, an I’m about to punch a hole in the sky.

They heard Yeager chuckle to himself. Glennis smiled. Pancho slammed her hands down on the bar.

Yeager! she said. That miserable sonofabitch!
Just the usual instability?
Man doesn’t have a nerve in his goddamn body!

Glennis laughed, Grace squeezed her hand and Pancho made martinis to celebrate.

The desert cooled, night fell. Yeager claimed his free steak dinner at Pancho’s.

Got you a present, Harrison said, handing him a brown paper package tied with string.

Thanks, he said, pulling at the string. Inside was a raw carrot, a pair of glasses and an old length of rope.

All cowboys use rope, Harrison said. You can use that to tie yourself to the horse.

Tricky seein things in the dark, Ridley said. Jackrabbit holes, corral gates …

Why, thanks a whole lot, Yeager said. One thing about you guys, you’re real sincere.

He stuck the carrot in his mouth, put on the glasses and swung the rope around his head.

The men laughed. Pancho came over.

How’s the Lone Ranger? she said.

All right, all right, Glennis said. Time to give the fastest man in the world some peace.

There was cheering.

Don’t feel right, Pancho said, not celebrating properly.

Orders are orders, Ridley said.

This is the most historic flight since the goddamn Wright Brothers and the air force wants to keep a lid on it.

Just the way they figured it, Harrison said.

Well it’s a crock of shit, Pancho said.

Matters that we busted that ol sound barrier; doesn’t matter who knows.

You can’t keep a thing like that secret, she said. Word’ll get out and every hot pilot in the country will know this is the place to aim for. This here’s the new frontier. Everything’s gonna change. So tell Boyd I’ll keep his little secret—hell, I’m keeping enough of his dirty ones anyways—but tonight, we’re celebratin.

Pancho threw out anyone not involved with the X-1 program and declared the bar gratis. She always had her booze flown up from Mexico, telling everyone it tasted better tax-free. Grace handed out cold cuartito bottles of Pac
í
fico from a crate on the floor. Harrison and Ridley grabbed Yeager and wrestled him onto the bar. He stood and swayed and they toasted him three times.

It was nearly two. Yeager and Ridley were head-to-head across a table in a shot contest, slowly downing then inverting their glasses in turn. Pancho refereed, calling odds, collecting money. More glasses were empty than full. Harrison cheered and wondered where his wife was. He knocked back his scotch, put down his glass and searched her out.