Magestic 2, page 47
I smiled. ‘Seems like a good system.’
‘And then there’re the Bastards.’
‘Excuse me?’
He smiled. ‘The inspectors, but they don’t mind being called that, they like it. Their bowling shirts have that on.’
I cocked an eyebrow. ‘And why, pray tell, are they called that?’
‘They inspect parts and planes at random after tossing a coin, and if they find anything wrong the team leader is in trouble.’
‘Ah.’
‘Worst we had was when a fuel tank was tested on a near complete aircraft. It flooded the wing and dripped out the flaps, a hose left unattached. In cases like that, everyone concerned gets some crap. Worst sanction is to be grounded.’
‘Grounded?’
‘They’re not allowed into the town - no bars or cafes, for a month. And they have to wear the hat that says so.’
I laughed. ‘And the safety record?’
‘Our safety record is excellent. When we receive returned aircraft it’s usually engines eighty percent of the time, the rest down to seaplane bashing.’
‘Seaplane bashing? There are people who bash our seaplanes?’ I teased.
‘Landing hard in a storm will shake them to pieces; things break or come lose. And they hit floating debris in the water. The runway aircraft fair much better, although we did have a bird taxi into a bus last week. We think the bus was in the wrong place.’
‘Damn right,’ I said. ‘Planes take priority. Much damage?’
‘The prop took the top of the bus off, which was a concern for the bus passengers on board. Had to replace the prop.’
‘And innovations?’
‘Between the Six series and the Seven series -’ He pointed. ‘- those are Seven series, there were three hundred and forty alterations.’
‘That all?’
‘Most were very small, including a warmer toilet seat.’
‘Warmer … seat?’
‘At altitude they get chilly.’
I smiled. ‘Yes, those toilets are not heated.’
‘And there’s now a variant with four beds in the rear, curtained off,’ he informed me. ‘And the in-flight movie is popular.’
I was shocked. What did this man know of our era? ‘In-flight … movie?’
‘There’s a pin-hole lens in the forward section, and it displays the image on a white screen about two foot across – quite crisp and sharp the image is. People can sit at the front for half an hour each and peer down as they fly over towns and cities.’
‘Ah,’ I let out, now relieved.
‘And auto-trim is always being tinkered with. Be landing the damn planes soon.’
‘That’ll save on pilot’s wages,’ I said, making him laugh. ‘What’s the frame lifetime?’
He took a moment. ‘For an older Goose, we believe twelve years, because they take a bashing in the water. For a runway Goose, we say fifteen years, but the truth is we don’t know. We’ve not found any corrosion yet, and cracks are down to sea landings. We have an old frame in the thermal room, and it’s had a hell of a time in recent years - hot, cold, damp - and it’s still structurally sound. We think that particular frame has had the equivalent of twenty years flying.’
I inspected a newly finished aircraft, many signs stuck to parts, with instructions about what to do - or not to do - before flying, then I grabbed one of the golf-cart type buggies they used to scoot between factories – and engine like a lawn mower. I headed for the secure factory, soon stood next to a prop fighter. It looked the same.
‘And new innovations?’ I asked the manager.
‘We’ve had the night-sight fitted and tested on a few.’
‘How’s that working out?’
He made a face. ‘It’s clever, very clever, but the illumination is limited. You could fly at night and see towns and mountains, but if the lights were out in an enemy stronghold you’d be hard pressed to hit the right building.’
‘What about seeing other aircraft?’
‘Oh, that works much better, because it sees hot engines a long way off.’
‘So it could find an enemy plane at night and shoot, and they wouldn’t see us.’
He nodded. ‘Good for that sort of flying, yes, sir.’
‘How far away could you see a plane on a dark night?’
‘If it was a Super Goose, you’d see it a mile or two away.’
‘That’s good. Any other changes?’
‘Better radios, always better radios. They seem to change every damn week - if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.’
‘Progress, I guess. What’s air to air radio range these days?’
‘A good thirty-forty miles,’ he informed me. ‘The sets get power from the engines, and you can push the power up or down, down if you are close to the other aircraft and don’t wish to alert anyone else that you’re around.’
‘They can change frequency?’ I asked,
‘Oh, yes, about thirty settings now. Talk of an onboard scrambler, but I don’t see the point.’
‘Someday, the enemy may listen in, and get a hint of an attack.’
‘Oh, there’s something called a jammer in there now. Apparently, you select the channel the enemy is on, broadcast static, and then crank up the power. They can’t use their radios if they’re close.’
‘Good. It all helps. How many do we have?’
He sighed. ‘May I ask, sir, why we stockpile them – when the Americans and British would certainly buy them?’
I repeated my previous comments about war preparations, and he seemed to understand. But it was an odd situation. And we now had two hundred stockpiled; wings off, props off, covered in layers of our own blue plastic sheeting as they sat shivering.
The next day I joined Jimmy on a flight up to the secret base, both of us wrapped up warm in Parkas, the weather poor around Trophy, cold but clear at the base. As we came in to land I noticed several new hangars, massive hangars, and more half-sunken buildings again dotted about the tundra.
Stepping down from our Goose, our breath now visible in the cold air, we found jeeps waiting, Jimmy directing our driver to a large hangar, a chilly five-minute drive. We thanked the driver, who waited, and entered the hangar through a man-sized door, a cold-looking soldier opening it for us. Inside, I could see a big shiny monster stood proud, dozens of people working around the edges of the hangar. She was a Super Goose bomber variant, but she had four jet engines slung under her wings.
I pointed at the engines. ‘They look huge?’
‘There’s a thick layer of alloy armour-plating around them, honeycomb between the layers. If the engines are hit by ground fire they’re protected, but the extra layer also helps if an engine explodes.’
‘Do they explode?’
‘Hell, they exploded on airliners in our era.’ He led me to the rear of an engine, and we peered inside. ‘We opted for more burners, smaller and stronger.’
‘What are the cross-hatched fins for?’
They help with strength, but they also help with burning up excess fuel. They, and the burners, are coated with a special alloy, painted on, and when the engine is running the alloy glows white hot, bits sparking off. They last about three hundred hours before you paint them again, and they burn up more of the wasted fuel. Out-pipe is also longer than our era to burn extra fuel, and the fuel is pre-heated and vaporised before it hits the burner nozzle. Fuel consumption is excellent.’
‘What height will she cruise at?’
‘She’ll happily cruise at thirty thousand plus.’
‘Pressurised?’
‘Part-pressurised, common cockpit oxygen as well as individual, big CO2 scrubber like a submarine. Thirty thousand feet feels like fifteen. As she flies, a pump pressurises tanks, and if necessary they can be breathed by the pilot just like a re-breather scuba tank; don’t need pure oxygen on long flights.’
‘Cool. And the range?’
‘She’s clocked nine thousand already without much effort. We think we could go to twelve thousand miles.’
‘Tokyo, from here?’
‘About four thousand five hundred in a straight line.’
‘Long old flight,’ I noted.
‘Would probably need to refuel somewhere to get a good bomb load off the ground,’ Jimmy commented. ‘But we have improved its take-off weight. Outside is a steam catapult - as on an aircraft carrier, quarter of a mile long. It saves a lot of fuel on take-off, helping the initial thrust. There’s also a ramp with a gentle ten degree angle and a drop off at the end; it adds ten thousand pounds to the bomb load by itself.’ He pointed into the engine. ‘See that small hole at the base?’
‘Yeah?’
‘It can be opened on landing and take-off; downward thrust. Adds more weight to the maximum bomb load.’
‘Vectored thrust. You out to make a Harrier Jump Jet?’ I asked with a grin.
‘Not … yet.’
‘How much will she lift?’ I asked.
‘We’ve had forty thousand pounds of dummy bombs in there. That’s the equivalent of … a hundred passengers or so.’
‘A lot more than a Lancaster bomber!’
‘The RAF pilots freaked when they saw her; they’re convinced she’ll reach the moon.’
‘Will she be ready in time?’ I asked, my thoughts on atom bombs.
‘It’ll be 1935 in a few months, so we have three years before the first flashpoint, and it will take till then to get a few of these ready.’
‘The nuke?’
‘First underground test in four months or so.’
‘Are we going to let anyone know about that?’ I posed.
‘Not yet, but I will show them the fuel-air explosive and make them think it’s a nuke. Come, next toy.’
In the next hangar we found one of the larger fighter jets being fussed over by twenty cold engineers, but now the aircraft had two air intakes, and resembled an old F4 Phantom. I walked around to the rear, my hands in my pockets, and found two jet exhausts.
‘Twin engine,’ I said.
‘Better payload and speed, and two engines is always safer. She’s about twenty percent bigger, with a good range. At a steady cruise she’ll cover twelve hundred miles with a decent payload.’
‘England to Berlin?’
‘About … five hundred miles, from East Anglia.’
‘What do you call a decent payload?’ I asked.
‘Eight thousand pounds; four two-thousand pound bombs. She’s light, so she’s got the power to weight ratio, but the engines still need a few years of tinkering.’
‘And without the payload, just as a fighter?’
‘Oh, then she flies like a rocket. We’ve had a thirty mil cannon underneath, and full ammo for the fifty cal guns, and she’s light and agile. She’ll make a mess of an ME109, if she slows right down. Hal is working on a whole new strategy: how to fight something a lot slower than yourself! Best bet is a high cruise, then to swoop down and shoot at distance, break away and climb. The Germans could never follow in a climb.’
‘And in a dogfight?’
‘She’s sluggish at that speed; the prop fighter would kick her ass. No, best use for this lump of a plane would be precision bombing, or to attack bombers with the swoop-n-shoot tactic. We have slung fifty cal pods for the wings, and they’d make a mess of a bomber formation. C’mon, last toy before we freeze to death.’ We walked toward another hangar. He added, ‘You know, there are more than a thousand people beneath our feet.’
‘How’s the spa?’
He smiled. ‘There are three now. And a pet bear, some Huskies, and a pet snow fox. They feed the Lemmings to the other animals.’
‘They all go stir crazy,’ I said, glancing up at parachute silk used as a thermal layer, the material fluttering.
In the next hangar I stopped dead. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ I stood staring a green Huey. ‘It looks more like a Huey than the Hueys in our era!’
‘Hal says he’s being nostalgic,’ Jimmy said with a grin.
‘Does it fly?’ I asked as I opened its door.
‘It flies very well. Engine lacks power, but it’ll get there.’
‘Are we going to use this at any point?’ I asked, scanning the controls.
‘Dunkirk to Dover is only thirty miles.’
I stared at him. ‘We are so … fucking with this timeline. What did the RAF boys make of this?’
‘They get an erection around it. They all want one.’
‘I want one as well, but Susan would kill me.’
‘Does she ever act ... as if she may go talk to the White House?’
I took a moment. ‘No. She’s either a brilliant spy, or just plain lazy.’
‘I think she’s waiting till around 1950; Cold War era,’ Jimmy suggested.
‘Well I don’t think she’s sending Magestic letters,’ I quipped. ‘What credibility would she have?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the father of her kids will provide the credibility.’
‘Ah,’ I let out. ‘Well, yes – especially after the war.’ I climbed down onto cold and damp concrete, Jimmy leading me towards a set of steps descending into the bowels of the Canadian tundra. Pungent warm air registered with my nostrils, a sharp contrast to the chilly outside air, and we found a busy corridor.
‘Right, boss,’ someone said in passing as we negotiated around people.
At the end of a long corridor - that appeared newly constructed, the walls not adorned with signs yet - we opened into a large foyer, a hotel style foyer.
‘This is a new comfy zone for the engineers,’ Jimmy explained as we took off our Parkas and carried them. The walls were lined with wood, and I ran a hand over it, finding it warm to the touch. Turning left into a corridor, one of many offshoots, we found a long corridor of wooden panelling, dozens of wooden doors. Jimmy knocked on one, a surprised face opening the door a moment later.
‘Boss?
‘Just showing Paul what these rooms look like.’
We squeezed past the man, finding a hotel style room with a nice bed, shelving, a writing desk, and a sink. No toilet.
‘Where’s the toilet?’ I asked.
‘End of the corridor,’ the man replied.
‘Comfy here?’ I asked.
‘They’re nice rooms, better than the dorms, and you get some peace to work. I can lock the door, so I don’t wake with a Huskie sleeping on the bed, or a bear, or fox, or a Lemming in with me.’
I laughed. ‘They a bit stir crazy.’
‘Something that Hal says is Vietnam Syndrome,’ the man reported. ‘In the bush too long.’
Back in the corridor, Jimmy took a moment to get his bearings, leading me on. We poked our heads into a communal lounge, men sat reading, a few paying cards, then found a library - hushed voices and huddled men. The restaurant we found seemed nice enough, and they employed lady waitresses, the first women I had noticed here. We passed a few RAF “chaps”, a nod given, Jimmy stopping at a door with a sign. Brothel.
‘Well, they don’t mince their signs around here, do they,’ I quipped.
We entered. Inside, we found it warm and with subdued lighting, mood lighting, candles and dull lamps. Six ladies sat on sofas on one side, one at a desk on the other side. Two were oriental, the rest looked Canadian.’
‘Hi, boss,’ the lady at the desk said.
‘How many ladies now?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-four, boss.’
Jimmy faced me. ‘Massage with a happy ending. Thank you ladies, carry on.’
Outside the brothel, we followed the corridor to a central area with many corridors coming off it, and climbed the stairs.
‘The above-ground facility is nice in summer,’ Jimmy informed me as we climbed the stairs. ‘Rooftop bar and all.’
We opened to another reception, a foyer area with people coming and going, and climbed a second set of steps to a bar, brightly lit with natural light from large glass windows, a dozen men sat around drinking or eating.
‘Better for the men,’ I commended.
‘Better cinema now, and some of the men play instruments, so there’s a band. Our managers live in this part, as well as those engineers with good brains and delicate fingers.’
On the roof, we stood in a chill wind and put our coats back on, and I took in the rooftop bar, sturdy walls of logs. At the base of each wall ran numerous holes for snow and water to drain away. The barbeque looked a bit cold and lonely, and lacking attention. Peering over the wall, I could see half-submerged buildings right out to the horizon.
‘Grown a bit,’ I commented.
‘A permanent thousand people here now, more in the summer.’
‘What’s our total tally at the factories?’ I wondered.
‘Eighteen thousand now, plus sub-contractors, and our main workforce earn way more than the national average for the States or Canada.’
I gave him a look. ‘Bit of a wages bill.’
‘Yeah, but we just about cover it with direct income. The radios, fridges, cars, trucks – they all make a profit. And the basic aircraft sales make a profit, so too the airlines. But the research is expensive, and big birds cost big bucks.’
‘How are the metal costs?’
‘Good. Our aluminium is very cheap, the alloys cheap; Po sends a ship once every two months, and that really helps. And half our staff pay rent back to us for their lodgings.’ He turned, leading me back down into the warm. ‘The combined revenue from things we make and sell covers the wages just about, but we have money from Po, from Kenya, and the Congo revenue is obscene.’
‘Made anything from the stock markets?’
‘Sat on countless millions, but I don’t want to sell yet. And we own businesses and land around the States now valued at sixty million. We won’t starve.’
‘How much is in the bank?’ I asked as we again descended to the bowels of Lemming Base.
‘Over seventy million, which - by today’s standards - is countless billions. And CAR is sat on twenty million quid.’
‘Our expensive train track?’
‘No longer a burden, since it’s mostly finished; we now run the trains and make a profit.’
Emerging at the same Huey hangar, we found our driver, and headed back to the Goose, engines soon turning over.
