1633

Nasi nodded. 'I will set off first thing tomorrow. When do you want me to report back?'

Mike chuckled again. It was a harsh-sounding chuckle. 'I won't be surprised if I'm up in Magdeburg myself, soon. Emperor Gustav is in Luebeck, you know. If all hell breaks loose-which is the way it's looking to me-I'll probably have to make some rush trips to Magdeburg. For all I know I could get there before you do.'

When the meaning registered, Nasi's eyes widened. 'You can't-!'

'Oh, don't be silly. I'm no hick, y'know, even if I am a country boy.' Mike squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest in mimicry of a boy's bravado. 'I've flown in planes lots of times.'

Chapter 27

The light from the single 75-watt bulb cast shadows in the dim corners of the kitchen. Rain pattered on the windows. Papers littered the table, agendas, lists, crude diagrams, and hastily scribbled notes, competing for space with the remains of dinner and a prized Mason jar, lid set aside.

'Another touch, Hal? Jim? Kathy?' Jesse asked as he reached for the jar.

'Not just now, Jesse, thank you,' said the aerospace engineer, looking up from his notes. 'Perhaps when we finish.'

'No thanks, sir.' The young officer barely glanced up from his own lists and duty rosters.

Jesse looked up at Kathy who had started clearing the dishes. She gave him a quick shake of the head and a meaningful nod toward his own glass. He hesitated and carefully put the jar back in its place without pouring. There were some disadvantages to married life. Kathy had grown up in a family riddled with alcoholism, and wasn't too happy with Jesse's somewhat hard-drinking habits. He chafed, sometimes, at her attitude on the subject. On the other hand…

What the hell. It doesn't hurt me any. He shoved the jar a little farther away from him and gave his full attention to the young captain.

'Okay then, Jim, you start off.'

'Yes, sir. Operational support squadron manning stands at thirty-seven, including Sergeant Tipton and three men up at Magdeburg. I have four Americans and thirty- three Germans-but only fifteen of them speak English all that well.'

Jesse frowned. The United States, as a political entity, was letting the language question settle itself out however it would. The Stearns administration had ruled out anything even resembling an 'official language.' That had been one of things which Simpson had demanded in the election campaign; Mike had just as firmly denounced the idea-and, once elected, had been true to his campaign promise.

On a strictly political level, Jesse agreed with Mike. By leaving the issue a purely voluntary and social one, Mike had taken the political tension out of it. Some people used English, some German, some-more and more-were effectively bilingual. And already, in the slang and patois which was beginning to emerge everywhere, Jesse thought the first signs of a new language were perhaps discernable. He knew enough history to know that 'English' itself had come into existence that way-a largely Germanic language, in its basic structure and everyday vocabulary, which had over time been transformed by the influence of the French brought by the Normans. A language, as a wag once put it, forged by Norman men-at-arms trying to seduce Saxon barmaids.

But Jesse was running an Air Force, not a country. The needs of flying-even in peacetime, much less in time of war-didn't leave any room for linguistic confusion. So, since all the technical terms and most of the concepts involved were only expressed in English, he had quietly insisted that every airman at least had to start learning English. He knew that Simpson was following the same policy in the Navy. Frank Jackson, commanding the less technically oriented army, seemed not to be worrying about the issue at all.

As usual, of course, theory was one thing. Practice another.

'Uh, we lost four today, sir,' continued Jim, proving the point. 'They just wandered off and didn't report at dinner. The usual story, probably. All single men. They didn't mind working, but drill bored them.'

Jesse repressed a sigh. 'Go on.'

'Yes, sir. Um, the barracks are nearly completed, including the fireplaces at both ends. Family quarters are next, but for the time being the women and kids of the married troops are in the barracks. We should finish before the snow comes, so at least no one will freeze.'

'Good, good,' Jesse said. 'What about operational facilities?'

'Well, we've finished cutting down the trees and moving the field fence farther out. We filled in that ditch in front of the normal landing area. I'm afraid our neighbor, Mr. Sterling, is angry at us. He's claiming we've stolen five acres of his best ground.'

'We did, Jim. Governments can do that. Don't worry about it, I'll speak to President Stearns. He'll compensate Sterling somehow. And I'll speak to Sterling myself. Go on. What about fuel storage?'

The captain smiled. 'That's the best news. Capacity is two thousand gallons with eight hundred sixty gallons of M85 methanol fuel on hand. We've finished building the berms around those salvaged house fuel-oil tanks and the plumbing is finished to the hand pumps in the refueling area. No more flash fires, I think.'

Jesse smiled. 'Now that is good news. Fine work, son. And remind me tomorrow to send a note of appreciation to Kerry over at the methanol plant.'

'Uh, yes sir. Uh, Kerry told me to pass on to you that you owe him five dollars.'

Jesse's eyes widened. 'What for?'

Behind him, Kathy snorted. 'You don't remember? I'm not surprised, as blotto as you were. About two weeks ago, over at the Thuringen Gardens, you bet him five bucks he wouldn't make his methanol production goal. I tried to stop you, but…'

Jesse grimaced. 'Anything else?'

Captain Horton referred to his notes. 'Not at this time, sir. Sorry about the runners.'

'Can't be helped, I suppose,' Jesse said. 'But take a word of advice. These newcomers don't understand us, yet. Ease up on the drill.'

He held up his hand. 'I know, I know, it instills discipline and a sense of teamwork. But consider-we're not going to ask these men to stand in a battle line. Their job is to serve those aircraft out there and this airfield. Most of them are only here for the food and shelter, at this point. So keep 'em busy and too tired to run. So long as we are flying, we can expect the majority to stick. I'll work on getting them uniforms and we'll hand out a few promotions. You made a good decision by making Danny Tipton the squadron first sergeant. He's a steady sort and he's done a fine job organizing the airfield up at Magdeburg. But while he's gone, you need another NCO. That mean- looking tall German, what's his name-Krueger? Make him a sergeant. If he hasn't been one before, I'm Queen of the May. He'll help keep the Germans in line. And work on your German. Just because we're requiring them to learn English doesn't mean we shouldn't speak German ourselves.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Okay, then. Now get out your list, because I'm about to give your squadron some more work.'

The young officer obediently bent to his paper.

Jesse ticked off the items on his fingers.

'First, airfield lighting. With us 'to-ing and fro-ing' back and forth from Magdeburg, eventually someone's going to get caught up at night. It doesn't have to be fancy. Maybe a line of methanol-filled tin cans on each side of the 'runway.' Have the men practice lighting them off a couple of times.

'Second, I want three aircraft shelters ready before winter. Again, nothing fancy-three-sided covered affairs, facing south. You figure out where it's best to put them. Oh, and find some small tarps. I want one in each aircraft to cover the engine when it's away from home station. Got it?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Third, start detailing an enlisted man to assist the Tower Officer. They're to be taught basic radio procedures and traffic control. Now that we have two aircraft, I don't want an accident because someone went outside to take a leak. We'll eventually transfer tower operations over to your men entirely.

'Lastly, I want you to start investigating the possibility of paving the entire runway. That includes taxiways and parking ramp-the whole nine yards.'

Jim protested, 'Sir, that's impossible!'

Jesse grinned. 'Sure, right now, it is. I said 'investigate,' didn't I? Next time you're in Magdeburg, go talk to Mr. Simpson. I understand he's got plans for producing some sort of paving material. Find out what it is, concrete, macadam, whatever, and what it will take to get it down here to the field. We're talking long range here, son. But in case you haven't noticed, that field out there gets pretty sloppy when it rains and takes just about forever to dry. Can do?'

'Okay, Colonel.'

'Fine, then.' Jesse leaned back in his chair. 'Oh, and remember to salute Admiral Simpson when you meet him. He goes in big for that kind of stuff.'

'Roger that, sir.'

Jesse paused as Kathy placed a cup of tea in front of him. He leaned his head against her hip for a moment.

'Thanks, honey.'

'Jess, I think I'll go to bed. Don't be long and don't forget to turn down the stove,' said the tall blonde. 'G'night Hal, Jim.'

'Good night, Katherine.'

'G'night, Mrs. Wood.'

Jesse admired the view as his wife left and turned back to the men at the table. He saw Hal grinning around his pipestem. The retired aeronautical engineer had kept his pipe habits, even though Grantville's tobacco supply had long since vanished.

'What?'

Hal removed his pipe, unconsciously tapped it in his palm, and smiled even more broadly.

'Nothing, Jesse, nothing. These days, it's just nice to see such a scene of domestic bliss. Makes me miss my Dorothy.'

'Heh.' Jesse grinned back. 'You'll see a different aspect of 'domestic bliss' if we don't get on with it. So go ahead, please. Materials, problems, construction status.'

'Right.' Hal checked his list momentarily.

'Engines. As you know, we've obtained first right of purchase or salvage of light-block, aircraft-compatible engines from the strategic resources board. I've identified at least a dozen engine types in town that will probably serve, but I would prefer using those that I can find in multiple units. A one-of-a-kind engine presents obvious spare problems. The best news is that most newer engines tend to be smaller and lighter, turbocharged, with higher compression ratios and horsepower than older models. Suitably stripped down, with such things as the air conditioning, power steering and anti-pollution devices removed, we can even use water-cooled engines. The town mechanics really got enthusiastic when I explained what we needed.'

Hal paused. 'By the way, I hired Harvey Matowski as chief mechanic-for the firm, that is. If you want him in the Air Force, you'll have to talk to him.'

'Right. I will,' Jesse noted. 'So what kind of engines did you find?'