Magestic 2, p.21
Magestic 2, page 21
That May, the US Army ordered another dozen Cessnas, and a twin-engine Dash-7 on evaluation. The British ordered a total of sixty Cessnas, most destined for the far corners of the empire where the planes were great for carrying mail securely, or diplomatic papers; the planes were preferable to the roads in places like Africa. And we benefited from the order book entries for another thirty aircraft to be delivered around Canada. The aircraft factory was starting to turn a profit, Columbia Airlines doing very well and growing in reputation.
We expanded the airfield and took on another sixty staff, shift patterns still being worked. Meanwhile, the secret factory was receiving equipment, men selected from the main workforce and being assigned to it. They were offered extra money, as well a bullet in the head if they spoke about the secrets within. They could report that they were working on a rocket plane, and that was it; anything else would cause them to lose their jobs. Even Bill and Ted did not fully understand the new aircraft that would soon be worked on. The physicists, mathematicians, and metallurgy guys were moved over, the best talent now on this project.
On day one, those new engineers found our scientists stood next to a six foot long engine, but with its propellers on the inside. They watched as it was started up, a deafening roar issued. It was a short first test, and any longer would have caused the engine to blow apart. The theory was given to the men, explained in detail, as well as the problems: it tended to fly apart and explode. Caution was needed.
The men pinched the best lathes from the factory, the best metals and alloys, and got to work, succeeding in blowing the engine apart every week. Good job we installed sandbags.
We could have made the engine better, but the fact was that we needed them to learn. And there was a big difference between this toy of an engine, and the real thing. Mr Frank Whittle was due to design the engine in around ten years in Britain, a few others having the idea at the same time, but we got in there early, and ours would advance by leaps and bounds.
The next ten years would see some of the most significant leaps in the planet’s history as far as aircraft designs were concerned, with or without our help. Planes would go from the red Baron’s bi-plane, to aluminium monoplanes capable of four hundred and sixty miles per hour. It was the grand age of aviation invention, so we were not causing too much of a stir.
Seeing Mac working on RPGs, I said, ‘I want some suitable to fit to the underside of the fighter.’
‘Not rockets?’
‘These will do the job; just lob them down at the troops and tanks below. Four on each outer wing, and they’d be quick to reload on the ground; just push in and click.’
A week later we had racks and tubes fitted to a fighter prototype. With Mac’s crude warheads fitted, Hal took off and pounded a nearby hillside, the wildlife disturbed.
‘Fine,’ Hal reported. ‘I blew up the area I was interested in. Against troops they’d be great. But make them aerodynamic and they’ll keep their speed better; keep the weight at the front. With that plane and those RPGs … I could make a mess of a train, a truck convoy, a building for sure. And if they were earthquake mortar standard I could dig up someone’s runway and spoil their day.’
‘Yeah, well the Italian fascists just grabbed power,’ I informed Hal.
‘Will we be getting a TV this year?’ Hal joked.
‘It starts this year doesn’t it,’ I realised. ‘John Logie Baird. Still, just the one channel - and nothing worth watching. He’ll turn in his grave when they start running adverts!’
I went and sat with Jimmy, getting pancakes and tea off Cookie. ‘Should we be involved with television or radio?’
‘Sure, but I was waiting for the 1929 crash. Right now stock prices are high, but after the crash they’ll be a tenth of the price.’
‘Fair enough.’ I took a moment. ‘Lindbergh.’
He lowered his paper, eyeing me with suspicion. ‘Yes…?’
‘We could load up a Cessna, definitely a Dash.’
Jimmy took a moment. ‘I think his plane was – will be - just about three feet longer than our Cessna.’
‘Well … it would put us on the map, and would be good for aircraft sales.’
‘If we had a thousand - we could probably sell them. Unlike our contemporaries, ours don’t snap as you fly along.’
‘I think we should do it.’
‘You mean, you think you … should do it.’
‘Or one of our guys,’ I said defensively.
‘We didn’t design our Cessna for that kind of flight. Have them convert a Dash, rip out the seats, extra fuel tanks, and see how far it goes. But use Hal or Hacker, since our other pilots may doze off.’
We made the conversion quickly, seats ripped out, extra fuel tanks rigged up. Some of those extra tanks sat in the wing space between the engines, some next to the pilot, the tanks well wrapped up so that they would not leak. They also came with a hand pump to top-up the main tanks; it was a flying petrol can. Our scientists adjusted engines and mixes, advice given on fuel conservation, but they figured it could fly for more than twenty-four hours easily enough. We moved the fuel tanks back and put a seat back in; it would have two pilots for safety.
Hal, plus a mortal pilot, took off at 5am one crisp and cold morning and headed for Toronto. They made it with plenty of fuel to spare, turned around after circling the city and came back, just over two thousand four hundred miles.
‘Easy,’ Hal reported. ‘And we still have plenty of fuel.’
A party was thrown, the press informed. Jimmy knew the production Dash-7 had the range, and now offered a non-stop Vancouver to Toronto ride, one less passenger allowed on. That would be followed by a non-stop Seattle/Vancouver to Los Angeles service.
Hal and his buddy then refuelled with regular gas, flying down to Los Angeles non-stop. There, they refuelled again, and headed across to New York. They made it to much fanfare. Without consulting with us, Hal refuelled again and set a course for Paris – alone. When he got there he sent us a telegram, and I felt a little deflated. This was the era of breaking records, of the pioneer spirit, and I had no wife or daughters to nag at me. I had Jimmy to nag at me, which was worse.
Hal refuelled, picking up a crazy British explorer in Paris – a Sir Winthrop something - giving the guy a lift to Nova Scotia. Well, it was someone to talk to. He then flew non-stop back to us alone after a night in a motel and a good meal. Everyone welcomed him back, the press out in force – the local press that was. Jimmy ordered the plane stripped and checked; it was a good test of its airframe.
Seeing the look on my face, Jimmy said, ‘Convert a Cessna, and test the range.’
I had a green light from “the wife”, soon ripping out any unnecessary junk and installing extra fuel tanks. I also had a new paint job done to my custom bird, our name all over it. Taking off one fine still dawn, I made it to Toronto without difficulty, staying the night in a hotel, reversing the leg the next day and getting used to peeing in a milk bottle and then emptying it over pristine Canadian countryside. It had been a beautiful ride, just me alone with the elements, a great view of the Canada offered up from three thousand feet.
‘Simple,’ I said.
‘They’re still mechanical objects, subject to breakdowns, and not as reliable as in our day. And in our day pilots died every day. Try a four point square trip around the States next.’
I went and found the now quite famous Hal Becker and wound him up. I had been almost as far, single engine. ‘Thought you wanted to avoid the publicity,’ I teased.
‘It’s not like our day,’ he grumbled. ‘And I’m up here, well tucked away.’
‘Jimmy wants you to fly down to Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, get the airline promoted.’
Hal sighed. ‘That flight might not have been the brightest idea I’ve ever had.’
‘Look on the bright side, you might get laid.’
‘Fuck … right … off, sonny.’
Hal made his publicity flight, and our airline received the publicity. And poor old Lindbergh? Well, I guess no one would kidnap his kid now.
Our second four-engine seaplane was receiving the loving attention of almost four hundred workers in three shifts around the clock; each day I would marvel at how it had grown overnight. Since most of the spars and frames were made ready, it was a quick fix job. The hundred odd faults had all been fixed, things adjusted, other things made stronger. The original was on the side of the airfield covered by a large tarpaulin, and had been skinned alive. Engineers still visited it now and then to see how a certain section had faired after its rough treatment, parts being cannibalised.
One clear day, mounting a half-track with Mac, Handy and Big Paul, we drove around to a tight valley that was used as a shooting range, soon firing RPGs at trees in the distance. The 105mm recoilless was tested by attaching a long rope to the firing mechanism and ducking behind sandbags. It blew down trees, several times, the tube checked for cracks. Fired against an old truck, it blew the truck to pieces, and enjoyed a range of at least eight hundred yards.
Back at base, we broke champagne bottles over the first few production jeeps, the vehicles reminiscent of those used by the US Army in the Second World War. The first batch of twenty production jeeps were duly dispatched to Ngomo, a thousand more ordered. And we received a telegram from Rudd: “Ngomo at ground zero”. It was cause for a minor celebration back at the hotel, the British Army turning up the next day after a long trip. They had, actually, been to see De Havilland, so we did not feel quite so special. And they had things to look at in the States.
They jumped aboard the jeeps and sped around, ordering four hundred straight away for African units, another hundred for the UK. At the moment they were fighting in China, but Jimmy would not get involved. Those British soldiers could have done with some decent air cover, but we kept the fighter under wraps. The “chaps” from the War Ministry ordered another sixty Cessnas for far off places, and twelve Dash-7s.
We then landed one of our best orders, the US Postal Service, the one that a certain young Lindbergh worked for. At least now he’d get a new plane, and a safe one. As part of a rolling programme, they ordered four hundred aircraft to be delivered over the next three years, the planes to be customised with a lockable metal box in the rear instead of seats. DHL had arrived early!
Summer saw the second seaplane tested at length, but gently, pilots swapping every six hours after refuelling. She was kept busy twenty-four hours a day for a week, nothing major breaking. I put twenty engineers in the back, and hired a lady to serve meals and tea. The plane took off, flew down to San Francisco and back with two reporters on board, all the while the passengers subject to coffee and cake. Those passengers used the toilet with a professional interest, washed their hands, eased back and closed their eyes. The pilots came back and chatted, using the toilet and getting a coffee and lunch. It was a success.
The next day we flew twenty reporters down to Los Angeles, an overnight stay arranged, our beast moored in a marina. It didn’t need refuelling, and flew the hacks back up the following day. If we had a dozen we could have sold them there and then, a flood of enquiries generated by the trip.
Jimmy then sent it south again with Hal and Hacker aboard. Fuel topped up in Los Angeles, it set off for Hawaii at dawn the following day, two reporters on board. They made it to Honolulu, much fanfare on arrival, and brought back four wealthy individuals, each having paid a modest sum for the ride. The great age of seaplanes was here, about six years early. Not satisfied with that stunt, Jimmy sent Hal a telegram. The plane returned to Hawaii with four reporters on board, plus the waitress, refuelled, then flew non-stop down to Auckland New Zealand, a hell of a reception waiting. Three nights were spent partying before the return leg, paying passengers allowed onboard, more taken on in Hawaii. Hal returned to even more fanfare, eventually bringing the bird back up to us. The workers threw a party at the hotel.
Jimmy grabbed Bill and Ted. ‘You know what I’m going to say next.’
‘Hire some more staff,’ they grumbled, but with smiles.
‘Gentlemen, we’re going to offer seaplane transport right around the world. Columbia Airlines will touch every corner of the globe.’
‘We’ve come a long way,’ Ted admitted.
‘Be sending people to the moon next,’ I quipped.
Hal was enjoying his celebrity status, more than he admitted. Still, 1925 fame was controllable.
I completed my four-pointer leg of the States, and decided that it was hard work, and could not be arsed now with trying to cross the Atlantic. We inoculated our pilots for “overseas flying”, and two weeks later one flew non-stop from New York to Paris, our name painted on the side of the aircraft and across its wings. That tick in the box made, the guy flew down to Cairo, then on to Nairobi. From there he headed to Goa, onto Singapore, but got caught in a tropical storm and was never seen again.
‘You can’t fly through storms,’ we told people.
It did not deter our crazy pilots, and one volunteered to try again. He flew off in the opposite direction, and went right around the world in eleven days, a new record.
The Canadian Government now “popped-in” often, and granted us government land, as much as we wanted. A piece of land near the airstrip was handed over, doubling the size of the facility. They paid to have roads improved, and could not do enough for us.
The third and fourth seaplanes rolled out to a brass band, duly tested before entering service. The planes were flown down to Los Angeles, where they would fly back and forth to Hawaii. In an odd move, and considering safety, Jimmy had them fly together; if one went down then the other would be on hand for a rescue. Thirty paying passengers at a time were flown to the islands, mostly movie stars and studio bosses. And our trolley dollies? They gave safety lectures as the planes taxied out. ‘The emergency exits are here, here … and here.’
The fourth and fifth production models were sent to San Francisco, and would operate down to Los Angeles and back. At about the same time we expanded the Dash-7 fleet and flew Seattle to Alaska, Seattle to Los Angeles and onwards. There were not yet that many people who could afford the tickets, so we concentrated on the rich passengers for now.
Seaplane number five was altered on the production line, a large door fitted to the rear, the seats ripped out and benches installed. With an invited audience of Canadian, British and American Army officers, forty Canadian Rifles parachuted down onto the airfield, released their chutes and ran across to us, weapons in hand – now folding stock AK47s, and their odd British combat clothing.
Jimmy faced the officers. ‘Gentlemen. If an … island or outlying colony were to be seized by a hostile force, a rebellion organised, then these aircraft could fly right across an ocean and drop forty soldiers by parachute, their supplies also dropped by parachute. Within sixteen hours of the news of an insurrection … you could have men on the ground, possibly to rescue your diplomats and citizens from … whatever tribal rabble are threatening them. Now, lunch.’
The soldiers were thanked and dismissed, the officers taken to lunch at the hotel. An idea had been planted, firmly planted. In our world, the US Army had been one of the first to consider paratroopers, but the idea never got off the ground till war broke out, the Germans being the first to use airborne troops to invade another country.
With the officers gone, Jimmy called a meeting of all the military types in the gang. ‘OK, it’s just about time to re-organise the Canadian Rifles. Grab a paper and pen. I want a Special Air Service created, and a Special Boat Service.’ He pointed at one of our British guards, now working with the Rifles. ‘You were SBS, yes?’
The man nodded.
‘OK, you’re in charge for now – under the Canadians. Always make it look like it was their idea.’
‘The officers are a good bunch now, all tough as fuck,’ the man reported.
‘Good. So, I want a selection process, ten percent extra pay offered. I want two hundred men and NCOs in the SAS, same for the SBS. For the SBS I want canoes and boats used for recon’ and inserts, climbing and attacking. The SAS will be the senior service, long range attacks their forte, HALO inserts.
‘I then want five hundred men made up into an Airborne Brigade. In essence, a recruit moves from grunt, to Airborne, to SAS or SBS. I then want an Arctic and Mountain Warfare Unit created within the Airborne – they spend time in the snow, and they parachute into the snow. Think – Norway, 1940. That unit should have only forty men.
‘I then want a Long Range Desert Group, spending four months a year driving across the Sahara in custom jeeps and trucks, pink desert uniforms. Again, forty men will do. Then we need jungle fighters, call them The Chameleons, because they should be invisible in the jungle. They’ll run our jungle warfare school and our survival training. Again, forty men will do. How many do we have toady?’
‘Eleven hundred.’
‘Fine, split them up over the coming months, create the bases and schools, then go to two thousand men. A year or two from now, British and Commonwealth soldiers will be on exchange tours with them. We will, after the 1929 crash, find plenty of willing recruits, and we’ll create an American Volunteer Rifles, up here, for Yanks out of work – and they’ll be millions of those. Start increasing the number of barracks, and start separating units by function. Create a base for the SBS up the inlet, and ask Rudd to create a base for the Rifles alongside Ngomo, as well as a base near Mawlini. The jungle training base will need to be in southwest Tanzania.’
‘More jeeps?’ Mac asked.
‘You’ll be getting more jeeps, more half-tracks – ship them to Kenya. And Mac, start on basic mortar tubes, nothing fancy for now. Every soldier must be familiar with every piece of kit, then we specialise. Oh, and a basic mortar to fire a grapple up a cliff.’
‘D-Day!’ I said.
‘And I want all of the men to have sailing lessons. If they get stuck somewhere, they can steal a boat and sail off.’
‘Like fucking Dunkirk,’ I said.
