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
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