by T I WADE
The President had to return to Washington for a day and when he left in a C-130 bound for Andrews, he had already accrued 50 hours of training and three solo flights around the airfield. Joe and David also had 50 hours of training and, Will Smart, although a little behind was now enjoying the experience fully, and was hankering for more hours.
The girls had been worked hard by Sally and Jennifer. They had 60 hours each and were nearly ready to go solo. For the next two days they would learn the differences between two-seat flying with a trainer and one-seat solo-flying in their own aircraft.
Preston and Carlos had thirty hours each. They had completed more ground school and math workshops than the others and needed to learn more about operating the Gunship instead of just learning to fly it.
Little Beth and Clint had gone on most of the 130 training flights, exchanging their choice of pilot from Preston to Carlos and back as they saw fit. They would be competent pilots themselves before long as they both sat in the rear of the cockpits and listened to every word of the training.
Clint actually was allowed to fly one of the large beasts once sitting in the copilot seat, and he happily stated that he was ready for the next flight school. His slowly-mending legs managed to control the pedals of the large aircraft.
On the morning of April 19th, the sixteenth day, the trainees were told it was solo day and heaven help the airfield. Preston and Carlos wouldn’t need to go solo as there would always be a second pilot aboard and, as new copilots, they would fly hundreds of hours and gain experience from the right-hand seats.
But for the others, including the President, who had returned in time for his first real solo flight, it was time for their first long distance solo flight. A fourth Cessna was flown in so that the four trainees could all fly together.
“Long distance” was a bit of an exaggeration for this flight as the Cessna pilots would take off one after the other and, with Preston and Carlos’ Gunships being “bodyguards” for the President, they would all fly into Seymour Johnson, then fly over to Pope Field at Fort Bragg, and for their third leg they would return to the airfield. In total, it was a flight of no more than 150 miles, but far enough to be classed as a long distance flight. It went off without mishap.
The Super Tweets had a little more work to do. In the morning, they practiced formation flying and in the afternoon headed out to Andrews and back again without mishap. By dusk, flight-suited, happy, smiling and drinking pilots could be found celebrating in the bar of the new Officers Mess.
Maggie and Will Smart were the happiest of all. They had both done well and they felt tremendously proud of each other. Martie was smiling ear to ear. She had really enjoyed the first phase and was now a jet-girl. For Barbara it was exciting but she had been a jet-girl for several years, flying Citation jets for a living.
Preston and Carlos enjoyed the new aircraft, but their own P-51s were as exciting to fly and Preston still loved flying his P-38 Lightning far more than a Gunship. He hadn’t felt the power and force of the Gunship’s weapons yet.
Buck, Marie, Beatrice and the teenagers returned from Napa happy, content, and suntanned, while Lee and Mo Wang stayed on with Michael Roebels going over blue prints of electrical vehicle computers.
Many hybrid-electric vehicles had been found abandoned in perfect condition on the highways of California. Buck explained to the tired audience that several of the parts from the first captured load were being developed into one complete electric car by Michael, Lee and Mo, and the engineers thought that they could have it, and several others, working within a month. Everything worked perfectly in the vehicle except for the computerized brain, but they were getting good responses from the drive-train areas of the vehicle by adding new parts meant for another type of engine-management system, namely a harbor crane!
Buck told Preston, Martie and Carlos that Michael Roebels and his ever-growing team of engineers had just moved its entire operation to a building called “The Blue Cube,” a massive, ex-Lockheed Aircraft Corporation building on the recently retired Onizuka Air Force Base. They were working around the clock, and Mo Wang had added his engineering knowledge about hundreds of exact parts currently stored in Harbin, which could be exchanged into these vehicles.
“This building is massive,” described Buck, a fresh beer in his hand. “It is a large, pale blue, windowless building several stories tall. It has the largest array I’ve ever seen of currently useless parabolic dish antennas used for communication with orbital tracking. Carlos, he wants you to set up a satellite communications headquarters there as soon as you get back from China and get these communication antennas running again. He believes he can do some interesting things, setting up new upgrades for our future electric-only vehicles out there once they’ve been ‘doctored’. The work space inside the building is perfect for what Michael is doing; it used to control the military satellites when Onizuka was operated by the 21st Space Operations Squadron.”
“I know Onizuka well,” replied Carlos. “I’ve never been there but I used to feed information through them from Salt Lake City and Andrews as recently as last year. Funny enough, I was planning to visit that location just the other day to see if I could get it operational again. I’m planning to move our main digital video satellite over to the West Coast in the next few days to position it so that we can see Harbin, China and Misawa Japan area more vividly, and when I do, the information from the space link from the mountain observatory needs to move faster, and the Blue Cube was setup to do this. My aim is to use it as an information relay station.”
“You are moving the video satellite, Carlos?” asked Preston. “What about our southern border?”
“I was asked to meet with the President and General Patterson late last night after we finished our flight schooling,” replied Carlos, his audience now all ears. “They decided to get orbital surveillance for our mission over there in two weeks’ time. There has been no movement of anybody over our southern border for weeks now, and they decided to prioritize China, for one month only, in case we need eyes over there. It’s a risk, but a small one. There is a one-in-a-million chance that anybody will decide to attack us during the four weeks that we are semi-blind on one area of our country.” The others agreed.
“I heard that one of those exchanged Chinese aircraft was shot down in Mexico the other day,” said Sally, who had sidled up to Carlos while he was talking.
“The general knows about it,” replied Carlos. “It was far south in Mexico and the only information he got was from a very weak long-range radio message that was overheard. The Mexicans thought it was a local cartel faction uprising and that they were sending an army to quell the banditos. They didn’t sound very worried and refused any air support when we finally managed to contact the base, wherever it was. We were asked politely to keep our noses out of Mexican affairs.”
“More good news,” continued Buck. “Many of the captured fuses and computer chips have helped parts of Silicon Valley. The first building has renewed electricity from a backup coal plant nearby; this plant is small and over forty years old, and has been shut down for over a decade. The computer equipment had been mostly scrapped, but with several of our Amiga computers, the old brains of the plant were made functional again. Power has been routed to the Blue Cube and, as of yesterday, the Blue Cube’s newly rewired and refused system became active.”
“Surely this plant can feed more than two small areas?” asked Carlos.
“Of course,” replied Buck. “It could give electricity to the whole of Silicon Valley, but we have only so many fuses and other needed parts at the moment, most of which are already in use. We are hoping to get millions more from China when you guys go, but another problem are the very small coal stocks at the plant. It has enough coal there for only a couple of weeks, and the Amtrak system is scouring the country for any halted coal trains. There are presumed to be several dozen of these country-wide and an engine exchange would get these trains loaded with coal and rerouted to this
plant.”
“There must be a nuclear power station close by Silicon Valley,” suggested Preston.
“Yes,” replied Buck. “The best chance right now is an old privately-owned plant, the Vallecitos Nuclear Center. It is currently a nuclear research facility, and the site of a former electricity-generating nuclear power plant in Alameda County, California, about 30 miles east of San Francisco. It was mothballed years ago, but Vallecitos will be the easiest to get active again. It was the first privately-owned and operated nuclear power plant to deliver significant quantities of electricity to a public utility grid. It’s going to take many months to get a nuclear power plant operational again but the associated question is, what is the use of activating such a massive amount of electricity if there is no way to transfer the power to where it is needed? Our nuclear engineers believe that they can reroute power from the plant to Silicon Valley, The Blue Cube and even parts of San Francisco within six months.”
“I was thinking about those electric cars,” added Preston. “I was thinking of getting one for Martie for her birthday. I had checked up on the new American and Japanese versions, as well as the Japanese hybrid models. I was thinking about them….”
“And?” questioned Carlos puzzled. “Not much use living in the past, friend Preston. Buck just stated that if you know the right friends, you might still be able to get Martie one.”
“One what?” interrupted Martie looking very tired, sexy and happy in her Air Force-issued flight suit as she walked up with a glass of wine in her hand to join the conversation.
“Gee, thanks, Carlos,” replied Preston giving him a jokingly mean look. “Trust you to not keep a secret.”
“Well, go on. What are you thinking about these hybrids?” asked Carlos.
“There must be tens of thousands of these Japanese hybrids on the streets, and I’m sure many are in perfect condition,” continued Preston. “Just around here last year you could see one everywhere you drove. Buck, this is maybe more in your field, but these vehicles with their computerized engine-management systems will never run again, correct?” Buck nodded. “Well, approximately 40 to 50 percent of the drive time was electric using battery storage and then the combustion engine kicked in, right?” Again Buck nodded. “If we go around and collect all these cars, there must be thousands of battery banks in these vehicles that could be cannibalized into either two units per vehicle to give a hybrid vehicle more electrical range, or added to smaller vehicles, once their old and useless combustion engines have been thrown out, to make them mobile again. I was actually wondering how many of these battery banks it would take working in unison to propel an eighteen wheeler tractor-trailer.”
Preston and Carlos were silent for quite some time while the others looked on waiting for an answer from Buck.
“That is very interesting, Preston,” replied Buck. “I could not tell you the possibilities of an electric tractor-trailer, it would depend on gearing and weight, but I’m sure battery banks could be joined together to take the place of the combustion engines. Unfortunately the batteries are the heaviest part of these vehicles and I think two banks in one vehicle might be too much weight, or the extended range could be far less than double. What do you think, Carlos?”
“I agree…” Carlos managed to say before Martie cut in. Maggie Smart, also an engineer, had come up to listen to the conversation.
“Thank you, guys, for thinking only the male species have engineering brains around here,” stated Martie defiantly. “It just so happens that I was working on a report on this exact topic at UNC for an American company working on hybrids versus electric-only vehicles. It was a paper submitted by one of the Masters students for her PhD, that I was asked to look at just before Christmas. So far the panel had agreed on the principle that the weight was the first and most important factor between a hybrid and any of the electric vehicles. To make a hybrid into a fully workable electric vehicle, a minimum of three sets of batteries were needed. Without the engine weight, a range of around 159 percent was obtained by placing a second load of batteries in the vacated engine compartment. A third set of batteries would be hard to place, but the third set would only increase the range another 27 percent. The weight is the main problem – the vehicle wasn’t built for the third bank’s weight. As for a functional tractor-trailer, the engine is its main weight, take that out and every piece of unnecessary hardware that has to do with the workings of a combustion engine, a minimum of ten battery banks would be needed to turn the massive tires of just the horse. If another 1,500 pounds of weight was reduced off the horse and the tires reduced in height by 20 percent, only three sets would be needed. If the trailer was made with light metals, there is enough space under the trailer bed to house 20 battery banks, but again weight rears its ugly head and the range decreases by up to 50 percent per added battery bank after six. Its actual load-weight will need to decrease by at least 50 percent to make it a semi-functional vehicle, but it won’t get over the mountainous Rockies any time soon. The idea will never fly.”
The men looked at Martie with their mouths open.
“You go girl!” laughed Maggie, looking at the men’s shocked reactions.
“Why didn’t you mention this information while you were with us in California?” asked Buck.
“Simple – you guys weren’t working on motor vehicles, you were working on aircraft directional systems,” replied Martie, taking a sip of her wine and winking at Maggie.
“I think you had better get that church built fast, Preston,” stated Carlos still looking at Martie. “If money were still king, Martie could be worth a fortune in the car industry in the future.”
“Martie is pretty clever,” answered Preston proudly. “That’s why she’s marrying me!” With a quick dig in the ribs in Preston’s side, Martie left the conversation with Maggie, both smiling that again women had shown the male species that their advice was always needed.
“Well,” continued Buck, “I suppose that answers that question.”
“I’m sure that we are going to go to electric vehicles in the U.S.,” continued Preston, the conversation getting back to normal. “Combustion will only last as long as our gas reserves last, and that’s not that far away. I’d say we have five years to perfect the electric propulsion system, and/or hydrogen or hydrogen–pulse engines for flying aircraft. I’d hate to have to ask my future wife if electric engines could work on flying machines. She might decide that I’m too stupid to marry!” The group laughed. They were not too keen to take on the female intelligence in the room just yet.
“I agree with Preston,” added Carlos. “Electricity is going to be the one and only fuel in our future. Without it we are nothing. We already can’t survive without it and it will power everything in the future. Everything we are doing is focused on getting our comfortable and reliable electricity back. Buck, next month when we are all back from China, we should all head over to Michael’s lab to assist him in his work.” Everybody agreed.
“Also, with our population reduced to about a third of what it was last year, the entire nuclear power-station system in this country should supply us with enough power for centuries to come,” suggested Preston. “What else is there?”
For another hour or so the group discussed the future of power. They all agreed that electricity would give them everything they need in the foreseeable future, until something else came along, and that electricity would be the source to power possible future hydrogen-flight in the air and even maybe on the oceans.
Buck was returning to work with Michael Roebels the next day and he would update him on the group’s discussions.
The next day, and for another ten days, the flying continued. In the last week of April the weather in North Carolina was a balmy 65 to 70 degrees and spring had certainly turned everything green.
Mo Wang and the girls returned from California a week before the China Mission was to start. Mo wanted to get his ship down to Ocracoke on the Outer Banks before he left for China, i
n case he didn’t come back, he told Preston over dinner in the Officers Mess. Preston, now with his wings a day old and a promotion to temporary Air Force Lieutenant, informed him of his pilot’s stature.
The ladies had enjoyed the wine farm in Napa. Mo and Beatrice were happy to see the church virtually complete at the road entrance to the airfield and opposite Preston’s tower. Joe’s boys were making it look like a real little village church. The Air Force had even found spare church pews in Seymour Johnson and Fort Bragg, just enough to seat a hundred people.
Carlos, who had seemed to soften his opinion of Mo, offered Colombian DC-3 as transport to fetch the ship still in the Norfolk Naval Yards. The admirals were at sea and General Patterson, at Andrews, gave Carlos permission to fly into Naval Air Station Oceana and from there, the Navy would transport the group to the Norfolk shipyards. He told Carlos to call him on the satellite phone when they landed and there was a welcoming committee waiting for Carlos, Preston, Mo, Beatrice, Marie, Clint, Little Beth and the three teenage girls when Carlos brought the DC-3 into the massive runway area of Naval Air Station Oceana.
“Wow!” stated Carlos. He could have landed and taken off twice more on the long runway before reaching its end, and then on what seemed like a mile on the taxi-ways to the Navy committee waiting for them in front of a large hangar. Apart from them there was no movement of aircraft.
An admiral was waiting for them with a dozen other personnel hanging around several vehicles. Here they viewed line upon line of aircraft on the aprons around the warehouses, all ultramodern, and all scrap metal. Even a dozen modern C-130s were in a line, bits and pieces hanging off them, technicians working on exchanging new for older parts.
Carlos allowed everybody to get out, introduced himself to the admiral as Admiral Rodriquez’s nephew, and stated that he was heading out to Andrews to refuel. He wanted to spend a couple of days with Buck in Silicon Valley, setting up the communications antenna.
