Aces

by T. E. Cruise

  There were only a couple of the hangar ceiling floodlights on, creating a dim, shadowy, almost cathedral-like atmosphere. The dramatic shafts of light burnished the smooth curves of the G-1’s silver skin, turning her into sculpture; if the Yellowjacket was poetry in motion, she was, in response, the artistic evocation of flight.

  The monoplane had a steel tube frame, covered over with a duralumin skin. The only other all-metal aircraft design was the Ford Tri-Motor, but Ford’s “Tin Goose” was a much larger, more expensive airplane. The G-1 was twenty-five feet long, with a forty-foot wingspan. Her heart was a 450-horsepower, air-cooled, radial engine, the Yellowjacket AAA, developed exclusively for the project by the San Diego firm of Rogers and Simpson. In designing the G-1, Gold and Teddy Quinn and his staff had gleaned the best from Spatz, Fokker, Lockheed, Boeing, and the other aircraft builders, and then incorporated their own innovations. They’d also taken into account the design suggestions of their veteran pilots, many of whom had been flying the mail in all kinds of airplanes for close to a decade.

  The G-1 had a variable rate propeller and hydraulic wheel brakes. Her open, single-seat cockpit was set well back. Her wing, which incorporated Gold’s “C-Gull” brake flaps, was raised up on stilts to afford the pilot a better forward view and further increased aerodynamic efficiency. A duralumin “speed cowling” for the engine and matching “speed pants” on the fixed landing gear streamlined the G-1, cutting down on air resistance and in the process giving the airplane an aggressive, bird-of-prey appearance.

  Gold had dispensed with his usual paint scheme for the G-1: she was pure silver all over, except on her vertical tail fin, which had two slender, diagonal slashes of turquoise and scarlet, and a small rendition of his signature centaur against its oval yellow field.

  Gold knew the G-1 Yellowjacket was beautiful, but more important, he knew that she was stable and forgiving in flight; that she had an admirable cruising speed of one hundred and sixty-two miles per hour; and could take off and land, fully loaded, on a dime—and leave a nickle’s worth of change.

  He knew all that because he’d personally test-flown her every day for the last three weeks. Next week, right here at Mines Field, the G-1 would strut her stuff for the purchasing agents of the United States Postal Office, which was looking for something new to add to its aging fleet. The future of Gold Aviation hinged on the postal service’s decision. As Gold had told Teddy and the other designers fourteen months ago, “We either grab the brass ring this time around, or the merry-go-round ride will be over…”

  Back in August, the fire that destroyed South California Air Transport’s Clover Field facility was front-page news, distracting the media’s attention away from Gold Aviation’s troubles. It turned out that the SCAT employee who’d died in that fire had a lengthy criminal record and had been wanted in New Jersey on a rape charge. That was all Tim Campbell needed to go on the offensive, holding press conferences in which he charged that any organization that would hire such a man was “morally unfit” to fly the mail.

  According to the plan, Gold let the undeniably American Campbell do all of the talking for Gold Aviation. Gold also hired an attorney who specialized in such matters to help him through the naturalization process to become a United States citizen.

  As the date for the postal service’s awarding of the CAM routes moved closer, the situation began to turn in Gold’s favor. Partly this was due to Campbell’s efforts, and partly because a coalition of important Hollywood Jewish movie executives and Los Angeles Christian religious leaders publicly denounced the news media for allowing coverage of the bidding competition to devolve into an “open season on Jews.” What really tilted things Gold’s way was his announcing a cut-to-the-bone, low-ball rate for private freight transport. The business community was thrilled. Gold Aviation was practically offering to pay them for the privilege of carrying their freight. Pressure began to be applied to the investment group that was underwriting SCAT.

  On September 14, 1925, just hours before the route assignments were to be announced by the postal service, SCAT’s backers pulled their financial support. SCAT was forced to withdraw its bid, vanishing like a bad dream. Gold Aviation retained its CAM routes. The same newspapers that had vilified Gold now called him a winner.

  At the time, Gold didn’t feel much like a winner. The low-ball private rate he’d been forced to offer his customers meant that his routes were now just barely breaking even. His creditors were complaining, and he had a payroll to meet.

  Gold believed the solution to his financial problems was the G-1. He believed that there was a fortune to be made in America selling planes as well as commercially flying them, but the G-1 was still just a gleam in his and Teddy Quinn’s eyes. Campbell had managed to get twenty thousand dollars for the project by locking up as collateral all of Gold’s personal assets, but Gold knew that amount would barely carry the project past the drawing boards.

  In October of 1925, Gold and Campbell began peddling stock in the newly named Gold Aviation and Transport Corporation. They began with GAT’s employees, announcing that anyone who wanted to stay on would have to take one half of their salary in stock. Teddy Quinn convinced the Santa Monica contingent. Over at the Mines Field facility the pilots and mechanics balked, threatening to walk out, until Hull Stiles talked them into going along.

  With his payroll burden slashed, Gold was able to keep up payments on his various loans, thereby holding on to his business and his home. He’d bought himself some breathing room, but it was only temporary. The true test lay ahead. It was time to take their stock-peddling act on the road.

  Gold and Campbell traveled up and down the West Coast, and as far east as Salt Lake City. It was territory that had been served for years by Gold Aviation, and before that by Gold Express, so the name Herman Gold was well known. No town was too small for them. Gold and Campbell spoke at church suppers and chamber of commerce meetings; they placed ads in local newspapers in advance of their arrival, and then sat around in rented hotel suites, waiting for potential investors to wander in.

  For almost three months Gold worked harder than he ever had in his life, and Campbell sure as hell did his part. They were fortunate that the American economy was booming and that folks were anxious to make a financial killing by investing in business. By New Year’s Day 1926, Gold and Campbell had managed to sell $122,000 worth of stock. Gold kept a thirty-five-percent controlling interest. Campbell used his bank contacts to borrow the money to buy three percent.

  The cash infusion allowed Gold to get the G-1 prototype built and keep his business afloat, but now the money he and Campbell had raised was almost gone. GAT was a trembling house of cards, stuck together with jury-rigged financing, precariously perched on the sleek, slippery back of the G-1 Yellowjacket. If, next week, the post office turned thumbs down on Gold’s creation, everything would come tumbling down—

  The hangar’s sliding door rattled, then slid open, startling Gold out of his reveries. He squinted his eyes against the bright daylight spilling into the hangar’s dark interior.

  “Herman! You promised you’d be ready to go!” Erica scolded. She was silhouetted by the light as she stepped into the hangar.

  Gold glanced at his wristwatch. “Damn! I totally lost track of the time!” In less than an hour his four-year-old daughter was graduating from kindergarten. All the parents had been invited to the ceremony. Susan was going to sing a song—

  He looked down at himself. He was wearing old clothes: chino trousers, a light blue cotton sweater, tan oxfords, and a camel-hair, belted polo coat. The suit and shirt and tie he intended to wear to the recital were hanging in Hull Stiles’s office. Considering the time it would take to change, and then drive to the school, they were going to be late—

  Erica was laughing. “You should see your face. Stop worrying!”

  “But Susan’s recital—”

  “Isn’t for another two hours.” Erica grinned, coming over to him. “I knew you’d pull a stunt lik
e this, so I purposely told you the recital was an hour earlier.”

  Gold relaxed, smiling. “I guess you know me pretty well.”

  She was wearing a slimly tailored, gray silk tweed suit, gray silk stockings, and black pumps. Her earrings were silver and black onyx. She wore a black felt cloche hat with a gray grosgrain ribbon and carried a black leather envelope bag. She looked fabulous. Like an elegant flapper. Like the million bucks he very soon hoped to have.

  She came over to give him a kiss. She smelled familiarly of lavender and roses, and fragrances which Gold could never identify, but which nevertheless never failed to stir him. He put his arm around her, feeling that jolt he always felt when he touched her. Even when things had been bad between them, the electricity had always been there.

  “I ran into Hull Stiles at the main hangar,” Erica said. “He told me you’ve been spending lots of time in here. I almost didn’t come in, it seemed so dark. What do you do in here, all by yourself?”

  Gold leered. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Then I’m sorry I asked,” Erica said, smiling. “Seriously, the purchasing agents will be here to evaluate the G-1 next week. There’s nothing left for you to do.”

  “I know.” He shrugged shyly. “I guess I just like to look at her. She’s not just an airplane, she’s my airplane. The first ever to carry my name. She wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for GAT. Can you understand?”

  Erica nodded, slipping her arm around his waist. “Hull did confide to me that he thinks you’ve been unduly worried about how the post office is going to react to the G-1…”

  “‘Unduly worried’, is it?” Gold frowned. “That’s Hull’s opinion, but he doesn’t have quite as much invested in this baby as I do.”

  “Actually, Hull and the others who work for you have quite a lot invested,” Erica said evenly.

  Gold nodded. “You’re right, of course,” he sighed. “I know I never would have gotten this far if everyone hadn’t accepted stock certificates in lieu of cash for their salaries.”

  “Hmm.” Erica nuzzled his cheek. “I think I like it when you’re humble.”

  “Yes, I do owe so much to so many.” Gold slid his palm over the taut, silky fabric stretched across the curve of her bottom. “I shall never forget that I’m not all alone in this. I want to thank all the little people who’ve—”

  Erica laughed. “Not that humble, darling.” She gently took his hand from her rump. “And no handprints on the merchandise, at least not until this evening. Speaking of little people, we do have a kindergarten recital to go to, remember?”

  Gold nodded. “I shall restrain myself.”

  “That’s better.”

  “But I don’t know how I’ll manage it—”

  “That’s better still.” She patted his fly.

  Gold laughed. “Come on. I’ll change my clothes in Hull’s office, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Erica held on to his arm. “Before we go, darling, do tell me why you think the post office might not buy the G-1?” Her large brown eyes searched his. “Hull says that it’s a dream to fly and does everything it’s supposed to do. Why would the government ever turn it down?”

  “There’s no question in my mind that it’s a successful design,” Gold began. “One that totally fulfills what we set out to achieve…”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Gold frowned. “She doesn’t look like any other airplane, inside or out. That’s the problem. I believe that the G-1 is a superior design, but the men who buy airplanes for the government are cautious and conservative. I just hope that the G-1’s more flashy innovations don’t blind them to her other qualities.”

  Erica looked thoughtful. “What you need is something to capture public opinion.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, like when you were fighting for your CAM routes? Something to rally the public to your side. So that the postal service can’t possibly refuse you.”

  “You have any ideas, I’m ready to listen.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Erica admitted. “I just know that what we need is something to capture the headlines. Really put the government on the spot…”

  “The old razzle-dazzle,” Gold mused. “Too bad Captain Bob isn’t around.”

  “That fellow with the megaphone you used to fly for when you were barnstorming?” Erica smiled. “God, I haven’t thought of him in years. What made you bring him up?”

  “He was a master of publicity,” Gold said. “He knew just how to stage an event to capture the public’s imagination…” He stopped abruptly, gazing at Erica.

  “What?” She smiled tentatively. “You have an idea?”

  Gold nodded, grinning. “Captain Bob just whispered it into my ear. I know exactly how to prove to the world just how superior the G-1 is to anything else in the air.”

  (Two)

  Gold Aviation

  Santa Monica

  2 November 1926

  Gold was in his office, perched on his high stool, working at his drafting table, when Tim Campbell came in. Campbell was in his shirt-sleeves. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie was loose. As usual, he had a cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth.

  Gold set down his compass. He arched his back, stretching his arms above his head. He was wearing the green, shawl-necked cardigan that he kept in the office to ward off chills. Erica and the kids had given it to him last Christmas. He liked to wear it when he was working on design problems. The sweater made him feel secure and relaxed. Helped him be creative. “Well?” he asked.

  “Well, yourself,” Campbell grumbled wearily. “What are you working on?”

  “Come see. It’s the design for something new.”

  “Another plane?” Campbell laughed. “Optimistic bugger, ain’t we?”

  “It’s a variation on the G-1; a closed cockpit, six-passenger transport version that Teddy and I are thinking about. We’re tentatively calling it the G-1a Dragonfly.”

  “Nice, I guess,” Campbell said. “You know I can’t make heads or tails out of those scribbles you engineering types call designs.”

  He moved away from the drafting table to slump into the swivel chair behind Gold’s desk, the only other chair in the office. “I feel like I’ve got a telephone growing out of my ear. I’ve been at it all morning, calling every newspaper and radio station in town.”

  “And?”

  “And about half promised me they’ll be there tomorrow, at Mines Field, at noon, to witness the G-1’s test flight. The rest said maybe they’d come.”

  “Good work.” Gold smiled.

  “You sure as hell didn’t make it any easier for me,” Campbell griped, squinting through the smoke curling up from his cigarette. “I had to do some pretty fancy talking to convince those newshounds to come around to watch a routine test flight, without being specific. Why couldn’t I tell them what was going to happen?”

  “Because then I would have had to tell you what was going to happen.” Gold chuckled.

  Campbell scowled. “And don’t you think your C.E.O. ought to know?”

  “If I told you, I’d be honor-bound to tell Teddy, and what about Hull?” Gold explained. “You all probably would have tried to talk me out of it.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?” Campbell asked bleakly.

  “Let me put it this way: if the postal service got hold of it, they’d probably cancel the test flight.”

  “Oh, God,” Campbell moaned. “My ulcers.”

  “You don’t have ulcers.”

  “I know, but I’m practicing. Working for you, I’m sure to develop some. Please tell me what you’re planning?—”

  “Razzle-dazzle is what I’m planning. You want to know anything more than that, you’ll have to wait for tomorrow, along with the rest of the world. Believe me, those reporters who do come will be very grateful to you for tipping them off.”

  “I hope so,” Campbell said irritably. “I had to use up a lot of favors on this one. Does Erica at least know w
hat you’ve got planned?”

  Gold winked. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  Campbell stood up. “Cute, real cute. You need me for anything else, I’ll be in my office… Updating my resume.”

  (Three)

  Gold Transport

  Mines Field

  3 November 1926

  Gold got to the field at seven o’clock in the morning. Teddy Quinn was already there, haranguing the mechanics who were attired in freshly laundered turquoise overalls and scarlet caps. Teddy was wearing his “don’t bother me” expression. Gold knew his old friend well enough to know that Teddy needed to stay busy in order to remain calm. He stayed out of his chief engineer’s way as Teddy supervised the fueling, and the last-minute maintenance on the G-1, fretting like a mother hen as she was wheeled out of her hangar onto the airstrip, where she gleamed in the sun like a silver bird.

  There was nothing for Gold to do but wait for events to unfold. He studied the cloudless sky, and the wind socks gently undulating in the breeze. It had been unusually warm for the past week. Today the weather report predicted a high of eighty degrees, with low humidity: perfect flying conditions.

  About eleven-thirty a black Ford sedan turned into the gates and parked. Out of it stepped the trio of postal service purchasing agents who would pass judgment on the G-1. At quarter of twelve, the newspeople began to trickle in. Teddy Quinn, his snap-brim fedora pulled down low over his brow to hide his face, began flitting around the edges of the crowd, chainsmoking and muttering darkly to himself. Sometimes Teddy liked to act a little touched in the head; it kept people at bay.

  Gold had arranged for a sun-shield awning to be erected on the grass bordering the airstrip. Campbell, dressed like the banker he used to be, was under the awning now, chatting with the Feds, who were wearing wide-brimmed hats and somber-colored suits. Campbell was good at making small talk. Gold left him to it until the last possible moment, and then he went over to greet the postal service representatives. Gold was wearing an uncharacteristically conservative, navy blue chalk-stripe double-breasted suit, a plain white shirt, and a dull, crimson and black striped tie. As he stepped beneath the awning, joining all the other serious-looking men in their dark suits, he felt as if he were at a funeral. He hoped he was mistaken.