Our driver pulled up to the visitor's entrance of the White House, stepped out and opened the door for us. We both wore our service dress blue uniforms.
The White House is timeless, I thought. I had been there many times over the years, not to mention in 1861, but in modern times it has an ageless quality to it. A Marine in dress uniform escorted us to the Oval Office.
“We're going to the same Oval Office that's still in use in 2016,” Jack said. “It was redesigned in 1933.”
It's handy to be married to a walking reference library, especially without having the Internet to look up stuff.
The Marine led us into the Oval Office, which stunk of tobacco smoke. There was the man himself, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, puffing on a butt inserted into his signature cigarette holder.
“So you're our friends from the future,” said Roosevelt, his cigarette holder pointing skyward at a 45 degree angle. “Welcome to our contentious time.”
Roosevelt didn't stand, and we didn't expect him to. The press ignored his affliction with polio, which I thought was a rare example of journalistic forbearance, but, of course, it’s well-known history in our time.
“Please have a seat, Admiral Patterson, Lieutenant Thurber,” said Roosevelt. “The stories I've heard about you are amazing, just amazing. I asked you to come to Washington so I can hear it myself from you folks.”
“I didn't realize that our story was so widely known, Mr. President,” I said.
“Well then, you shouldn't have spoken to my wonderful crazy friend Nigel Blake. Nigel is quite taken with you two. He told me that you've time travelled from 2016 and can tell us our future. Nigel has already told me that Japan will attack us in December of next year, but I sometimes have a hard time believing my old friend.”
I wasn't sure if I was about to be insubordinate. I knew we were there to answer questions, not ask them, but I had to bring up an obvious issue.
“Do you believe in time travel, Mr. President?” I asked.
“Well let me put it this way, admiral. Nigel Blake is the most brilliant man I've ever met. He's a genius, wealthy beyond belief, but also a student of so many disciplines that he lives a lifetime in one year. As you know, Nigel claims that he's traveled through time on a number of occasions. It's earned him the reputation of a crank, a fool, a raving eccentric.”
“Do you see him that way, sir?” Wow, was totally overstepping my rank.
“I do not, Admiral Ashley. I see Nigel as a visionary, a truth telling visionary. I find him sincere and straight forward, even though others find him preposterous. He has convinced me that he's traveled through time, and that time itself is just a dimension that can be breached. If the newspapers get hold of that, they'll probably label me a crazy man just as they've besmirched Nigel. I don't pretend to understand it, but Nigel, and now you folks, have given me enough evidence to reduce my skepticism. But a few years ago, if you told me the German people would elect that maniac Hitler, and the Japanese militarists would use the Asian nations as a raping ground, I wouldn’t have believed that either. So tell me, what is in store for our country and the world in the next few years? Nigel has given me a brief rundown, but I want to hear it from my two 21st Century friends.”
“Mr. President, my husband Jack is a master with words and has a photographic memory. I suggest that he talk about the next few years and I'll just jump in when I think of something.”
Jack told Roosevelt the harrowing tale of the next few years, including Pearl Harbor, the Battle of Midway, the Normandy Invasion, the Battle of the Bulge, the Holocaust, and the atomic bombs over Japan.
Roosevelt placed his cigarette in an ashtray and put his face in his hands. He looked up, a man whose face seemed to sag under a great weight.
“80 million people killed,” said Roosevelt. “The next few years will be hell on earth. Tell me, in your own words, what do you think can be done?”
As he said that, Roosevelt looked at a photo of the F-18. Oh my God. Does he believe we should be involved in the war? I thought. Does he think that one jet can somehow make a difference?
“Mr. President,” I said. “If you know what is coming you can prevent it. On the morning of December 7, 1941, unless you do something to change it, Japan will attack Pearl Harbor with hardly any resistance. What Nigel told you is correct. It's too late to stop Hitler from invading Czechoslovakia or Poland. It's too late to stop Neville Chamberlain from signing the Munich Accord. But it isn't too late to take decisive action to stop Japan and put limits on their ambitions.”
“Tell me more about your amazing aircraft, admiral.”
Oh shit, I thought. Please don't go there. We can't help. We want to go home.
I told Roosevelt everything I knew about the F-18 Hornet, its cost of $60 Million and its velocity of almost twice the speed of sound. I pointed out that we have no armaments on the plane because we were on a public relations flight.
“Nigel Blake once told me about a term I had never heard before. I believe he called it ‘reverse engineering.’ Skilled engineers can take the aircraft apart and study each element and try to manufacture a new aircraft based on their findings. Do you think that can be done, Admiral Patterson?”
I couldn't lie. All I could do was point out some of the obvious difficulties.
“It's not impossible, sir, but there are some gigantic difficulties as I see it. Metallurgy in 2016 is far more advanced than it is now. The metal sheathing that makes up the fuselage of the plane is made up of composites that don't exist now. Then there is the problem of the plane’s instrumentation. The F-18 was built with the aid of powerful computers, far more powerful than the computation devices that exist now in 1940. The instruments are all digital, the standard in 2016. Can we produce a plane just like the one I landed at LaGuardia? No, Mr. President, we can’t.”
“But,” said Roosevelt, “we can use the details and design of the plane to put us forward years from where we are now. With our unmatchable manufacturing abilities, we can produce hundreds of these advanced fighters, enough to turn the tide of any battle. We won't get an exact replica, but we can build a far more advanced plane than what we have now, can we not?'
“Yes, sir,” I had to admit.
“And who, my young admiral friend, do you think would be the irreplaceable key to this operation?”
I knew the answer to the question, but no way in hell was I going to say it.
“Well, sir, my guess would be Nigel Blake or one of his brilliant engineers, or perhaps someone from Boeing, Lockheed, or Douglas.”
You don't get to be President of the United States without a good nose for incoming bullshit. As I expected, Roosevelt didn't buy it.
“No, Admiral Ashley, the key to this project is the lovely woman sitting in front of me. You may not be an aeronautical engineer, but you have trained to fly the F-18, and more importantly, you know what each dial and instrument is for. The mission will be called Project Hornet, and you will be the head consultant.”
“And Lieutenant Thurber here,” continued Roosevelt, “will also be a critical part of the success of the project. Jack, Nigel has told me a lot about you, and I am appointing you as the logistical supervisor and historian of the project, and expect you to chronicle every step. You will be the man in charge of preparing a document for history. I am promoting you to the rank of Captain, United States Navy. Your wife will still outrank you, but perhaps she'll ask you to do the dishes less.”
Roosevelt roared with laughter at his own joke. I didn't think it was so goddam funny at all. So Jack gets to be a captain. Big deal. He's in line to be editor-in-chief of a major newspaper, and I was soon to take command of a Carrier Strike Group – in 2016. But Roosevelt wants us to change our mailing address to 1940.
***
Jack and I sat in the coffee shop at Washington-Hoover Airport, waiting for our flight back to New York. When Jack and I are together, ever since we met, our conversation is usually non-stop chatter. But this time we barely spoke. We
just sat and sipped our coffee. I couldn't take the silence any more.
“So, hon, you're now a four striper, a full Navy captain.”
“Hot shit,” said Jack. I could tell that he was as happy as I was.
“Honey,” I said, “I don't think either of us expected this. We carried our warning to the highest level possible, only to get blindsided by a ridiculous plan that won’t work.”
“It's obvious,” said Jack, “that Roosevelt doesn't give a damn about our desire to return home to 2016. He's President of the United States and it's his job to take care of business, here and now. But you know about defense contracts, Ashley. Hell, you've been involved in enough of them. They can take years, sometimes decades. I don't think Roosevelt cares about the F-18 taking part in World War II. He's a sharp politician and a crafty statesman. He's looking to build hundreds of jets to contend with Russia after the war. If we ever find the coordinates of the wormhole, it could be five or more years from now. Our lives in 2016 will no longer exist.”
“You're right as usual, hon,” I said. “Say they make a prototype for a new jet based on the F-18. Then they have to test it; then they have to figure out why the friggin’ thing crashed. Then it's back to the drawing boards. Five years is a short estimate. Without the technology or materials we need, it’s more like 10 years. Meanwhile, the two of us are stuck in the 1940s. I wonder why Roosevelt promoted you to captain.”
“As I mentioned before,” said Jack, “Roosevelt is a wily politician. He no doubt thinks that I'm flattered by the big promotion, flattered and beholden to him. We're dealing with a tough guy, Ashley. And he's our Commander in Chief.”
“Maybe I should have told Roosevelt the truth, Jack, that you and I are registered Republicans.”
Jack laughed. “I don’t think that would have made a difference.”
“Well, we have one thing on our side, Jack, one big thing. The Black Box.”
Chapter 42
Kurt Schweitzer here.
The fat man has spoken. I just got word from Herman Goering that my job is to steal the American Hornet jet. Sometimes I think that Goering spends too much time eating, drinking, and carousing with women. As founder of the Gestapo, Goering has absolute faith in the ability of spy networks to work miracles. Now that he heads up the Luftwaffe, his brain has gone soft.
How does one steal a jet aircraft that weighs thousands of pounds and is, no doubt, surrounded by heavily armed security? Does he expect me to walk into the hangar and slip it into my briefcase?
It's obvious why Goering wants the plane. He wants to take it apart and build a prototype for future jet fighters based on the F-18. I don't blame him. But how do I steal this machine? As I'm sitting here wondering about my orders, I imagine Goering touring another one of the museums he so loves, plundering the collections for his own private investment. I can picture him, champagne glass in one hand, his arm around a beautiful fraulein.
It's easier to steal a priceless work of art than a fighter jet.
Chapter 43
“This is Shepard Smith for Fox News reporting from LaGuardia Airport. We've been following this story all morning and I wish I had better news for you. The F-18 Hornet fighter aircraft piloted by newly promoted Navy Admiral, Ashley Patterson, is still missing. Our colleague, journalist Jack Thurber, who's also a lieutenant in the Naval Reserve, was with Admiral Patterson. The two are married, and the flight was dreamed up by the Pentagon Public Affairs Office as a celebration of Admiral Patterson's promotion. At age 39, she is the youngest rear admiral in the Navy's history. We have with us this morning Brigadier General Dominic Mumford, United States Air Force, the Public Affairs Officer for the Pentagon.”
“General Mumford, please give us an update on the search for Admiral Patterson and her husband.”
“As you know, Shepard, the plane was due to land here at LaGuardia at 9 AM this morning. The two escort jets have landed but we have no sign of Admiral Patterson's aircraft. According to the escort pilots, they saw no parachute and saw no debris in the ocean when they circled a possible splashdown location. The time between when the plane went missing and the last visual sighting by one of the escort pilots was less than a minute. We’ve launched a search and rescue operation. At this point I won't minimize my concern. I've been a pilot myself for over 25 years, and I've been involved in searches for missing planes. At this point we just have to hope and pray for Admiral Patterson and her husband Jack, and for their families.”
“There you have it folks,” said Smith. “We're in for a gut-wrenching time of wait-and-see. We'll bring you updates as soon as they come in.”
The F-18 had been missing for 30 minutes.
Chapter 44
“Jack, today's Saturday, November 2, 1940. It's 9 AM. We've been here in 1940 for 16 days. Any guess how long we've been gone in 2016 time?”
“Minutes, maybe hours. Remember the Gray Ship incident? We were gone for four months in 1861 but only seven hours in 2013. Past time is a lot slower than present time, based on our experiences and my research.”
We were headed to the Blake Industries, Defense Division, in Lake Success on Long Island, New York, for a meeting with Nigel Blake. Nigel had left word at the front gate, so our security check didn't take much time. The plant, more like a campus, was sprawling. I counted over a dozen large buildings, all over two stories in height. A parade of 10 flatbed trucks passed us on the left, each bearing the minimalist logo, Blake. Our driver pulled into a circular driveway at the end of which was a 20 foot by 30 foot porte cochere designed to keep guests from being soaked by the elements. We were happy to see it this morning, as it rained steadily.
An aide took us to the second floor to Nigel Blake's office. Nigel likes big things, tall things, complicated things. His office displayed his taste. It was gigantic. I quickly estimated that it was 75 by 100 feet. The walls were graced with photographs of strange machines that looked like they came from the 21st Century.
Nigel was seated at his desk on the opposite side of the office. If you had bad eyesight you could barely make him out.
“My honored guests from the future,” Nigel boomed, his arms spread out wide. He was dressed impeccably in a light gray business suit, white shirt and what looked like a thousand dollar neck tie. In corporations I have visited in the 21st Century, open collared shirts seem to be the uniform of the day, even for senior management. It was somehow uplifting to see a CEO dressed for serious business.
Nigel walked around his desk and bounded over to me, bowed and kissed my hand. He thrust out his hand to Jack.
“Congratulations, Captain Thurber,” he said, as he pointed to the new stripes on the sleeve of Jack's uniform.
“Word travels fast in 1940,” I said.
Besides the stripes, Nigel could have only gotten that information directly from Franklin Roosevelt.
“So how was your meeting with Franklin?” (Franklin?).
“I guess you're ahead of us on this, Nigel, but President Roosevelt wants to reverse-engineer the F-18 and make a new fleet of jets for the war effort. He didn't seem to have any sense of urgency that Jack and I return home to 2016. He wants me to be the lead consultant and Jack to keep a history of the project. He called it Project Hornet.”
“And are you pleased with this turn of events, my friends?” said Nigel, his handsome hang-dog eyes showing concern.
“I know that I speak for both Jack and I when I say no, we're not pleased. We couldn’t be more disappointed. But I'm not sure what we can do about it. We estimate that this project will take years, probably extending beyond World War II. Neither of us are engineers, but Roosevelt's idea is that I can identify all of the dials and switches on the aircraft for the technical people to play with. I don't see why I can't draw an elaborate diagram with an explanation for every moveable part in the plane. Why do we have to be here in 1940 to make it happen?”
“Whenever I give Franklin an idea,” said Nigel, “he often takes it and runs off in an uncharted direction. Yo
u’re right, Ashley. We can learn all we need to learn from you as a pilot in a matter of weeks. Am I correct in assuming that you know all of the dials and switches, but you don't understand the engineering behind them?”
“That's correct, Nigel. I don't have a clue how those things work, I just know their function.”
As we left Nigel’s office I kept wondering if he was on our side. Unlike Roosevelt, does he really care if we ever get back to 2016?
Chapter 45
At 10 AM on Sunday, November 3, Jack and I sat having coffee in the alcove of our house overlooking the lovely garden. We had just come back from an Episcopal service at the base chapel. After the events of the last few days, both Jack and I were beginning to think that prayer may be our only answer.
The garden was taking on a listless November look, and the overcast sky didn’t help. The chrysanthemums had given up their joyous yellow splendor and drooped toward the ground, seemingly resigned to their fate. The garden mirrored our moods.
“So, captain,” I said to my recently promoted husband, “you seem quiet this morning.”
“Don’t call me captain. I’m still pissed off that I’ve been manipulated by the President of the United States. My promotion is just part of his plan to keep us here. What’s your thinking, hon?”
“Well, obviously Roosevelt wants us to hang around for a few years to help reengineer the F-18 into a new breed of fighter planes,” I said. “If it works, and it won’t, our lives are stuck here in the 1940s dedicated to help build a new weapons system. It’s kind of hard to buck the Commander in Chief.”
“Ashley, we can’t give up hope. Nigel Blake seems to be on our side, or at least I think he is. He knows we want to go back to 2016, and he seems to think Roosevelt’s idea is nuts too.”
“Jack, Nigel Blake may be a good man, but he’s not the friggin’ President of the United States. Franklin, as Nigel calls him, is not a man easily turned off course. He’s got this goofy idea that a new weapons system can be developed in a few months – and we don’t even have the materials, not to mention the technology, to pull it off. But how, pray tell, can Nigel Blake ignore the President and help his new time travel buddies?”
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 64
