What's going to happen now? Let's see...
{{ Sweet snaps of the Rhine, pressed trousers, polished shoes, you're representing the U.S.A., remember. These people all around us were our enemy just ten years ago. Today, they've bought into our dream. Automobiles, neon and jazz. Television sets and sport. Frauleins remind me of home. But you stare into the dead eyes of some older guy, and you know, you see hate. Hatred, resentment. I last saw that gaze fixed on me in Alabama. Losers and winners. But here, they know who beat them. They know if it weren't for us, if it weren't for our military presence, they'd be under a different boot. Some of those older guys had had a taste of that. No Marshall Plan, no dream, no Auto, no neon, no jazz; just grayness and the lash.
Demonstration flight 0530 tomorrow morning. I'll be part-engineer, part-salesman. Talk them through the features, answer the technical questions. Handling their objections. They're think they're good engineers – but heck, we're better. Better science, better universities, that's why. They see only detail; we get the bigger picture. We're Can Do. We Think Big.
So – tomorrow. The guy who takes the decisions – he's from the Ministry. He has the budget. So it's a good thing most of that budget comes from Uncle Sam. That's why our people from the Embassy in Bonn are here too. We're here to sell.
Smell of rubber and kerosene, men working round the clock to get everything working perfectly for that early morning flight. Calibration, control, last-minute tweaks. Weather forecast isn't perfect but it'll do for the demo flight. Hangar doors are wide open; inside bright lights and the sound of engines being warmed up. Step ladders, crates and trolleys. Busy.
Look – at heart, I'm a mechanic, not an engineer – and sure as hell I'm not a scientist. I can take a carburettor apart, immediately see what the problem is, fix it, put it back together, and replace the unit so the engine works good. I'm handy with spanners and screwdrivers – real handy. That's what kept me out of the meat grinder in the Pacific, I was too useful to the Marines fixing F4U Corsair engines. But today my job calls on me to pretend I'm a scientist, using fancy words I don't entirely understand. Why am I here? I often wonder! Talking to real scientists, real engineers, and the budget boys from the air force and the ministry, I can tell a good story, from real life, from actually having handled the kit inside a B-36 at 35,000ft with Red fighters climbing towards our ship for the intercept. I'm one of a handful of aircrew who have actually been over Soviet territory – though officially, I can only imply that, and if asked openly, I must deny it.
Night time in Wiesbaden. The Aral neon over the gas station, the milchbar across the road, wet cobblestones, Volkswagen Beetles, shiny black Mercedes-Benz sedans. Here and there a gap between the buildings, a reminder of wartime destruction, but the people are well-dressed and well fed; this isn't Guatemala or Honduras. Been there too, selling military hardware. Didn't like that. Just selling them redundant airplanes that they'll use fighting between themselves or killing their own folk. Candy from a baby. Still, taught me a thing or two about diplomacy. West Germany – a different matter. Just across the border to the east lies a massive foe, well armed and dangerous. Technologically not our match across the board, but here and there they have surprises up their sleeves. We have to be prepared for those surprises. And our allies too, holding the line here in Europe with us. Some stuff we can share – some we can't. Never know whom to trust, who'll sell our secrets to the Reds.
Ideologically the Ruskis are the enemies of freedom. Seen those cartoons they publish about us? See how they try to mock us? Given half the chance, how many of them would want to be living in the free world?
Tanker trucks are driving into the hangar, the plane's being fueled up. Black German crosses on the wings and fuselages. Different to those wartime ones. More like World War One and the Red Baron's flying circus. Checklists. Inspect everything. No smoking within 100 feet. Cigars tomorrow, I hope. And beers. They remind me of home too.
I think back to America and our office park. A beautiful place to work. I see the sense of what I'm doing. Strategic defense. Not messing around – projects designed to make the world safer through the application of military technology. We won in 1945 because of air power. We'll beat back the Ruskis in space. Burbank, El Segundo, San Diego – I work with them all, Bethpage too, especially around Navy contracts. Keep in with the boys. Best way of life in the whole world. Our German customers – they'll need all our help to keep the Reds out. Not just the hardware, but the promise of better life. A Frigidaire full. That is all. }}
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