Hypersonic Thunder: A Novel of the Jet Age (6 page)

Rodriquez wasn’t good at being funny, and his attempt at humor failed once again.

“Well, it looks as if I am going to be busting up this old gang of ours. It is time for me to be moving on. Steve here is going to retire from the Air Force and join me in a new venture. Nancy has been nice enough to agree to buy up some of my stock in the old company, but I’ve kept a good bit, and I’ll always be available to Vance Shannon, Incorporated.” Then with a nod to the sleeping Vance, he added, “And to the grand old man himself.”

Looking immensely pleased, Nancy went on. “Thanks, Bob; that’s about it. We won’t go into the details of the deal right now, they are still being worked out. Bob very nicely offered to sign a non-compete agreement, but I told him that it wasn’t necessary. We’ve worked together so closely in the past it would be virtually impossible to decide how to frame an agreement, and besides, I think the goals of his new firm and the goals of our firm are going to be quite a bit different in the future.”

Jill made a quick scan of the faces. Nancy was clearly hitting the wrong note with everyone. She was glad Vance was dozing.

Nancy went on. “After we get this finally settled—and it won’t be long, I promise you—I’ll be making some announcements about the new directions and goals for the firm. I think you will be pleased”—and then sensing the uniform expressions of disapproval, she stumbled and went on—“at least I hope you will. I’ll try to—”

She sat down suddenly, aware that something was very wrong. She had made a mistake, but was unsure exactly what it was.

Vance stirred and opened his eyes and, his voice remarkably strong, said, “I don’t know, but this sounds like a complete fuckup to me.”

Then he nodded off again.

There was silence.

Embarrassed, Jill said, “He must have been dreaming; you know he never uses bad language around the family. He’d be so embarrassed if he knew he said that in front of Rod.”

And Tom said, “Yeah, he was dreaming—or listening.”

November 19, 1974
Palos Verdes, California

V
ANCE
S
HANNON DIED
as anyone might wish to do, in his sleep, without any pain. Never a quiet sleeper, Vance had become increasingly noisy in the last year, and Jill had been forced to move to a separate bedroom. She found him when she brought his breakfast coffee in, his body already cold.

Now the Shannon clan had gathered once again in the library where so many decisions had been made, the men talking quietly, being brave, the women alternately trying to be cheerful or crying to themselves. Bob Rodriquez was in Europe, but Mae was there, loyal as ever, more a part of the Shannon family now than before.

Jill was seemingly the least affected as she rushed around in her typical fashion, making coffee, getting some bakery goods out of the freezer, trying to carry on as she knew Vance would have wanted her to do. Tom and Harry were silent for the most part, conscious of how much their father had inspired them, and aware of how much they would miss him. Anna was inconsolable, so much so that she became the object of worry, not for her sadness, but for the probability that she would use Vance’s death as an excuse to begin drinking again.

Nancy Shannon was obviously shaken; her voice trembled and she sat apart from everyone, a prayer book and a rosary clasped in her hands. Harry nudged Tom and said, “I didn’t know Nancy was religious.”

“She’s not. I don’t even know where she dug those out. But she is profoundly shaken. I know she loved Dad—everybody did—but this is something else.”

“I think running the business is getting to her. Some of the things she’s trying to do just are not working out.”

Determined to diversify Vance Shannon, Incorporated, Nancy Shannon had become deeply involved in a huge shopping mall development on the outskirts of San Diego. So far nothing had gone well, and Nancy was feeling the pressure.

Tom shrugged. “I feel guilty about it, but I don’t know how to help. I never followed the real estate market. I just assumed the price of everything would keep going up. She’s probably not hurting on the land she bought, it’s just dealing with the builders and the contractors that is killing her. Everybody is behind schedule and everybody wants more money for every change.”

“That part sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, it’s no different than building airplanes in that respect, I guess, but she doesn’t know who to trust. With Boeing or Lockheed, there are always people we know who will level with us. She’s being led down the garden path by some outsiders, and she doesn’t know where to turn.”

“Can she just pull out, take the losses, and get back into something we are good at?”

“She can but she won’t. She’s changed so much since I married her, mainly because I was gone so much. My years as a POW were hard on her; she turned to work like—”

Harry finished the line for him. “Like Anna turned to booze. You can say it, it won’t hurt my feelings. God knows Anna has put us all through the mill so many times that there’s no harm in being frank.”

“Sorry, Harry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t. I’m inured to it now. But let me tell you something. Nancy’s success has been tough for Anna to take. She’s told me a thousand times how Nancy is a success, and she is a failure. I try to reassure her, but it doesn’t work.”

Tom nodded. “It has to be tough on her. It’s tough on me. I feel like half a man with her running things, and you and me working for her. I love her, just as I always did, and I respect her, but it drives me
nuts to have her as my boss. Especially since I disagree with what she’s doing to the company.”

“Well, it’s a hell of a note that we’re standing here complaining about our wives, when our dad has just died.”

“Harry, Dad has just passed on to another better place. He’s never going to die in our memories, or in the memories of many people. I don’t know anyone in the industry that had more friends or fewer enemies.”

“I’ll drink to that. Oops, sorry, did it again.”

December 6, 1974
Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia

T
WO WEEKS BEFORE
there had been another family argument. Vance had always said he wanted a quiet funeral, and internment beside his first wife in the family plot. His second wife, Jill, had agreed, but somewhat reluctantly. She had never known his first wife, Margaret, but nonetheless felt somewhat hurt that Vance was electing to “spend eternity” next to her.

Then Steve O’Malley had popped in with news that shook them. He had made a personal call to the Air Force Chief of Staff, General David C. Jones, asking if the United States Air Force would provide a flyover for Vance’s burial.

Jones, a powerful figure of a man, with dark curly hair and a commanding stance, responded, “Vance Shannon? Absolutely. Just tell me when and where he’ll be buried and we’ll have a flight of four overhead at the exact moment. It will be at Arlington, of course—no place else is suitable for a hero like Vance Shannon.”

It took O’Malley another three days to convince the family that Vance deserved national honors rather than the quiet ceremony he had requested. Jill wanted to be more supportive, but was afraid that her motives would be too obvious. Tom, who had always been closer to his mother, resisted the idea, while Harry was neutral. He was so preoccupied with keeping his wife sober that he devoted himself only to the most essential elements of his work. After Tom had reluctantly
agreed, it took O’Malley three more days to make the arrangements at Arlington. There had been a problem at first—the beautiful cemetery was already overscheduled, but another call to General Jones took care of that.

Now the family stood at graveside, no divisions among them, Jill quite beautiful in black, V. R. looking handsome in his Air Force uniform, and Rod, already five inches taller than his father, quietly standing with Mae, taking it all in.

The weather was wonderful for Washington in December, dry with the temperature edging toward fifty degrees.

Tom leaned over to Harry and whispered, “Have you ever seen so many well-known aviation people in one spot before?”

“No, not even at the Collier Trophy Dinner. There must be three thousand or more here.”

Both men watched the crowd closely, picking out friends from the service, from industry, and from the various company offices around the country.

“Not much work being done today at Vance Shannon, Incorporated. That would really frost Dad!”

“No, Tom, nor at a lot of other offices as well. Dad would really be touched. And surprised. He knew he was liked, but I don’t think he’d ever dreamed there would be a turnout like this.”

They lapsed into silence as a general hush came over the crowd. The body-bearers, all six-footers from the Air Force Academy, another O’Malley gesture, carried the simple walnut coffin and positioned it over the grave. They stepped back, carefully unfolded the flag, and held it outstretched, taut, over the coffin.

Father Jake Callahan stepped forward. He had conducted the Mass earlier in the day. Tom whispered to Harry, “Dad wasn’t much of a churchgoer. I wonder what he’s making of this?”

“He liked Jake—they used to have a cognac or two, playing chess. I’m sure Dad’s happy he’s here. And I think Dad believed in the church; he was just too damn wrapped up in flying to be a good parishioner.”

Father Callahan was brief. “Vance Shannon was a good man, beloved by his family, his friends, and his clients. He never made a promise he didn’t keep; he never backed away from a challenge, and he always delivered more than he had agreed to. He was a great flyer, a fine, intuitive engineer, and a businessman almost by accident, for he
never pursued the dollar; he only pursued the truth. He will be missed by all.”

Callahan paused for a moment and said, “I’ve composed a special prayer for Vance. It is short and a little unorthodox, but it is sincere.”

He bowed his head and went on. “Dear Heavenly Father, you have received the soul of a great aviator. May he enjoy his heavenly wings as much as he enjoyed his earthly wings. Amen.”

There was an appreciative chuckle from the crowd, then silence as the honor guard stepped forward with their rifles at the ready. Just as the command “Fire” rang out, the air was shattered with the sound of eight jet engines as four McDonnell F-4Es roared overhead. The rifle shots were lost in the noise of the Phantoms flying over, the number three man peeling up in the heart-stopping “missing man” salute. The F-4Es disappeared over the horizon as the haunting sound of “Taps” rang out. They watched the solemn folding of the flag in silence, too moved by the Air Force’s final aerial salute to a fallen comrade to talk. Finally, Harry whispered to Tom, “That must have been laid on by O’Malley. We owe him a lot for this.”

Tom nodded, still choked up.

The chaplain saluted the flag and then handed it to Jill.

It was over. The crowd began to move, a hundred conversations broke out, and Tom moved over to Steve O’Malley.

“I won’t forget this, Steve. Dad must be mighty pleased.”

“He was a modest man, Tom, but he deserves every honor. I’m glad I could help.”

Tom turned away. It was too bad that O’Malley was wrapped up in his project with Rodriquez—he’d be a good man to bring on board the Shannon family firm.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PASSING PARADE
: Pol Pot begins genocide in Cambodia; U.S. Marines recapture S.S.
Mayaguez
from Cambodian communists; two assassination attempts on President Ford; federal government bails out New York City; legislation attempts to impose metric measurements on United States; 8,000 lifelike, life-sized terracotta soldiers found in China; Legionnaires’ disease appears; CB radio popular;
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
wins top four Oscars; Apple Computer launched.

December 13, 1974
Luke AFB, Arizona

F
our sleek Northrop T-38 Talons flew through the thin, high cirrus at thirty thousand feet, the flashing gray wisps of clouds imparting a temporary sense of speed. En route back from a tough training mission, 2nd Lieutenant Vance Robert Shannon felt the familiar incredulity that he was actually paid to fly this marvelous aircraft. He mumbled to himself, “It must be in the blood, in the genes.”

Neither his father nor his grandfather had ever encouraged him to fly—they both knew the dangers too well, and both had lost too many friends to the business. But they were obviously happy when he chose the Air Force, and even happier when he began doing so well in flying school. Now, only days away from graduation, he piloted the number four aircraft in the formation, enjoying the T-38’s responsiveness, watching Charlie St. John lead the flight with precision and
anticipating an evening of dinner, dancing, and, he hoped, sex with his fiancée Ginny.

St. John had been his rival at the Academy, in flight school, and for the affections of Virginia “Ginny” Talbot. Charlie had graduated number one to his number two at the Academy and they were now neck and neck for first honors in flying school. It had been a close-run thing with Ginny, but she agreed to marry Shannon only two weeks before. Through it all, against the odds, Shannon and St. John had remained close friends, although the business with Ginny was going to make it rough. It was just as well they were graduating, going their separate ways.

As they began a left turn, Shannon noticed a puff of smoke, followed by a blue-colored flame, coming from St. John’s port engine.

“Lead, check your gauges. I see flames coming from your number one engine, Charlie.”

There was no reply. Instead the canopy blew off in a high arc, followed immediately by the ejection seat, with St. John hunched forward as the seat rotated, his helmet flying off. Shannon broke left, calling, “I’ll try to follow him down. Call Luke and give our position.”

He threw the T-38 into a tight turn thinking,
Jesus, there must have been a fire in the cockpit to have him eject so fast. I hope he’s OK.

Shannon chopped his throttles, rolled inverted, and scanned the sky below him. Off to the right, almost out of sight, he saw a black dot, fast disappearing toward the rugged mountains below.