The Consultant
Edited by David Barth
This story was written for my uncle, Jack Edward Barth, in June, 1982, to honor his outstanding career as an engineer in aviation. He had a significant
involvement in the development of some of America's greatest military and civilian aircraft.
In this story I included Jack's family dog, Udo, a very intelligent German Shepherd, that nearly attacked me one night when I unthinkingly ran back to our
campsite in the Longs Peak Camp Ground in Colorado. I had gone to the bathroom, and instead of walking back to camp slowly so that I wouldn't alarm Udo,
I forgot about him and ran back.
I skidded on the gravel to stop in time, and when Udo realized who I was, he acted very embarrassed and sorry for his actions. He was really a special
animal anyone would be proud to have around.
He was one of the greatest airframe structural engineers of all time. Some considered him the Isaac Newton of aviation. Living in southern California, center of
the commercial and military aircraft industry, he had been employed by one of the largest airplane manufacturers until his retirement a few years ago. He lived
with his wife in an estate north of Long Beach.
He had become a consultant, not because he needed the money or because he had nothing else to do, but because the aircraft companies demanded him. They
had to pay him tremendous sums for his much sought-after services.
Everyone called him J. E. He was a quiet man possessing leadership qualities developed during his career as a line manager in the aircraft industry. J. E. had a
sense of humor that was crafty, almost impish. You didn't know if he was half serious until he bent his head and looked over the tops of his glasses,
grinning.
J. E. and his wife had a German Shepherd dog that they kept as a companion and whom they took with them on outings. Sometimes J. E. even took the dog to a
consulting job with him.
It was a beautiful June morning and J. E. was on his way to a consulting job at one of the large aircraft factories. He thought about the dog sitting beside him in the
car. It was an old dog that someone had apparently abandoned in the neighborhood a few years ago. The poor dog had crawled to J. E.'s home to beg for
food.
At the factory where J. E. was headed, the company's executive vice president paced back and forth on the apron in front of a windowless, tightly-guarded
hangar. "Where the hell is J. E.? He knows we're paying him big bucks to be here!"
Inside the hangar, part of a large facility commonly referred to as "The Wasp Works," was this country's answer to air warfare in the twenty first century. This
factory was one of two in the country that developed ultra-performance aircraft. The crews had nicknamed it "The Wasp Works" because, compared to a skunk,
this company's products really flew. And they didn't just cause a stink, they stung!
The Federal Government had been funding projects at this company since the 1940's, but it had never yet produced a production aircraft! The reason it had
continued to draw so much money for more than half a century was that the prototypes it produced were beyond state of the art to the extent that the SR 71 Blackbird
was but a mere paper airplane by comparison. In fact, these machines were the cause of all the UFO sightings since people began spotting them in the 1940s. The
roswell incident involved one of this company's secret aircraft, and the military covered up the facts through misinformation and obfuscation.
A two-way worn on the hip of an automatic weapons armed MP crackled the news that J. E. was entering the top security perimeter.
There was not question of superior security. Even the secrecy of the famed Enigma code breaking machine used by the Allies during World War II paled by
comparison.
One of the pilots on the ramp spoke to another in a low voice, "Here he comes."
"J. E?"
"Yep. And at the bucks he gets per hour, that is quite a chunk of money to get docked for being ten minutes late."
"You know, he pulls down what would be a weeks pay for me every time he takes a short breath."
"Well, if I had his money, I'd throw mine away."
"Ya, just a month of his pay, and I could retire to Palm Springs in splendor."
"Hell, you could buy Palm Springs with six months of his pay and still have enough left over to pay cash for downtown L. A!"
"Hey, look. He has his dog, U 2, with him."
"That old mangy varmint is called 'U 2'?"
"Yep."
"After Kelly Johnson's powered glider?"
"No, they say he once had another dog that had a name like . . . no, I can't remember what it was. Strange name though. Anyway, it began with the letter 'U,'
and so 'U 2' was a sort of recognition of that first dog."
"Look, he is leading the dog out here on the ramp."
"Yes, on some occasions he brings it along."
"I wonder if it has a secret clearance?"
"Don't laugh. They scan it for bugs at the gate."
"Heh, heh. I'll bet they find a few on that critter."
J. E. exchanged pleasantries with the corporate executive who had traded his look of anguish for one of relief now that J. E. had arrived.
J. E. strode to the red perimeter line, leading the dog, and sat down in a leather swivel chair placed there for him. U 2 sat down beside the chair. They were
more than twenty yards from anyone else. J. E. liked to be somewhat removed from others when he was making his flight observations.
The ground crews were feverishly running last minute checks and a loudspeaker enunciated the count down, a minute remaining to lift off, and no scheduled
holds, "Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . " Another voice cut in, "We have reached critical field force . . . "
"One."
"Lift off . . . hovering."
Nothing could be seen form the apron. Everything was quiet, but all eyes were turned toward the sealed hangar. J. E. had swivelled his chair to face it.
This was the final series of NASA acceptance tests. The project was too big for the Air Force, in fact, the predecessor of NASA, the NACA, had been organized
for this project, but only a few key people knew that fact.
Suddenly, a rumble noise filled the desert air. It was the roof doors on the top of the hangar sliding back. A moment after they reached the full open position, a
large, blimp like object rose vertically and soundlessly from the opening in the roof. But it didn't really look like a blimp. True, it was cigar shaped, but it had bright,
pulsating lights around its girth. They played about the surface in a sort of hypnotic pattern.
J. E. watched as the ship suddenly accelerated, flying out of sight in less than a second. Momentarily, it shot across the sky, heading the opposite direction.
J. E. turned to U 2, "How's she doing, old boy?" Only J. E. and his wife knew that the old dog was really blind. Its keen sense of hearing was so well developed that
it always seemed to look in the direction of motion, but it was really looking in the direction of sound.
The loudspeaker came alive again, "The first test will be a pass at point eight five 'C'." This wasn't a mere .85 times the speed of sound, commonly known as
Mach .85, that airliners fly. The letter 'C' represents the speed of light! The speed .85 C would be 158,100 miles per second. No one saw the ship go over.
The control room which was in contact with the ship's crew reported over the sound system, "The next pass will be at point niner 'C'."
J. E. wasn't watching the sky. He seemed relaxed, oblivious to everyone else whose eyes searched the sky that would not issue the faintest visual clue to the
ship's passage. J. E. was watching U 2. The dog, nose reaching skyward as though sniffing for a faint scent, gave a quiet growl. J. E. immediately stood up
and motioned to the manager of flight evaluation, "Cancel it, John."
In a moment, the speaker announced, "This test is canceled. Repeat, test canceled. Docking crews man your stations."
One of the flight dynamics managers walked up to the executive vice president who was listening intently to J. E: "Walt, we still have the harmonics problem
showing up at point nine. You might get with your boys in structures and beef up the toroid attach points."
The vice president's eyebrows lifted, "You mean the external structure needs more stiffening, J. E?"
"No, you did a job on it last time. I think you need to beef up the engine hull stabilizers."
J. E. led U 2 to his car and helped the dog in. As J. E. drove away with the dog, the flight dynamics manager asked the V. P., "How did he figure that out?"
"Beats me, but he's never been wrong yet. Get your people on it first thing in the morning."
J. E.'s wife gave him a warm greeting at home. She hugged U 2 and he licked her hand in appreciation.
It took J. E. exactly four minutes and thirty eight seconds to grill a perfect fillet mignon to U 2's taste, which was almost as well developed as his hearing. As the
steak cooked, U 2 sat stately "watching" the gas grill on the patio. Actually, he was intently listening to the fat globules crackle.
"Well, old boy," J. E. said, "You did a good job today. You sure earned your steak, not to mention the Baskin Robbins French Vanilla for desert! You earned it for
both of us, today."
U 2 just turned his sightless eyes toward J. E., cocked his head, and seemed to smile.
"Yes, U 2, today, you were the consultant."