Free The Last Pilot: A Novel by Benjamin Johncock

Harrison.
    Jim, Harrison said, this here is Deke Slayton. Jim finished top of his class at Pax River.
    Pleasure, Deke said, shaking Lovell’s hand.
    Edwards?
    Deke nodded.
    Harrison turned to Lovell. They still call you Shaky? he said.
    Only Conrad.
    Shaky? Deke said. Bad name for a pilot.
    That’s pretty much what he had in mind when he came up with it, Lovell said. And here he is now.
    Jim! Conrad said to Harrison. Good to see you.
    Hey, Pete, Lovell said.
    Shaky! Say, that was weird this morning, weren’t it?
    Lovell laughed.
    It sure was, he said.
    What happened? Harrison said.
    We ran into each other at dawn, Lovell said, in the parking lot, sneaking off base to come here.
    We had strict orders not to tell anyone—including each other, Conrad said.
    And we followed our orders to the letter, Lovell said.
    My money’s on this being about space, Conrad said.
    Smart money’s on a new type of rocket plane, Lovell said.
    Here? Deke said.
    Maybe, Lovell said.
    X-15B is already being designed by North American, Harrison said. Then the X-20 will follow it.
    That the one they’re calling the Dyna-Soar? Deke said.
    Dynamic Soarer, yeah, Harrison said.
    They’re space-planes, sure, Deke said, but they’re a way off.
    Too far off, Conrad said. My guess is, they’re in a funk after the Vanguard fuckup.
    That was bad, Deke said. Real bad.
    Why the hell did they televise it? Harrison said. It made us look stupid.
    Stupidest thing I ever seen, Conrad said. Two months after the Sputnik, Khrushchev laughing at us already; here’s our chance and the thing doesn’t make it six inches off the goddamn pad! Just does this little fart then collapses and—
    Boom, Harrison said.
    Boom, Conrad said. What a joke.
    What was it they called it? Deke said. Kaputnik?
    Something like that, Harrison said.
    So I’m sticking with space, Conrad said.
    The men fell silent and scanned the room.
    No Yeager? Lovell said.
    No college degree, Harrison said.
    Damn shame, Deke said. I thought they wanted the best?
    Well, they’ve only called in test pilots under thirty-nine, under five-eleven with at least fifteen hundred hours of jet experience—and a college degree, Lovell said. Which must rule out a bunch of fellas.
    Crossfield? Walker? Conrad said.
    Too old? Deke said.
    Civilians, Harrison said.
    Right.
    A man shut the door at the back.
    Here we go, Harrison said.
    The men took their seats and stared at the podium. A short man walked onto the stage. He looked as comfortable on it as the men felt in their suits.
    Gentlemen, good morning, he said. My name is Doctor Robert Gilruth; you may call me Doctor Gilruth. We’ve asked you here today to discuss Project Mercury.
    He had their attention.
    As you are probably aware, Gilruth continued, in October, the president expanded the role of the National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics to include vehicles able to extend beyond the confines of the atmosphere. The highest priority of this new National Aeronautics and Space Administration is to put an American into Earth orbit within three years. The program, headed by myself, is called Project Mercury. We’re looking for the best pilots for these missions. The hazards will be considerable. As such, the first men in space will be chosen on a volunteer basis. Should any man decide not to volunteer, it will not be entered onto his record, nor will it be held against him in any way. The NASA will be a civilian agency, so every man would keep the same military status and rank.
    Deke turned to Harrison.
    Civilian? he said. That don’t sound good.
    Gilruth, gently perspiring under the hot lights, explained that the space vehicle was to be a funnel-shaped capsule, just six feet across and nine high. The volunteer would be strapped to a form-fitted couch, sealed inside, and placed atop a ballistic missile capable of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds of thrust. A man on the ground would light the missile and fire it into space.
    That is the stupidest thing I