"Gene Wolfe - Against the Lafayette Escadrille" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

Against the Lafayette
Escadrille
by Gene Wolfe
I have built a perfect replica of a Fokker triplane, except for the flammable dope. It is five meters,
seventy-seven centimeters long and has a wing span of seven meters, nineteen centimeters, just like the
original. The engine is an authentic copy of an Oberursel UR II. I have a lathe and a milling machine and I
made most of the parts for the engine myself, but some had to be farmed out to a company in Cleveland,
and most of the electrical parts were done in Louisville, Kentucky.

In the beginning I had hoped to get an original engine, and I wrote my first letters to Germany with that in
mind, but it just wasn't possible; there are only a very few left, and as nearly as I could find out none in
private hands. The Oberursel Worke is no longer in existence. I was able to secure plans though, through
the cooperation of some German hobbyists. I redrew them myself translating the German when they had
to be sent to Cleveland. A man from the newspaper came to take pictures when the Fokker was nearly
ready to fly. and I estimated then that I had put more than three thousand hours into building it. I did all
the airframe and the fabric work myself, and carved the propeller.

Throughout the project I have tried to keep everything as realistic as possible, and I even have two 7.92
mm Maxim "Spandau" machine-guns mounted just ahead of the cockpit. They are not loaded of course,
but they are coupled to the engine with the Fokker Zentralsteuerung interrupter gear.

The question of dope came up because of a man in Oregon I used to correspond with who flies a
Nieuport Scout. The authentic dope, as you're probably aware, was extremely flammable. He wanted to
know if I'd used it, and when I told him I had not he became critical.

As I said then. I love the Fokker too much to want to see it burn authentically, and if Antony Fokker and
Reinhold Platz had had fireproof dope they would have used it. This didn't satisfy the Oregon man and he
finally became so abusive I stopped replying to his letters. I still believe what I did was correct, and if I
had it to do over my decision would be the same.

I have had a trailer specially built to move the Fokker, and I traded my car in on a truck to tow it and
carry parts and extra gear, but mostly I leave it at a small field near here where I have rented hangar
space, and move it as little as possible on the roads. When I do because of the wide load I have to drive
very slowly and only use certain roads. People always stop to look when we pass, and sometimes I can
hear them on their front porches calling to others inside to come and see. I think the three wings of the
Fokker interest them particularly, and once in a rare while a veteran of the war will see it--almost always
a man who smokes a pipe and has a cane. If I can hear what they say it is often pretty foolish, but a light
comes into their eyes that I enjoy.

Mostly the Fokker is just in its hangar out at the field and you wouldn't know me from anyone else as I
drive out to fly. There is a black cross painted on the door of my truck, but it wouldn't mean anything to
you. I suppose it wouldn't have meant anything even if you had seen me on my way out the day I saw the
balloon.
It was one of the earliest days of spring, with a very fresh, really indescribable feeling in the air. Three
days before I had gone up for the first time that year, coming after work and flying in weather that was a
little too bad with not quite enough light left; winter flying, really. Now it was Saturday and everything
was changed. I remember how my scarf streamed out while I was just standing on the field talking to the
mechanic.

The wind was good, coming right down the length of the field to me, getting under the Fokker's wings