“Nothing’s cooking,” I countered. “In fact, I can report ‘eight o’clock lights and galley fires out’ like any other good sailor.”
Chance grinned. “I’m running out of work,” he said, “and if I can’t get a new contract soon I’ll have to close up shop.”
Henry Mullinix shook his head as he put in his oar. “Mr. Vought,” he said, “you must know that your little UO, once the sweetest little job in the air, has now become so overloaded it can hardly stagger off a catapult. Surely you don’t expect the Bureau to buy any more trucks like that?”
Chance bristled with indignation. “It’s the Bureau’s own fault,” he snorted. “They’ve added everything to it from automatic toilets to hot and cold running radios.”
Ricco Botta added his salt to the wound. “It’s still a kluck,” he said, “no matter how you alibi it.”
As Chance opened his mouth to retort, I gave him the coup de grâce. “Fact is, you’ve come to the end of your rope. If you want to do more business with this Bureau,” I concluded, “you may as well make up your mind to create something new.”
Chance sat silent, fingering his moustache. “Do you really mean that?” he inquired.
“We’re your friends,” I replied. Chance sat quietly as if debating his next course, and then, having made up his mind, he sprang a bombshell.
“All right, my friends,” he said with a smile, “I’ve got a new airplane on the boards—one that will set the world on fire. But the new airplane calls for a new engine; I want three hundred and fifty real horsepower but on an engine weight of not over 650 pounds. If the Engine Section will give me that, I’ll give the Bureau the world’s best airplane.”
The room became very still; all kidding had fled right out the window. Chance had passed the buck right back to the Engine Section; he’d written the prescription for a new power plant. And furthermore we realized he was absolutely right in his choice of size; the Wright 200 air-cooled, which by now was being called the “Whirlwind,” was only a zephyr. The Wright 400-hp P-2, later named the “Cyclone,” was overweight for Chance. Something about halfway between seemed to be the answer, and Chance had called the turn. The catapults on the battleships and cruisers, together with their hoisting gear and other equipment, had been designed to handle a limited weight, and this, in turn, controlled the size of our new airplane. The weight of the engine determined the final all-up weight of the aircraft, and the power output was dictated by the necessity for getting the plane up to flying speed before it reached the end of the catapult. And while there was no such limitation on aircraft carriers, like the new Lexington and Saratoga, then building in the shipyards, the over-all size of the airplanes would determine the number each carrier might line up on her flight deck. The Vought prescription would also lead to a new type of fighter, smaller than anything around the P-2 but with higher performance.