"We'd sure find out in a hurry. We'd be their first target."
"And their second would probably be Sandia," Walt said thoughtfully.
"Don't say that!" Mel shouted. Walter looked at him in surprise. "Don't. Don't say that," Mel said again, more softly. There was a long silence. The ventilators whined. Mel passed his hand over his face. "Those damned ventilators.... How about my taking Mel's Mistress out now? Just for a while?"
Walter Stanton glanced sympathetically at his friend. He wants to get away from the platform, even a few thousand yards. And I can't blame him!
"Sure, Mel. You've read the letter now, and you know how much fuel you have, so it's up to you."
Mel Cramer grimaced. "Yeah, fuel. Well, I guess I'll skip it. I'm going to hit the sack."
Walter Stanton stared after him thoughtfully....
At dinner the talk was all of war; Peters, the Australian fuelman and part time cook, flicked a switch in the galley and flooded the Platform's PA system with the 10:00 P.M. news from Dallas. Petrovski, the Russians' originally unwelcome contribution to the project, but undeniably one of the world's top meteorologists, was embarrassed, and the rest of the Team tried to keep the talk on an objective, international plane. But Walter Stanton felt the strain and as Project Head tried to change the subject.
"Why we had to draft an Australian cook, with two Frenchmen on the team," he said, toying with his custard. "I'll never know."