“Probably not,” Dieter said. “You’d probably have a couple of minutes before the ice cracked.”
“Now the takeoff. For the sake of argument, a Lodestar is sitting someplace where it won’t, hasn’t, crashed through the ice.”
“Where are you going with this, Jimmy?” Frade asked, half curious and half annoyed.
The look changed to pure annoyance when Jimmy held up his hand to silence him and went on: “And suppose the Lodestar could move a couple of meters, maybe four or five meters”—he looked at Clete—“off the plywood, or similar substance, timbers, et cetera, on which it has been sitting. Would it then be going fast enough so that it wouldn’t crash through the ice and could begin its takeoff roll?”
Von und zu Aschenburg considered the question a long moment before replying.
“If the Lodestar was sitting on the ‘plywood, or similar substance, timbers, et cetera’ and the ‘plywood, or similar substance, timbers, et cetera’ was at the threshold of the runway, you probably could.”
Cronley knew he was being mocked and smiled.
“You don’t have a runway,” Frade said.
“I’d be willing to give that a shot,” von Wachtstein said.
“Silence, please,” Jimmy said. “I’m having one of my epiphanies, and it’s not quite complete.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Clete said, in disgust.
“Okay, epiphany complete,” Jimmy said, perhaps a minute later. He turned to von Wachtstein. “No, Hansel, as much as I would like to see you, rather than me, trying, you will be otherwise occupied.”
“Doing what?” von Wachtstein asked.
“Flying the red Lodestar. Pay attention. What do we need at Estancia Condor? Primarily, someone to seize t
hat atomic crap in the name of the United States government, and we have already decided that has to be me.
“We also need somebody to fly the Piper Cub to help find the submarine and said atomic crap supposedly aboard. Which I can do.
“We also need reinforcements for Colonel Habanzo as the Apaches are about to attack his wagon train and will scalp everybody.
“So here’s the plan. We load as many of the real Húsares as will fit into Clete’s red Lodestar, and as many of Clete’s guys as will fit into the shot-up, no-radio-or-navigation-equipment SAA Lodestar. Hansel, flying the red Lodestar, will lead me in the Lodestar with no radio or nav equipment to Trelew, which is important as I never heard that name until about thirty minutes ago and have no idea where it is.
“At Trelew, we unload the real Húsares. We unload ten of Clete’s people from the shot-up Lodestar and replace them with a like number of real Húsares. We refuel the aircraft, and Hansel leads me to Estancia Condor, where . . . I will crash and burn trying to land where my common sense tells me I shouldn’t be landing.”
Von und zu Aschenburg laughed.
“There will be no monument to my heroism,” Jimmy went on, “as the Russians will arrive the next day, seize the uranium oxide, and use it to make atomic bombs with which they will make New York City, Buenos Aires, and Midland, Texas, disappear in mushroom-shaped nuclear clouds—all of which will clearly be my fault.”
Von und zu Aschenburg laughed again.
“Stop being a comedian, for God’s sake,” he said. “Every time I laugh, it hurts.”
“That does it,” Mother Superior said from the door. “Everybody out!”
Jimmy looked at Clete.
“Well, Colonel, sir?”
“You’ll have to take von Dattenberg with you,” Frade said. “I have a gut feeling he’ll be useful.”
“Jimmy,” Dieter said, “the trick is to make a very gradual descent as slow as you can, so there’s no heavy shock to the ice cap. Glide it in like a feather.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
“Why do I think you’d rather go to a penal battalion?” Dieter asked.