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Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 13, December 1940
Page 8
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December, 1940. SUN SPOTS Page 8. a strange call-number: "Calling ZZ1, calling ZZ1----XX1 calling ZZ1", rasped Steuber, his black cigar still jamed in his mouth. After several repetitions of this, Steuber finally contacted his party: "How is everything ZZ1",Questioned Steuber. "This 'Gordy' is right on schedule", returned a deep bass voice over the radio. "In that case, I guess our plans will have to be carried through" muttered the Strato-plane magnate."What is your position?" "Position: Latitude 46; Longitude 31,"answered the voice."I will do as we had planned---in another hour, the race will be yours to win. The 'Gordy' will end up a hapless venture, stranded in mid-Atlantic! Any further plans?" "no", sneered Steuber, "XX1 signing off." "ZZ1, signing off"returned the voice, and a short brutal lauge followed...... * * * * * * Back on board the 'Gordy' everything was proceeding according to scheduled plans. Bronson figured that the landing at Paris should be made by 10:00 PM that evening, one hour ahead of all records ever set by any of Steuber's strato-planes---Yes, the Atlantic would be crossed in five hours! Bronson was slumped down in his seat, visioning the days in the near future, when rockets would be crossing the Atlantic and Pacific, to and fro on daily passenger trips. His dreams were interrupted by the entry of a tall portly man, adorned in military uniform, with bright brade that glistened like the top og his semi-bald cranium. "Ah, good evening Captain Bronso", he said in a low purring voice. Bronson turned in his seat, as if startled, and then quickly getting up extended his hand and said: "Evening General Lippitt, enjoying the trip?" "Very much so", returned the pompous General, taking a pimch of snuff from a well worn black snuff-box. "In fact", he continued," I haven't had such a thrill since my World War days. Ah yes", he sighed. "Say, did I ever tell you about the battle of Dover? Now there was a real fight. It started like this----". * * * * * Fourty five minutes later, the general was still talking: "And there we were, Germans in front of us, Germans in back of us, Germans on both sides of us, German planes over head---What could we do?" "What did you do General?" questioned Bronson, trying to sound and look interested. "Why we surrendered of course; what would you have done with Germans in front of you, Germans in back of you, Germ----." But the General got no further, for Pug came in waving his hands furiously. "Bob, Bob", he yelled,"Larrney's been killed; shot through the heart!" "What!" Exclaimed Bronson, slowly rising from his seat, as if in a dream. "Larrneydead?" "Yeah, yeah, I was going down ta see him how evertin' was going wid
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December, 1940. SUN SPOTS Page 8. a strange call-number: "Calling ZZ1, calling ZZ1----XX1 calling ZZ1", rasped Steuber, his black cigar still jamed in his mouth. After several repetitions of this, Steuber finally contacted his party: "How is everything ZZ1",Questioned Steuber. "This 'Gordy' is right on schedule", returned a deep bass voice over the radio. "In that case, I guess our plans will have to be carried through" muttered the Strato-plane magnate."What is your position?" "Position: Latitude 46; Longitude 31,"answered the voice."I will do as we had planned---in another hour, the race will be yours to win. The 'Gordy' will end up a hapless venture, stranded in mid-Atlantic! Any further plans?" "no", sneered Steuber, "XX1 signing off." "ZZ1, signing off"returned the voice, and a short brutal lauge followed...... * * * * * * Back on board the 'Gordy' everything was proceeding according to scheduled plans. Bronson figured that the landing at Paris should be made by 10:00 PM that evening, one hour ahead of all records ever set by any of Steuber's strato-planes---Yes, the Atlantic would be crossed in five hours! Bronson was slumped down in his seat, visioning the days in the near future, when rockets would be crossing the Atlantic and Pacific, to and fro on daily passenger trips. His dreams were interrupted by the entry of a tall portly man, adorned in military uniform, with bright brade that glistened like the top og his semi-bald cranium. "Ah, good evening Captain Bronso", he said in a low purring voice. Bronson turned in his seat, as if startled, and then quickly getting up extended his hand and said: "Evening General Lippitt, enjoying the trip?" "Very much so", returned the pompous General, taking a pimch of snuff from a well worn black snuff-box. "In fact", he continued," I haven't had such a thrill since my World War days. Ah yes", he sighed. "Say, did I ever tell you about the battle of Dover? Now there was a real fight. It started like this----". * * * * * Fourty five minutes later, the general was still talking: "And there we were, Germans in front of us, Germans in back of us, Germans on both sides of us, German planes over head---What could we do?" "What did you do General?" questioned Bronson, trying to sound and look interested. "Why we surrendered of course; what would you have done with Germans in front of you, Germans in back of you, Germ----." But the General got no further, for Pug came in waving his hands furiously. "Bob, Bob", he yelled,"Larrney's been killed; shot through the heart!" "What!" Exclaimed Bronson, slowly rising from his seat, as if in a dream. "Larrneydead?" "Yeah, yeah, I was going down ta see him how evertin' was going wid
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