The pain hit like a sledgehammer. It seemed to explode through his chest like a bomb, and his grunt of anguish was that of a man who’d just been kicked in the belly by a mule. His eyes popped open, and he saw both of his German assistants turning toward him in sudden alarm even as the sledgehammer smashed him again and he felt himself sliding helplessly out of his seat.
“Goddamn it!” Frank Jackson’s left fist slammed down on his kitchen table and the knuckles of his right hand went white where it gripped the telephone. He snarled another curse before he could make himself stop, then he paused and drew in a deep breath.
“How bad does it sound, James?” he asked in a more nearly normal voice. He listened again, lips firmly compressed. Then he closed his eyes, and his square shoulders sagged. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I understand. Just . . . let me know if you hear anything else, all right?” He listened a moment longer, then nodded as if the other man could see him. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up the phone very, very carefully, and turned to his wife.
“What is it?” Diane Jackson asked. She’d been heating water to brew tea when the telephone rang. Now she studied her husband’s expression with the same eyes which had seen the fall of one homeland, the loss of a second, and the painful birth of yet a third.
“Jack,” Frank told her flatly, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “Stubborn old bastard. Why the hell didn’t he tell me he had a heart condition when I asked him to go to Wismar?”
“Don’t be foolish,” she scolded, and snorted when he looked at her in surprise. “Men! All of you just alike!” She shook her head. “Would you have told you if you’d asked you to go to Wismar?” she demanded.
Despite himself, Frank found himself smiling as she glowered at him. Diane’s English sometimes got just a bit . . . convoluted, even after all these years. Not that his was always any great prize, he reminded himself, and shook his head at her.
“Point taken,” he conceded. “I’m just as stubborn and pigheaded as he is, I suppose. But, Jesus, Diane! He could’ve at least warned me there might be a problem instead of leaving it all up to Doc Adams!”
“And if he had, you wouldn’t have sent him,” Diane pointed out inexorably. “But you needed him. So he didn’t tell you.” She shrugged.
“Guess you’re right,” he sighed.
“So,” she said. “How bad?”
“James couldn’t really say,” Frank said sadly. “Sharon was right there on the spot, thank God. But good as she is, she’s not as good as her dad. And she doesn’t begin to have what she really needs in the way of supplies and equipment.” He sighed again and shook his head. “Sounds to me like James was trying to tell me he doesn’t expect Jack to make it.”
“I must go to Alice’s,” Diane said.
“I’ll come along,” Frank said. “After all, my fault he went.”
“You will not come along,” Diane informed him. “First, Alice does not need for you to come and beat yourself in front of her. Second, you must tell Mike and Admiral Simpson. They should know.”
“Yeah.” Frank nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Not that much we can do about it, of course, but I guess somebody should tell them that the only real pilot we had for Watson’s Folly isn’t available anymore.”
“Can you think of anything at all we can do about it?” Mike asked.
“No.” Simpson’s face was drawn, and he shook his head. “There’s not anything. We’re here; they’re there. And even if that weren’t true, I doubt there’s anyone else here in Magdeburg or in Grantville who’s really qualified to handle that boat properly. We’ll just have to hope Lieutenant Wild did pick up enough from Mr. Clements while he was available.”
“I don’t like it,” Mike muttered, and Simpson snorted.
“I don’t like it either,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, what we like has very little to do with the situation. It never does. Especially when it’s time for the shooting to start.”