“I can’t think of any reason why I wouldn’t” This reply was made in all honesty; but later, when he came to understand what Keller had meant, how bitterly Kinnison was to regret its making!
He moved into Stillman’s office, and found there what he thought was ample reason for his predecessor’s failure to make good. To his way of thinking it was tremendously overstaffed, particularly with Assistant Chief Inspectors. Delegation of authority, so widely preached throughout Entwhistle Ordnance Plant, had not been given even lip service here. Stillman had not made a habit of visiting the lines; nor did the Chief Line Inspectors, the boys who really knew what was going on, ever visit him.
They reported to the Assistants, who reported to Stillman, who handed down his Jovian pronouncements.
Kinnison set out, deliberately this time, to mold his key Chief Line Inspectors into just such a group as the Siberians already were. He released the Assistants to more productive work; retaining of Stillman’s office staff only a few clerks and his private secretary, one Celeste de St. Aubin, a dynamic, vivacious – at times explosive – brunette. He gave the boys on the Lines full authority; the few who could not handle the load he replaced with men who could. At first the Chief Line Inspectors simply could not believe; but after the affair of the forty millimeter, in which Kinnison rammed the decision of his subordinate past Keller, past the General, past Stoner and Black, and clear up to the Commanding Officer before he made it stick, they were his to a man.
Others of his Section Heads, however, remained aloof. Pettier, whose Technical Section was now part of Inspection, and Wilson, of Gages, were two of those who talked largely and glowingly, but acted obstructively if they acted at all. As weeks went on, Kinnison became wiser and wiser, but made no sign. One day. during a lull, his secretary hung out the “In Conference” sign and went into Kinnison’s private office.
“There isn’t a reference to any such Investigation anywhere in Central Files.” She paused, as if to add something, then turned to leave.
“As you were, Celeste. Sit down. I expected that. Suppressed – if made at all.
You’re a smart girl, Celeste, and you know the ropes. You know that you can talk to me, don’t you?”
“Yes, but this is . . . well, the word is going around that they are going to break you, just as they have broken every other good man on the Reservation.”
“I expected that, too.” The words were quiet enough, but the man’s jaw tightened. “Also, I know how they are going to do it”
“How?”
“This speed-up on the Nine. They know that I won’t stand still for the kind of casts that Keller’s new procedure, which cues into effect tonight, is going to produce . . . and this new C.O. probably will.”
Silence fell, broken by the secretary.
“General Sanford, our first C.O., was a soldier, and a good one,” she declared finally. “So was Colonel Snodgrass. Lieutenant Colonel Franklin wasn’t; but he was too much of a man to do the dir . . .”
“Dirty work,” dryly. “Exactly. Go on.”
“And Stoner, the New York half – ninety five percent, really – of Stoner and Black, Inc., is a Big Time Operator. So we get this damned nincompoop of a major, who doesn’t know a f-u-s-e from a f-u-z-e, direct from a Wall Street desk.”
“So what?” One must have heard Ralph Kinnison say those two words to realize how much meaning they can be made to carry.
“So what!” the girl blazed, wringing her hands. “Ever since you have been over here I have been expecting you to blow up – to smash something – in spite of the dozens of times you have told me a fighter can not slug effectively, Celeste, until he gets both feet firmly planted.’ When – when – are you going to get your feet planted?”
“Never, I’m afraid,” he said glumly, and she stared. “So I’ll have to start slugging with at least one foot in the air.”
That startled her. “Explain, please?”
“I wanted proof. Stuff that I could take to the District – that I could use to tack some hides out flat on a barn door with. Do I get it? I do not. Not a shred. Neither can you. What chance do you think there is of ever getting any real proof?”
“Very little,” Celeste admitted. “But you can at least smash Pettier, Wilson, and that crowd. How I hate those slimy snakes! I wish that you could smash Tom Keller, the poisonous moron!”
“Not so much moron – although he acts like one at times – as an ignorant puppet with a head swelled three sizes too big for his hat. But you can quit yapping about slugging – fireworks are due to start at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, when Drake is going to reject tonight’s run of shell.”
“Really? But I don’t see how either Pettier or Wilson come in.”
“They don’t. A fight with those small fry – even smashing them wouldn’t make enough noise. Keller.”
“Keller!” Celeste squealed. “But you’ll . . .”
“I know I’ll get fired. So what? By tackling him I can raise enough hell so that the Big Shots will have to cut out at least some of the rough stuff. You’ll probably get fired too, you know – you’ve been too close to me for your own good.”
“Not me.” She shook her head vigorously. “The minute they terminate you, I quit.
Poof! Who cares? Besides, I can get a better job in Townville.”
“Without leaving the Project. That’s what I figured. It’s the boys I’m worried about.
I’ve been getting them ready for this for weeks.”
“But they will quit, too. Your Siberians – your Inspectors – of a surety they will quit, every one!”
“They won’t release them; and what Stoner and Black will do to them, even after the war, if they quit without releases, shouldn’t be done to a dog. They won’t quit, either at least if they don’t try to push them around too much. Keller’s mouth is watering to get hold of Siberia, but he’ll never make it, nor any one of his stooges . . . I’d better dictate a memorandum to Black on that now, while I’m calm and collected; telling him what he’ll have to do to keep my boys from tearing Entwhistle apart.”
“But do you think he will pay any attention to it?”
“I’ll say he will!” Kinnison snorted. “Don’t kid yourself about Black, Celeste. He’s a smart man, and before this is done he’ll know that he’ll have to keep his nose clean.”
“But you – how can you do it?” Celeste marveled. “Me, I would urge them on.
Few would have the patriotism . . .”
“Patriotism, hell! If that were all, I would have stirred up a revolution long ago. Its for the boys, in years to come. They’ve got to keep their noses clean, too. Get your notebook, please, and take this down. Rough draft – I’m going to polish it up until it has teeth and claws in every line.”
And that evening, after supper, he informed Eunice of all the new developments.
“Is it still O.K. with you,” he concluded, “for me to get myself fired off of this high- salaried job of mine?”
“Certainly. Being you, how can you do anything else? Oh, how I wish I could wring their necks!” That conversation went on and on, but additional details are not necessary here.
Shortly after two o’clock of the following afternoon, Celeste took a call; and listened shamelessly.
“Kinnison speaking.”
“Tug, Uncle Ralph. The casts sectioned just like we thought they would. Dead ringers for Plate D. So Drake hung a red ticket on every tray. Piddy was right there, waiting, and started to raise hell. So I chipped in, and he beat it so fast that I looked to see his coat-tail catch fire. Drake didn’t quite like to call you, so I did. If Piddy keeps on going at the rate he left here, he’ll be in Kelley’s office in nothing flat.”
“O.K., Tug. Tell Drake that the shell he rejected are going to stay rejected, and to come in right now with his report. Would you like to come along?”
“Would I!” Tugwell hung up and: “But do you want him here, Doc?” Celeste asked, anxiously, without considering whether or not her boss would approve of her eavesdropping.
“I certainly do. If I can keep Tug from blowing his top, the rest of the boys will stay in line.”
A few minutes later Tugwell strode in, bringing with him Drake, the Chief Line Inspector of the Nine Line. Shortly thereafter the office door was wrenched open. Kelley had come to Kinnison, accompanied by the Superintendent whom the Siberians referred to, somewhat contemptuously, as “Piddy.”