Hypersonic Thunder: A Novel of the Jet Age by Walter J. Boyne Page B
Authors: Walter J. Boyne
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loss.
The antic disarray embarrassed him because O’Malley’s office, across the hall, still looked brand-new. Of course, O’Malley was gone most of the time. General Dynamics had won the lightweight fighter competition in January, and O’Malley was pounding the streets in Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Oslo, and Brussels, the first four foreign countries who would operate the aircraft.
It was just as they had predicted. The foreign governments liked the F-16—the Fighting Falcon as the Air Force had named it—but they needed more than an air superiority fighter. Every one of them expected the F-16 to do double or triple or quadruple duty. They wanted planes for reconnaissance, for attack, even for level bombing, not just for dogfighting. ActOn was trying to be the catalyst that transformed the F-16 to their needs with a whole series of weapons packages and radar options.
Relatively new procurement requirements facilitated ActOn’s efforts. Every country who bought the F-16 had it written into their contracts that they could build some or all of the aircraft in factories in their own country. There were lots of variations on the theme, ranging from building wings and tails to totally irrelevant transactions. In one case O’Malley had to arrange for a huge shipment of grain to be sent to Holland as part of the deal, and had spent two valuable weeks scouring the United States for the best way to achieve it. But for the most part, the companies were content to have their factories build components, especially those that met their specific national needs for alternate weapons systems.
It was a bonus they had hoped for, but had not counted on. When the foreign manufacturers introduced a new product—anything from a precision guided missile to a bomb rack to a transponder—ActOn was often able to see that it was snapped up by the USAF for installation on later model F-16s. O’Malley called it the “inverted cornucopia,” saying you poured a little effort in the small end and huge contracts came spewing out the other.
Rodriquez knew that it was more than just luck. He had created the line of products over the last five years, and patented each one, but he was no salesman. O’Malley knew exactly how to combine a salesman’s bon homme manner, dispensing martinis at expensive restaurants with the detailed scientific knowledge that a smart customer demanded. No matter what he was asked, he had the answer, right then, without checking with anyone, and he impressed people, gaining one contract after another. Most competing company teams used two types of people, one for the martini drinking, one for the technical details. O’Malley did both.
But everything they had planned together, all of their best estimates, was completely overshadowed by a totally new development. Four countries—Norway, Belgium, Denmark, and the Netherlands—had signed up to buy 348 F-16s for more than $2.1 billion. Every one of those countries wanted to share in the coproduction, and few of them had contacts with more than one or two of the almost fifty U.S. suppliers. They all had experience working with Pratt & Whitney and General Dynamics, but they were at a loss when it came to lower tier producers.
That’s where O’Malley scored the most; he had a wide network in the United States and spent his days linking up U.S. producers with their foreign counterparts, always with a contract generated for ActOn in the process. The work kept him so busy that he was looking for a new hire who could handle the GPS side of their business.
O’Malley was back in town, and now breezed into his office, slapping a wad of papers down on top of the stack confronting Rodriquez.
“Here we are, Bob; five new contracts. Three of them are for F-16 simulators.”
Rodriquez’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about, Steve? That’s not our bailiwick! Nancy Shannon will go through the roof when she hears this, she’ll think we are poaching on her turf.”
“And
The antic disarray embarrassed him because O’Malley’s office, across the hall, still looked brand-new. Of course, O’Malley was gone most of the time. General Dynamics had won the lightweight fighter competition in January, and O’Malley was pounding the streets in Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Oslo, and Brussels, the first four foreign countries who would operate the aircraft.
It was just as they had predicted. The foreign governments liked the F-16—the Fighting Falcon as the Air Force had named it—but they needed more than an air superiority fighter. Every one of them expected the F-16 to do double or triple or quadruple duty. They wanted planes for reconnaissance, for attack, even for level bombing, not just for dogfighting. ActOn was trying to be the catalyst that transformed the F-16 to their needs with a whole series of weapons packages and radar options.
Relatively new procurement requirements facilitated ActOn’s efforts. Every country who bought the F-16 had it written into their contracts that they could build some or all of the aircraft in factories in their own country. There were lots of variations on the theme, ranging from building wings and tails to totally irrelevant transactions. In one case O’Malley had to arrange for a huge shipment of grain to be sent to Holland as part of the deal, and had spent two valuable weeks scouring the United States for the best way to achieve it. But for the most part, the companies were content to have their factories build components, especially those that met their specific national needs for alternate weapons systems.
It was a bonus they had hoped for, but had not counted on. When the foreign manufacturers introduced a new product—anything from a precision guided missile to a bomb rack to a transponder—ActOn was often able to see that it was snapped up by the USAF for installation on later model F-16s. O’Malley called it the “inverted cornucopia,” saying you poured a little effort in the small end and huge contracts came spewing out the other.
Rodriquez knew that it was more than just luck. He had created the line of products over the last five years, and patented each one, but he was no salesman. O’Malley knew exactly how to combine a salesman’s bon homme manner, dispensing martinis at expensive restaurants with the detailed scientific knowledge that a smart customer demanded. No matter what he was asked, he had the answer, right then, without checking with anyone, and he impressed people, gaining one contract after another. Most competing company teams used two types of people, one for the martini drinking, one for the technical details. O’Malley did both.
But everything they had planned together, all of their best estimates, was completely overshadowed by a totally new development. Four countries—Norway, Belgium, Denmark, and the Netherlands—had signed up to buy 348 F-16s for more than $2.1 billion. Every one of those countries wanted to share in the coproduction, and few of them had contacts with more than one or two of the almost fifty U.S. suppliers. They all had experience working with Pratt & Whitney and General Dynamics, but they were at a loss when it came to lower tier producers.
That’s where O’Malley scored the most; he had a wide network in the United States and spent his days linking up U.S. producers with their foreign counterparts, always with a contract generated for ActOn in the process. The work kept him so busy that he was looking for a new hire who could handle the GPS side of their business.
O’Malley was back in town, and now breezed into his office, slapping a wad of papers down on top of the stack confronting Rodriquez.
“Here we are, Bob; five new contracts. Three of them are for F-16 simulators.”
Rodriquez’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about, Steve? That’s not our bailiwick! Nancy Shannon will go through the roof when she hears this, she’ll think we are poaching on her turf.”
“And
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