The Dive Bomber by L. Ron Hubbard

because two crashed… Say, there’s that aircraft inspector again.”
    Dixie looked quickly at the hangar door and saw a small, unimposing man step inside. Not in the least worried, Bullard stood in the office door and called a greeting to him.
    The inspector smiled and approached Lucky. “Things are looking up for you, Martin.”
    â€œYeah,” said Lucky in a sour voice.
    â€œGlad all your tests didn’t add up to a total loss, anyhow,” said the inspector. “Sport planes are cheaper, but better than nothing. Put you on your feet again, anyway.”
    Risking later thunder and lightning from Bullard, Lucky said, “If some people weren’t so dumb, they’d know they were still dive bombers.”
    Bullard looked quite unworried.
    The inspector smiled. “Still sticking to it, eh? Lawson was around the other day and he said you were just about the most stubborn guy in the business. Why do you keep worrying about a ship after it’s gone bad twice?”
    â€œWith a bigger engine and bomb racks,” said Lucky, “they’re good dive bombers.”
    â€œSure,” said Bullard indulgently. “Have a cigar, Inspector?”
    â€œWe better smoke outside, unless you want this place to burn down on you,” said the inspector. “Still anxious to try another ship as a dive bomber, Martin?”
    â€œBe on hand and you’ll see,” said Lucky.
    The inspector grinned and shook his head. “I don’t like to watch guys kill themselves, thank you. How’s everything going along, Bullard?”
    A moment later Bullard was back. But he was no longer pleasant. “Trying to tip him off, are you?” he roared.
    â€œSomebody will have to,” said Lucky. “They won’t believe me.”
    â€œOf course they won’t, after what I’ve been feeding them about you. You Two-Finger! Get on the job and get this dame out of here.”
    Two-Finger looked sad. “I can’t do nothin’ with her, boss. All I can do is keep her away from people. I…I’ve been having to spend nights sittin’ on her front steps, and it ain’t hot out neither. I got a breakdown comin’ on. See that red streak on my jaw? She gimme that for trying to go inside one night it rained.”
    Dixie stepped gingerly past Bullard, walking like a well-bred Persian anxious to avoid contact with garbage. Her roadster, now out of hock as well as her other possessions, was now waiting for her on the tarmac. Two-Finger tried to slide into the front seat but Dixie gave him a stormy rake of canister with her eyes and Two-Finger, cowed, slunk into the rumble .
    â€œYou try that again,” said Bullard, when only dust remained to mark the place the roadster had stood, “and you’ll see something that will amaze you. You got any idea which of these planes I mean to make up as a dive bomber?
    â€œNo, and you won’t have until the last minute. Therefore, Unlucky Martin, you’d better be sure they’re all okay, each and every one. You’re going to test one of these through all its paces, see?”
    Bullard went away, and Flynn, who was busy hoisting one of the small engines into its mount, spat brownly upon the place where Bullard had stood.
    â€œYou better watch it,” said Flynn, lowering his voice so the other mechanics and the guards could not hear. “I was down in the locker yesterday and I heard this Smith and Bullard talking via the ventilator. They’ll make one real dive bomber all right and you’ll test it. Smith, who’s got a pursuit ship parked south of here in an old barn, is to go with you. You get slugs in the back of your head, the dive bomber crashes as further proof to the government that it ain’t any good. Smith meets Bullard at sea.”
    Lucky, testing the balance of a prop, pretended not to hear.
    â€œBullard,” continued Flynn, “has taken a likin’ to Dixie