Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

8 "The controls stuck," Tomir./ answered. " You cant blame me for that," Sheenan said quickly. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under their combined stares. "Why, you don't suppose for a minute that I'd deliberately " " Of course not." Paul Smith's voice was hard. "All the same, I'm going to see that it doesn't happen again. In future, every plane that takes off from my field must be inspected first by my mechanics." Sheenan's eyes narrowed. "I'm the director of this picture, Mr. Smith," he said sharaly. "And I'm the manager of this field!" snapped Paul Smith, in reply. "We'll just leave it that everyone was lucky this time. That's all." Then Tommy spoke again. His head was clearer now. "Not quite all," he said quietly. "Sheenan, you've got to find someone else to do your stunting. I'm through." Sheenan began to look worried. "But that's going to put me in a hole," he said, and turned to Paul. " He can't do that to m.e, can he, Mr. Smith?" "I'm afraid he can, if that's the way he feels about it," Paul Smith answei'ed. "It is the way I feel about it," said Tommy. "Those crates you've bought for your film are flimsy enough without push- ing them to the limit, Sheenan. And when you hope they'll crack up, just so as to get a thrill—well, find somebody who's tired 01 life. I'm not." He walked away, Betty Lou and Paul with him. Sheenan glared after him, then turned to his assistant director. "Do you think he means it, Glenn?" " Looks like it." Glenn replied. " You'd better phone to Hollywood and get some- one else. Earl Martin is looking for a job, I hear." Sheenan's face hardened. It was a face that was entirely devoid of feeling—devoid of anything except sinister delight at the thought of getting a good picture. "Earl Mai'tin!" he said in a low voice. "Yes. he'd do. He'd do very well. I'll get on the phone right away." And he turned abruptly and strode away across the airfield. EARL MARTIN MEANWHILE, in Paul's office, a doctor was looking Tommy over. He finished his examination, and said : " There's nothing wrong with you, young man. A good night's rest, and you'll be up and doing. Of course, you'll be a little sore for a few days." " You surprise me!" said Paul Smith sar- castically. The doctor grinned at him amiably, and went away. Tommy rubbed his head rue- fully. " I guess I was a fool to get mixed up in that darned film unit of Sheenan's," he said. " It's poor advertising when a trans- port pilot goes in for crashing." Paul patted him on the shoulder. "Forget it, Tommy!" he answered. "We can still pay our way by running the old transport plane. True, there won't be much money left over for jam on our bread, but we'll get by somehow." " And we'll still all be in one piece," said Betty Lou. The following day Tommy and Betty Lou took up the old ship that flew from Thi-ee Point airport to adjacent towns. Paul Smith had a mail contract which paid ex- penses, and local business men provided him with a small margin of profit. When the transport plane got back, it was late afternoon. Paul Smith met them on the tarmac. "Had a good trip?" Paul asked, as Tommy and Betty Lou climbed out of the plane. "Fine!" Betty Lou answered. "Nothing's happened, except that someone's lost a pair of gloves. I'll tuna them in to the office." They were Joined by a third man—a rather worried-looking individual by the iiame of Skeeter. Skeeter was Paul's mechanic. iKlutiLT 14th, 1030. BOY'S CINEMA " Hiya, Tommy!" he said. Then, before he could say anything more, a terrific din broke out from just beyond the airfield. Machine guns, rifles, shouting, and explosions blended into one huge roar of sound that was startling. "What the " began Tommy. Paul Smith laughed. "It's all right," he .said. "Sheenan is still on the job. He's shooting on that French village set they just built." "Shooting is right," said Skeeter. "They have French soldiers, Germans, planes, tanks, artillery, and a few other things. Want to take a look?" Tommy shook his head. " No, thanks," he answered. " I'm finished with all that. Besides, I have a flight report to make. I'll see you all later." He went away and made out his report.. Afterwards he went along to the work- shops, where Paul Smith found him ten minutes later. Paul found Tommy work- ing on a contraption that looked like a machine gun. "Hallo!" he said. "Going to have a private war en your own?" Tommy shook his head, grinning. "It's a camera-gun," he answered. "I made it out of some spare parts I found knocking around. It uses movie films. The army uses things like this for combafc training at all the aviation fields. Fighter pilots go up and get into a dog-fight, but instead of shooting at each other with real machine-guns, they use these camera-guns. If they get direct hits, it shows on the movie films." Paul Smith nodded enthusiastically. "It's a grand idea," he said. "When I was out in France, they had a quite different idea of training. They just shoved us into a plane and sent us up. I remem- ber once going up for a spot of practice with a lot of other fellows, and getting lost. I ran into a squadron, aaid was having a grand time until I saw that all the other planes had large black crosses on them!" "German planes?" "That's right. I'd flown over the lines without realising it. Phew! I beat it back for the field with my throttle wide open! I only just made it, too!" Paul Smith in- dicated the camera-gun. "What are you going to do with it?" "Well, I thought I'd get some action shots ftf those war planes Sheenan's using," Tommy answered. " I'd catch them in all sorts of positions, then enlarge the pictures so that I can study the effects of wing drag. It might help me discover why our planes lose so much speed in a vertical bank." Paul Smith laughed and clumped him on the shoulder. "Always thinking of something, aren't you, Tommy?" he said. "You're a good sort of guy. I don't know what I'd do with- out you." Tommy grinned and put the camera-gun away. "I think I'll wander over to that battle set and find out v/hen the next aerial com- bat is taking place," he said. When he got there, he found Skeeter. Skeeter had with him a kid of about eight or nine. "Hey, Tommy, you remember young Bobby, don't you?" Skeeter said. " He's my sister's child." " Of course I remember Bobby," Tommy replied, and dug Bobbj; in the ribs. " But I didn't know he was in this part of the world." "His mummy's working for Sheenan," Skeeter explained. "She does make-ups or something." Sheenan started to bellow just then, and the three of them went over to find out what it was all about. "That wa-sn't a bit like what I wanted," Sheenan was raving. "Charlie, come over here All you others, get back to your positions, and this time give me something. This is supposed to be a war, not a Sunday School outing. People arc dying all around you, shells are exploding, and everything's a shambles." Charlie came up just then. Every Tuesday " Charlie," Sheenan v/ent on, " for pity's sake do something. Those explosions are terrible. They're like the puflf of a cigar- ette. You aren't short of powder, are you?" "No, Mr. Sheenan," Charlie answered. " But I don't want to go killing anybody." "Who's directing this picture—you or me? Give me an explosion that looks like one. Get going!" "Okay!" Charlie muttered, and went away again. Young Bobby went over to a kind of switchboard arid looked at it interestedly. Everyone was hanging about waiting for Charlie to lay some fresh charges of powder. "What's this. Uncle Skeeter?" Bobby asked. "You tell him,",Skeeter said to the man in charge of the board. "This is the mixing panel," the man replied importantly. "It's to control the level of the actors' voices." "And what do you do?" Bobby inquired. "Me? I'm the mixer." At that moment Sheenan's voire reached them. " Let her roll!" he roared. The camera began to turn. At the same moment the whole set burst into life. Some infantry rushed through various broken-down buildings that were meant to represent the remains of a village. Rifles cracked, and bayonets glittered in the sunlight There were a number of heavy detonations, and pieces of timber and clouds of smoke hurtled skywards. "That's better," said Sheenan after a while. "Cut!" "Phew!" Skeeter muttered. "They sure shoot each other up, don't they?" Bobby had turned to the man at the mixing panel again. "What does Charlie do?" he asked. "Charlie's the bombs," came the reply. "What does that mean?" "Well, when a shell's supposed to explode, he presses a button, and—whoof!" "And do you mix all that, too?" "Sure. The sound is picked up by the microphone hanging on the wall over there—the thing at the end of that long arm. The camera gets the picture, and I record the sound in synchronisation. Do you get it?" "It's as clear as mud,'' said Tommy. Sheenan yelled some more orders, and the camera stai-ted turning again to record yet another battle scene. Suddenly there was the loud roar of an aeroplane overhead. Sheenan glared upwards and saw a small black monoplane diving straight at him "Cut!" he roared. "That fool is ruin- ing the shot. Signal him to get out of the way, Glenn " The assistant director waved his arms wildly. Suddenly he stopped and threw himself flat. So did everyone else. The monoplane had dived so low that it looked as though it would crash in the middle of them. Then it zoomed upwards again, "What the blazes is he trying to do —kill us all?" shouted Sheenan. " Look out! He's coming back!" The monoplane roared down at them again after making a steep banking turn. It passed over their heads with probably not more than a few feet to spare. Then it roared away, and landed on the air- field a couple of hundred yards away. A black-helmeted figure alighted. "Looks like that stunt specialist we ordered from Hollywood," said Glenn. "Then get him over here," said Sheenan angrily. "I want to talk to him." Glenn waved to the pilot, and the pilot waved back and broke into a trot. They could see that he was grinning. "It's Earl Martin all right." said Glenn. " He's been stunting aeroplanes so long that he's crash-happy. Unless he's risking his life, he gets bored." Earl Martin came up a few seconds later. He was a slender, rather good- looking man, and reckoned he rated pretty high as a pilot.