The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [281]
"Your energy budget is lavish, Herr Fromm," Ghosn observed not for the first time.
The German shrugged. "Yes, it must be. If you cannot test, you must over-engineer. The first American bomb - the one used on Hiroshima - was an untested design. It was wasteful of materials and disgustingly inefficient, but it was over-engineered. And it did work. With a proper test program " With a proper test program he could measure the empirical effects, determine exactly what the necessary energy budget was, and how well he managed it, determine the exact performance of each component, improve those that needed improvement, and reduce the size of those which were too large or too massive for the task at hand, just as the Americans, and Russians, and British, and French had done over a period of decades, constantly refining their designs, making them more and more efficient, and because of that, smaller, lighter, simpler, more reliable, less expensive. This, Fromm thought, was the ultimate engineering discipline, and he was immeasurably grateful that he had finally gotten the chance to try his hand at it. This design was crude and heavy, no masterpiece of design. It would function - of that he was certain - but with time he could have done so much better
"Yes, I see. A man of your skill could reduce this entire unit to the size of a large bucket."
It was a vast compliment. "Thank you, Herr Ghosn. Probably not that small, but small enough for the nose of a rocket."
"If our Iraqi brothers had taken the time "
"Indeed, there would be no Israel. But they were foolish, were they not?"
"They were impatient," Ibrahim said, silently cursing them for it.
"One must be cold and clear-headed about such things. Such decisions must be made on the basis of logic, not emotion."
"Indeed."
Achmed was feeling very poorly indeed. He'd made his excuses and taken his leave, heading off to see the Commander's own physician, as per orders from Qati. Achmed had little experience of doctors. It was, he thought, something to be avoided if possible. He'd seen combat action and seen death and wounds, but never to himself. Even that was preferable to his current situation. One could understand injury from a bullet or a grenade, but what had made him ill so quickly and unexpectedly?
The doctor listened to his description of his condition, asked a few questions that were not entirely foolish, and noted that Achmed was a smoker - that had earned the fighter a head-shake and a cluck, as though cigarettes had anything to do with his situation. What rubbish, Achmed thought. Didn't he run six kilometers each day - or had, until very recently?
The physical examination came next. The doctor placed a stethoscope on his chest and listened. Instantly, Achmed noted, the doctor's eyes became guarded in a way not unlike the expression of a courageous fighter who didn't wish to betray his feelings.
"Breathe in," the physician ordered. Achmed did so. "Now, out slowly."
The stethoscope moved. "Again please." The procedure was repeated six more times, front and back.
"Well?" Achmed asked, when the examination was finished.
"I don't know. I want to take you to see someone who understands these lung problems better."
"I have no time for that."
"You have time for this. I will talk to your Commander, if necessary."
Achmed managed not to grumble. "Very well."
It was a measure of Ryan's own situation that he took no note of it, or more correctly that he was grateful for the diminished attention his wife accorded him. It helped. It took some of the pressure off. Maybe she understood that he just needed to be left alone for a while. He'd make it up to her, Jack