Chapter 2
Hi everyone, thanks for all the love you have given me for this story so far. Because I am again behind schedule, I made his chapter short. That said, I plan to keep this story a bit more fast-paced for a while. Again, I know little about race cars and how they are built. All ideas are welcome. Both in technology and the overall direction of the story.
On to reviews.
roronoa2 thank you for reading the first chapter. It is great to see you here. That is actually a wonderful idea. Do you know when Star Trek came out? Perhaps I could even use some of its tech ideas. Pip-boy is on the list. The rest I have to look up, however, as I know little about them.
Dao_8teh, wonderful to see you too. I plan to do flashbacks and all that. Give a clearer sense of her overall character. I think his grandfather is in his 50's right now, and I plan for him to live up towards his 70's so he will be around for a while.
D_eta015 I don't plan to do a huge jump right away, but I have thought about taking the Automail from Fullmetal Alchemist. With the war in Vietnam, a lot of soldiers will soon be coming home with their arms and legs. Maybe its to much of a jump. Thoughts?
Now on with the story.
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"Is that really what you said when you first saw the design for the S. Patton?" the interviewer asks legendary car maker Carroll Shelby.
"Hell yes, it was," Carroll replies with a smile.
The interviewer chuckles and asks, "Can I ask why?"
After a moment, Carroll responds, "Well, just think about it. Just look at it."
He gestures toward what appears to be a blueprint framed on the wall of his garage.
"This right here is the original blueprint for the Type A S. Patton—the very first engine in a line of monstrous beasts that dominated the racing world for years. At the time, it represented perfection on a grand scale. It erased everything that had come before it because this was it," Carroll says, his passionate voice betraying his age and making him sound far younger than he actually is.
"And this was all Isabel's work, right?" the interviewer asks.
"Most of it, yes. I added my own ideas here and there to help bring it to life, but yes, most of it was hers," Carel admits without shame.
"How did that make you feel? What I mean is, I know that women were not taken seriously as engineers at that time," the interviewer continues.
"I was proud of her," Carel responds immediately.
"Proud of her?" the interviewer reiterates.
"Yes, and the fact that she was a woman meant nothing to me. To me, she was, and will always be, that little girl who years ago brought her grandfather and me a drawing of an engine when she was just 11 years old," Carel reflects, thinking of the past. That memory, in his mind, remains as clear as day.
-Interview from the documentary *Faster than Life: A Carel Shelby Story*
-1963-
-Carel Shelby POV-
I have seen many things in my life—God knows I have—but few things have taken my breath away like this moment. Not since the day I took an honest look at the first design of the Little Soldier have I felt so captivated by something. And who could blame me? The Little Soldier was a work of art in itself. Despite its flaws, it surpassed anything I could have ever dreamed of building on my own at the time. Now, I was staring at the blueprints for something new once again—something that went beyond me and came from the same source as Little Soldier.
Looking up from the blueprints, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of the young woman before me. It was remarkable to see how she had grown from that little, broken child into the confident young woman she was now. Perhaps "broken" is a bit strong a word; after all, I don't think Isabel even realized there was something wrong with her. But I did when I first met her. She was cold—far too cold for a child—as if happiness didn't exist for her outside of working with her grandfather in the garage.
That all changed with Little Soldier and Sebring, where she came alive for the first time. The little girl who once seemed trapped in a lifeless shell finally began to emerge. She smiled, she cheered, she fussed, and yes, she even cried when we lost at Le Mans. For all my accomplishments and everything I had ever done, helping to bring that child out from her shell was truly the greatest achievement of my life. True, not everything had been resolved; she was still very much a "cold fish" most of the time, but she was undoubtedly more open than before.
Now she was back from college, her eyes shining with that intensity in her eyes. That desire to win at all costs. They were the type of eyes that just told you she was still pissed off about our loss in '57. You could tell her whatever you liked, but no matter how you worded it, there was no substitute for first place. Forget the fact that she was only 12 at the time. If you tried to explain that to her, you'd quickly find yourself on her shit list. Isabel knew how to hold a grudge. So it was best not to even bring it up.
Instead, I looked at the blueprints for the Type-A S. Patton and said, "Isabel, if I'm reading this correctly—and I like to think I am—this engine can reach 210 miles per hour on a straightaway and accelerate from 0 to 60 mph in just under 6 seconds."
"That is right. Impressed?" Isabel asked, with a big smile on her face.
"I don't think impressed would be the right word," I replied, shaking my head while still examining the blueprint. "I see you've already accounted for any potential overheating issues."
"That's right, Uncle Carel. This won't be like last time," Isabel said proudly.
Though she has every right to feel proud of her design, there's a significant issue at hand. I look at Ezekiel and say, "You see the problem here, right?"
"I do," Ezekiel responds.
"So do I," Isabel adds.
"We don't have anything that can handle the engine," we all say in unison.
And wasn't that the truth? This thing—yes, "thing" was the right word—was a beast. From what I observed, the AC Cobra Mark I had no hope in handling it. Not without taking serious risks for both the driver's life and the car, and I doubted the Mark II would fare any better.
"This isn't going to be like with the Morgan Plus 4. We can't just drop this thing into something and hope for the best. The racing world has changed. If we try to put this in a Cobra, it will at best reach only part of its potential. At worst…" I say.
"We destroyed the car along with the engine and perhaps even cost the driver his life. Yeah, I know," Isabel replied.
"Everything will have to be built from the ground up: new suspension, gearbox, brakes, chassis, and steering," I began to list off.
"Don't forget the fuel line," Ezekiel chimed in.
"Right. Can this thing even run on unleaded gas, or do we need a nuclear reactor to run it?" I asked Isabel as I examined this beast, which looked like something straight out of the future.
Shrugging her shoulders, Isabel replied, "I'm working on that."
The calmness in her voice sent a chill down my spine. "Please tell me you're joking."
Once again, she shrugged and said, "Only a bit. Don't worry too much, Uncle. If everything goes as planned, I'll have a fuel that should work wonders for us."
"And if not?" I inquired.
"Then it will run just fine on unleaded, but we might lose some power," Isabel answered.
That was a relief, I thought to myself. Still, something about her mention of having a special fuel ready seemed important. It made me wonder if she was making her own kind of fuel. Given everything she had accomplished in her short life, it wouldn't surprise me at all.
Looking back at Ezekiel, I say, "This is going to cost a lot."
"Yeah, it will," Ezekiel replies.
"Can you even afford to build something like this?" I ask.
"Not at all," he responds with a smile.
"Yet, you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?" I inquire.
"That's right," my old friend replied immediately.
"The only real question, Uncle, is whether you're in or out?" Isabel asked.
I chuckled and smirked, saying, "Do you even have to ask?"
Upon hearing that, Isabel smiles a wide, breathtaking smile. One that you rarely saw on her face. Then, she jumped up and hugged me. I lifted her up and spun her around as she laughed.
Who cared if this was a good idea or not? Very few people ever get to truly do what they love, and even fewer get the chance. I wasn't about to let this chance to build something like this slip away.
"I'll go get the boys," I said as I set her down.
-Isabel POV-
A few months passed after my initial meeting with Uncle Carroll. Although I would love to say that things moved quickly like in the movies, the reality is that life often progresses slowly, very slowly at times. It was a situation beyond our control; while $50,000 may sound like a small amount, it was anything but in our case. To put it in perspective, Carter Automotive cleared only $200,000 a year after expenses. That wasn't bad, considering we paid our workers well and offered fair prices, as Pawpaw believed in treating customers fairly rather than taking advantage of them, as some auto repair shops do.
However, while running a business this way was morally correct, it was not particularly smart financially. Nevertheless, it helped us build a solid reputation in Venice. While we may charge a bit more than some competitors at times, we deliver quality work and don't push unnecessary services on our customers. Those who knew us consistently chose us over others, and many new customers came back after their first experience. It also helped that we were something of a local celebrity family, well known in the racing scene for our back-to-back wins in 1957.
From 1957 to the present, my family's net worth has increased from a couple of thousand dollars to just over $2.3 million. However, most of this wealth has been tied up in investments such as stocks, bonds, and real estate. My Pawpaw especially loved investing in U.S. Treasury bonds, despite their low yields. He was an Army veteran and a staunch patriot. Additionally, he founded a local charity for wounded veterans and those suffering from combat fatigue, a condition he had experienced firsthand. This nonprofit, called Way Forward, was primarily funded by our family.
The point is, most of our money was tied up elsewhere, leaving us with little to no funds to build a brand-new race car. Fortunately, all we really needed was the engine itself. While Uncle Carroll was right that we couldn't simply drop it into one of his Cobras, we could use the base as a starting point. From there, we could build everything from the ground up. Well, Carroll and Pawpaw could handle that part; I was going to focus on the engine. Not that I would be working alone, but I knew better than anyone what I wanted to build—something that blueprints could never fully capture.
"Let's talk about drivers," I say to the group of men surrounding me.
"Should we wait for the loan to come through before we start discussing drivers? After all, we don't even have a car yet," Phil Remington, Uncle Carroll's chief engineer, asks.
"That won't be a problem," my Pawpaw responds. "The bank has already approved the small business loan, and I just got off the phone with Goodyear; they're interested in sponsoring us."
"Ford has also been showing interest, along with Dodge and GM," Uncle Carroll adds. "Word has spread that Isabel is getting back into the racing game. Even though it's been four years, a lot of people remember what happened back in '57."
"How did they find out so quickly?" Phil inquires.
"That would be me. I called Enzo a few months ago and told him—not so kindly—that I was going to beat his ass at Le Mans," I say with a wide smile.
"Isabel, watch your language," Pawpaw barks at me.
Rolling my eyes, I say, "Sorry, Pawpaw." Clearly, I don't mean it, and everyone laughs.
"How did he take that?" Carroll asks in an amused voice.
"In not so many words, he said that women have children while men win races," I reply, trying to keep a straight face. This prompts Carroll to laugh even harder, knowing I would take it personally.
Looking a bit confused, a young man named Charlie asks, "Wait, I'm confused. Who is Enzo?"
I glance at the newcomer coldly and respond, "Enzo Ferrari. Try to keep up."
With wide eyes, Charlie exclaims, "You know Enzo Ferrari?"
"A bit," I answer again, maintaining my cold demeanor.
"Yeah, right. Didn't he send you a 400 Superamerica for your 16th birthday as a thank you for helping him with updating the Little Soldier?" Carroll says, amused, knowing how I feel about that topic.
"Yes, but Pawpaw won't let me drive it anymore," I reply with a frown.
"Once you get your license unsuspended, you can drive it again," Pawpaw says in a commanding voice.
"Hey, it's not my fault that my license got suspended. It was Uncle Carroll who taught me that the only way to drive is to drive fast," I state matter-of-factly.
I glance over at Uncle Carroll, and my grandfather glares at him in the same way he did when my license was suspended.
"Whoa, don't bring me into this. This is between you two," Carroll says with his hands held up in mock surrender.
After a few moments of staring at each other, we burst out laughing.
"Alright, enough with the jokes. Let's get back on the subject. While it may seem a bit early to be looking for a driver, the fact is, we'll be getting the money to build the car soon enough. The American car companies know they missed a golden opportunity last time around; none of them wants to make that mistake again," Pawpaw says.
To call it a mistake would be an understatement. It was more like a complete disaster—something that Pawpaw himself contributed to when he sold the Little Soldier for such a low price. By my own estimates, Enzo made enough money from licensing the fuel system I designed for the Little Soldier to fund his racing team for at least five years—not including the previous four.
"Who do you have in mind?" Carroll asks. He already had someone in mind but knew that Isabel and Ezekiel would have the final say, especially since they were investing the most money.
"Well, if I had it my way, it would be you, Uncle," I say with a smile, and he smiles back.
Uncle Carroll's greatest dream was always to win Le Mans—a dream that came true a few years later after our loss in '57. He won in 1959 while racing for Ferrari after Enzo hired him as a personal favor, following an injury to one of his drivers in another race. However, while Uncle Carroll achieved his dream, he later told me it was bittersweet because he had wanted to win using what I had built.
The jackass almost made me cry when he told me that, and I did cry when he told me about his heart condition. The realization that I would never see the day he won Le Mans while driving something I had built had hurt even more than the actual loss we suffered in '57.
"But since that isn't possible, I was thinking we hire Ken Miles," I said.
That was a pleasant surprise for Carroll, as he knew Ken had a reputation for being difficult to work with. However, for all his problems, he was an exceptional driver and engineer. He would be a great addition to the team.
"Isabel, are you sure? You know he has a bit of a reputation for being…" Pawpaw began to say, but paused, searching for the right words.
"An ass?" I suggested, and everyone around me burst out laughing. Everyone there, except for me, had at least met the man.
"Isabel!" Pawpaw exclaimed this time.
"Sorry, Pawpaw," I said again, and everyone laughed, knowing I wasn't sorry at all.
I continued, "Regardless of how difficult he may be, from what I've heard, he is a great driver. Right, Uncle?"
"Among the best, I would say," Carroll answered.
"And that is all I need to know. If we want to get the best performance from my engine, we need the best driver—someone who isn't afraid to push it to the limit," I say with a smile.
"Ken can do that," Carroll replies.
Nodding his head, Ezekiel acknowledges that Ken is indeed an exceptional driver; he has seen him on the track before. "Very well, Ken will be the driver then," he concludes.
I smile and start thinking about what comes next.