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Little Lisa Loest liked visiting her Dad at the airfield where he worked as an 'Airspace Director.' Sometimes if he was not busy, they'd sit and talk over chocolate eclairs and moccachinos in the tiny staff cafeteria. At other times, particularly at the weekend, things would get busy with all the 'hobby' fliers and the glider boys. Her Dad would often get anxious and frustrated at those times because of some of the stupid things they'd do. When that happened, Lisa would try and amuse herself as much as she could by taking little walks around the hangars.

One day she went right to the edge of the airfield where the historic aircraft club had a compound. Unusually she found the gate open so she decided to enter and have a look around.

One of the hangars had the door partly open so Lisa had a little peek. She saw a man, maybe in his fifties bent over what looked like the frame of an aircraft fusilage. An electric-arc welder flashed vivid white and Lisa recoiled from the glare. She bumped the side of the big sliding door making a 'boing' sound on the steel.

"Here!" the man said, "don't look into the welder. You could damage your eyes you know."

"I'm sorry," Lisa said, "I was just curious..."

"Be curious somewhere else," the man told her, "this is a restricted area. You shouldn't be here."

"My Father runs the airfield," Lisa explained, "I was just having a look around. What are you building?"

"An aeroplane," he replied, sarcastically.

"Strange," she said, looking over the framework, "I can't see where the front is?" The man sighed, stretched, and stood up.

"That way," he said tersely, "there will be an airscrew at each end, see?"

"Why?"

"Because that's the way Dorniers designed her, obviously. Centre-line thrust... two engines, one here in the nose and one there in the fusilage driving a pusher 'screw."

"Pusher screw!" she giggled, "thats sounds rude!"

"Does it?" the man said walking away.

On the back of the man's blue overalls was the name 'Arnold' in white lettering. He had long hair streaked with grey and tied in a ponytail. He reminded her of an old hippy. Lisa stepped into the hangar and looked around. Hanging up on hooks from the roof were the frames of two wings and beyond that obviously parts of the tail.

"Fins?" she asked him.

"Cruciform," he answered, "like a dart's tail. That's the upper fin, the two horizontal stabilisers and that one there is the ventral fin."

"Why is it like that?" she asked.

"It's technical," he told her, "it would take a long time to explain. Aerodynamics... torque reaction... compression vortices... all kinds of stuff. Now if you don't mind I'd like to continue working?"

"Sure," she told him, "I'd like to look around, if that's all right?"

"I guess," he grumbled, "just don't touch anything!"

"Are they the engines over there?" she asked him, "they're wierd. I've never seen aero-engines like those before."

"That's because they're built 'upside down' with the pistons underneath rather than upright like a car engine. Don't fiddle with them!" he cautioned, "I got them from Germany. They're hand-built to very fine tolerances... and they cost a lot of money."

"Wow!" Lisa exclaimed, "they're so big! They must be very powerful!"

"17 hundred horsepower. Boosted to 20 with full supercharge and methanol injection!" he told her with a hint of pride. Lisa sensed he really wanted to talk about his plane. He hadn't kicked her out in any case.

"That's... 4000 horsepower!" she said in wonder, "my God, it must be very fast!"

"Yep," he agreed, "fastest piston-powered aircraft ever. Forget your Spitfires and Mustangs. This baby would have blown the weeds off the lot of them. If the Krauts could have got her ready in time that is."

"Ready?" she asked, "for what?"

"Combat, of course," he explained, "see, Dorniers made her near the end of the Second World War. Two engines on the center-line of the aircraft reduces drag yet you get the benefit of the horsepower. Better weight distribution too means your centre of gravity is near the optimum for handling. She could turn better, fly faster than any allied aircraft at the time."

"Then why didn't they make more of them?" Lisa asked.

"Well the war finished before they could fully develop it. Then of course there were the jet aircraft. They were the future for fighting aircraft."

"So when will you have her finished?" Lisa said.

"God know's," he shrugged, "I didn't realise there'd be so much involved. I've had to fabricate so much. Components are impossible to find. Blueprints are all out of print. I've had to do a lot of asking around, guesswork, and then try and turn stuff out on the lathe. Sometimes I get it right, at other times I'm way off. It's frustrating! There aren't many of them in existance, just one that I know of. Dorniers refurbished one in 1974 from a specimen that had been sitting in a field in America for 30 years. I was lucky that a small firm in Germany began making wartime fighter aircraft engines. You see, there are a number of Messerschmitts around with foreign engines in them and the owners wanted the originals put back in. So this guy begins making them from old spare parts. When they ran out he starts building them from scratch. Marvelous engineering!" he added in wonder.

Although the aircraft firm of Dornier, then based on the Swiss border near Lake Constance, had not the time to fully develop the Do 335 fighter, reports from Allied test pilots after the war attest to it's fine handling characteristics. However these innovative aeroplanes proved to be somewhat of a dead end. Perhaps the swan song of the piston-engined fighter aircraft at the dawn of the jet age.

The strange-looking aircraft had obsessed Albert since he was a kid. Through his apprenticeship and career as an aircraft engineer, it had been his burning wish to build one for himself. However the absolute unavailability of suitable engines had baulked his ambition. Until, that is, that engineer in Germany began rebuilding them.

At 49 he took early retirement, hiring hinself out occasionally as a consultant. Cashing up his house and car, he ploughed all his money into the project. Even that wasn't sufficient and, during the two years gestation of the project, he had to pause to earn some more funds.

The hangar and workshop he leased from the Historic Aircraft Club at minimal rental. Last winter he moved into the backroom, making himself a rudimentry apartment. All to save money for the project.

Albert Jensen had never married, although there was some talk of an engagement some years ago. He told his friends he 'never had time for all that stuff.' In truth, his obsession had so absorbed his life that there was little room for anyone else.

"Haven't you got something else you should be doing?" he asked Lisa in annoyance, "maybe your Mother wants you?"

"No," she replied, "and I don't have a Mother, she died when I was little."

"Oh," Albert answered, embarrassed, "didn't know, sorry."

"That's alright. Dad brought me up. I've been around aircraft all my life. Dad taught me to fly when I was 13, I have a special license! Maybe I can fly this when you've finished her?" Albert broke out in a coughing fit. "You need to cut down on smoking, it's bad for you," Lisa told him.

"You fly this?" he croaked, "in your dreams little girl."

"I could... and I'm not so little!" Lisa protested, "I've been up in a Macchi, and Dad took me up in that Magister outside. I landed it myself, no problem."

"Ok," Albert replied, "but those are relatively modern aircraft. You'd find this a handful compared to those jets. And I'll smoke myself to death if I want!"

"Your funeral!" Lisa continued to look around. She found the door to Albert's apartment and peered inside. "You need a housekeeper," she told him. Albert ignored her and continued welding the frame. Walking over to the tail section, minus fins and rudder, Lisa began to point out the various parts. "Longerons... formers... and those holes are for the control wires and hydraulics?" Albert nodded, distracted by the girl's chat. "That servo is for the elevators and that's for the rudder. The wires goes through there for the trimtab..."

"Have you finished?" Albert snapped, "to be honest you're bugging me. I can't concentrate on the work. You can't fool around with arc-welders, y'know. I could end up burning myself."

"Sorry," Lisa said, "perhaps I can help? I've got nothing better to do and this is really interesting. I've never seen an actual aircraft being built, it's fascinating. You could use a bit of organisation around here too, you know. It's a wonder you can find anything."

"I can find everything," he told her, "you'd only mess up my system."

"System? What system? There're boxes of stuff scattered around, your hand tools are piled everywhere, pieces of metal on the floor, oil. If OSH turns up they'd condemn the place as an 'unsafe work environment'."

Albert stood, looked around scratching his jaw.

"Y'reckon?" he asked. Lisa nodded. "Maybe it could stand a bit of cleaning up," he considered, "I don't want them interferring bastards in here. I guess I don't have much time for cleaning up."

"That's settled then," she announced, "I'll be your assistant. I won't ask for much pay."

"Ha! A cup of tea if you're lucky. Oops, no milk... a cup of black tea!"

"You're funny!" she chuckled.

"No I'm not, I'm an arsehole! Hoy! Don't take that away, they're my vernier calipers, I need them."

"For the precise measurement of width and diameters?" Lisa said proudly, "see I know what everything's for. My Dad and Brother both are very mechanically minded."

"That so?" Albert said, unenthusiastically, "knowing what a tool does doesn't mean you know how to use it."

"Because I'm a girl doesn't mean I don't know my way around a workshop. Do you know what a 'Cirrus Major' is?" she asked.

"Sure! An old aero engine. Inverted four cylinder..."

"My Dad and I pulled one to bits when I was 6."

"You don't say?" Albert raised his eyebrows, "if I want anything pulled to pieces I'll know who to call then, won't I?"

"You don't have to be so... sarcastic," she chided.

"If you don't like it..." Albert walked away mumbling.

Lisa continued at the workshop the rest of the afternoon. Albert was grudgingly impressed by the difference she made to the state of his workspace. By early evening she had tools hanging up and marked, spilt oil sawdusted, metal offcuts stacked neatly or put away in old oil drums. It seemed she'd found more room in the workshop. Albert was pleased.

Lisa's phone rang and she told Albert that her Dad was finally leaving. She asked him if she could come back tomorrow and Albert found himself agreeing. He even gave her a pass-key for the main gate. He didn't fully understand why afterwards. Perhaps it was just that the girl was very persuasive.

The next day, Lisa arrived at nine and let herself in the gate. She wore her blue, work overalls and had tied her hair up under a cap. Albert briefly looked up, then continued working. She busied herself in re-organising the workshop, more labelling, cleaning bench tops and so-on.

"Today I'm going to lower the rear engine into place," Albert announced around mid-morning.

"Cool!" she responded, "do you need a hand?"

"Maybe," he said, slowly, "I'll need someone to guide me while I work the hoist. Someone that knows what they're doing, like. See," he pointed, "those are the two bearers. They'll take the weight of the engine. It's bolted on through those three points there. They've got rubber buffers inserted, see? To reduce vibration through the frame. You'll need to line up the holes and push the guiding rods through. Then I'll press in the pins and secure the bolts."

"It looks like the engine would be too heavy." Lisa commented.

"Well, the bearers are canterlevered," he replied, "The front and rear engine bearers are designed so that they act against each other, counter-acting the torque effect of the engines. The two engines form the ends of what amounts to a bridge, with the wings in between. Or a seesaw, pivoting on the wings' mainspar."

Two hours of careful maneuvering later, the engine was finally mounted in place. Albert made sure that the pins were fixed tight. Any freeplay will cause them to distort and allow the engine to twist out of alignment with the propellor shaft. He was, though, a skilled engineer and had measured everything up to fine tolerances. Lisa was impressed at the way it all fitted into place. She began to regard him as something of a magician or genius.

"Perfect!" Albert announced, "I'll fit the tail section, rear shaft and reduction gearbox tomorrow. Variable pitch mechanism goes on inside of the airscrew spinner. Exhaust stacks, if we've got time, and then we can start assembling and fitting the skinning. We've got a bit of arc-welding ahead of us there." Lisa nodded enthusiastically. Albert came and put his hand on her shoulder, the first time he'd touched her. She felt comfortable with the friendly gesture. She didn't think over-familiarity was part of Albert's personality.

"There seems so much to do," she told him, "cockpit and controls... and the entire nose section!"

His arm remained resting affectionately on her shoulder. Despite herself Lisa's heart beat a little faster. Despite his frosty outwardly personality, she could feel tenderness through that touch. She leaned slightly towards him.

"... So," he was saying, "I think I'm done today. Tomorrow the tubing for the wing de-icing gear should be arriving and..."

Lisa listened to him in snatches. He talked not to her, it seemed, but merely to organise himself for the next day.

"Is there a washroom where I can get this grease off?" she asked him.

"Um, sure," he answered distractedly, "through there, in my flat. You can have a shower if you want." Lisa moved away towards the door, his hand slipping from her shoulder.

His living quarters were tiny and smelt of the workshop. One tiny louvred window let light in reluctantly through a layer of dirt. A threadbare sofa, a stool and an old table were the only items of furniture. No TV, just an old radio permantly tuned to a 'Classic Hits' station and barely audible. Lisa wondered what the man did to relax.