Favorite. Chapter 3 Part One

This novel is fictional, you should not look for intersections with historical events. This is a continuation of Nikita Savelyev’s “Race Action Movie”, the first readers of which were the readers of F1News.ru…

Favorite. Chapter 3 Part One

The heat is terrible, not a breath of wind. Spectators get on the track for free, nobody counts them, maybe three hundred thousand, maybe four hundred. The stands have been filled since morning and the crowd is pouring to the side of the road. Rare fences do not save, a few employees are powerless and now people stand like a solid wall along the edges of the highway.

We understood what it was, but we went to the start. Otherwise this uncontrolled raging sea, having lost its spectacle, would simply have destroyed us. During the race, the spectators enjoyed running down the track right under the noses of the flying cars. How to suggest that it is deadly?

I’m not thinking about opponents, but about how you don’t knock anyone down. Crazy slalom, no riding. The denouement was not long in coming: Ruggiero’s car was driven straight into the crowd at breakneck speed. Could you imagine? Like a howitzer shot. A wild crush began, the ambulances could only get to the scene of the accident along the highway, and until the end of the race no one rendered aid to the victims.

Officially, eleven people have died, but the actual number of victims is many times higher, they say. I think they just didn’t hurt the foreign guests. After the race I saw dozens of bloodied, shocked people in ripped clothes, some with horrific open fractures. I saw what the bodies had become. I saw Ruggiero’s car. Think you can’t see red on red? Excellent visibility. The whole body is covered in disgusting brown spots. Ruggiero, oddly enough, barely crippled. But he died six months later in a minor accident.

“Terrible,” Leslie shuddered as he listened to Marcel’s story. “But a lot has changed in South America in the past four years. The track has been cordoned off by troops and is now even safer there than on many European circuits. They say that the race went absolutely without excesses.

“Yes, I heard,” Neville said absently.

Although the championship is global, the vast majority of stages take place exclusively on the European continent. However, the organizers included the most famous American race on the oval track in the ranking, but it turned out to be a formal step – the Europeans ignored overseas competitions, and colleagues under the star-striped standard answered them the same. Too different technique and approach to racing on two continents. And soon, for a real confirmation of world status, the South American podium appeared on the calendar. However, the first experience ended in a terrible tragedy, but then everything worked out.

Racing is a heat-loving sport and, as you know, summer in the southern hemisphere begins exactly when European cities are covered with snow, so now the season started unusually early – in January. Immediately after the new year, the teams gathered their belongings, loaded them onto transatlantic ships and set off for a long voyage across the ocean. The paradox also lies in the fact that, of course, no one had time to prepare a new car for the winter, and the teams started with the old equipment, but already in updated lineups.

Neville hated missing races, but this time he had to admit that the rational Mr. Carragher was right. Instead of spending money on an expensive trip without the slightest guarantee of success, it is better to spend this money on the development of the car. Paradoxically, the second leg does not start until five months later – in May, and then the season basically starts again.

“And there are a lot of scheduling issues,” Leslie lamented.

– Yes, where is the Suez Canal and where are we? Neville agreed. – Here we live, we race and we don’t think, but what would we do without oil?

– Interruptions in the supply, that’s them. Some circuits have already given up racing,” added Leslie.

– In a nightmare I would not have thought that I would be interested in things so far from sports, – Marcel chuckled. “Our job is to get behind the wheel and drive at full speed.

– Do you think the bureaucrats will agree?

– Do not worry. Find a compromise. Although the calendar of the season is clearly fragmented.

“As long as there’s no war,” Leslie sighed.

– We are retraining as fighter pilots, just like our predecessors. What made you pale?

“Mr. Reed, the boss is looking for you,” one of the mechanics ran up to him.

‘I won’t keep him waiting,’ Marcel nodded to his partner.

While the few colleagues who had ventured on the grueling journey were packing up in the sticky South American heat, Neville was at the team’s base in the London suburb of Ilford. It’s cold and damp outside, but it’s easier to work in the cool.

Marcel felt an extraordinary surge of energy and an attack on the fight like never before – he was ready to hang around the factory all day and eagerly awaited the first test of the wheel. Although he had little technical knowledge, he believed his presence and racing knowledge would somehow help the engineers create the car.

Marcel’s rapid footsteps echoed through the vast shop floor. On the way, he with pleasure inhaled the unique aroma, which can only be found in a car factory. Paint, diesel fuel, fuel, varnish, grease, oil. Some delicate noses would wrinkle disdainfully, but to Marcel it means work is well underway. Workers in neat overalls (Carragher did not tolerate dirt and untidiness) swarm around the stands, machine tools hum in a bass voice, welding machines hiss, bundles of crackling sparks are thrown. Every, even an insignificant detail must be brought to perfection. Everyone knows their maneuver, everyone works tirelessly from morning to night.

Next door, in neat sheds, is a much larger manufacturing facility, Mr. Carragher’s core business of road car spare parts. It is also very busy there. Every day, a tireless assembly line spews out dozens of different parts that are scattered across European concerns, car factories, factories, firms and even small workshops. Now the entire colossus of Carragher’s enterprise is subservient to the interests of his small race team. Any money available for Carnall’s needs. An extremely ambitious goal has been set – to finally impose a fight on the red cars that have sharpened their teeth.

Marcel waited tactfully for Carragher to say something stern to the worker at the machine and moved closer. Behind the boss stood an unfamiliar young man, about Neville’s age, tall and thin, with a determined, narrow face and tousled hair.

– Acquainted. Marcel Reed. Charlie Rodwell, our new lead designer, Carragher introduced them. Today the chief was particularly gloomy and resembled a grumpy bulldog, thinking of biting someone smarter.

– Where’s Phillip? Marcel couldn’t resist.

“Fired,” Carragher said. – He himself said, we need a fresh look.

– Well, yes…

– Please.

– AND…

– Let’s go to my office. The sound breaks my head.

Marcel refrained from unnecessary questions. To tell the truth, the style of work of the prudent and conservative Philip did not impress him, but what about right away, from the shoulder? Let’s hope Carragher knows better.

“Happy to work with you, I heard,” Charlie whispered to Neville.

He just grimaced, everyone has heard of him, to everyone he is a promising pilot. Where are the results? I ignored the first race too. You understand with your mind that Carragher is right, but with your soul it is more difficult. Usually Neville slept at night without his hind legs, but then he jumped up and couldn’t sleep – just then, on the other side of the world, the boys left. The Italians, of course, won.

== To be continued…