Debutant. Chapter 14. Ups and downs. Part 1

This novel is fictional; there is no need to look for intersections with historical events. This is a continuation of “Debutant” by Nikita Savelyev, the first readers of which were readers of F1News.ru…

Chapter 14. Ups and downs. Part One

Saturday training

Henry, a cautious coyote, circled the long-awaited prey and did not dare to attack, hoping that it would suddenly fall into his paws exhausted. But it’s not that simple. With little courage, the coyote drooled in the corner of the prairie, and the prey stubbornly refused to make his task easier.

On Saturday, Senor Bruno, director of the company’s sports car division, arrived at the Monetti pits. Officially with a friendly visit, and unofficially – to see with your own eyes the atmosphere in the team and report whether Cesare Basile is coping with his responsibilities. As a distrustful and competent leader, Signor Monetti preferred to have two independent eyes, quietly encouraging competition among themselves.

As if enchanted, Henry made the tenth circle around the Monetti pits, all the while the great man chatted a lot with the mechanics and engineers, with some in a dry and businesslike manner, with others with laughter and jokes. Unfortunately, Henry couldn’t find any reason to get his attention. The imagination remained silent for the time being and a happy accident did not occur.

What if through the racers? But both Rinaldo and Dubois, returning to the pits after a series of laps, were immersed in their own concerns, discussing pressing problems with the engineers and paying no attention to Henry. It’s a good thing that no one came up with the idea of ​​placing guards at the pits, otherwise a diligent guard would certainly have become interested in the winding zigzags that Henry was writing.

As for himself, he showed a time more than enough to get to the start, fortunately there were not many entries this time – the season was over the second half, and the lack of results and broken cars during the first part cooled the enthusiasm of many private participants. Henry quickly convinced the guys: there was no point in forcing their low-powered car on a long circuit of almost fourteen kilometers again and was given the opportunity to legally skip part of the training. After all, you shouldn’t miss the opportunity to meet Bruno. The next race is in Italy, where we must build on our success – try with all our might to get the coveted red cockpit. Henry seemed to have settled in Baker, but spending another year in this cozy, unpromising swamp was not part of his plans. Enough, I’ve had enough.

It is necessary to catch Bruno when he is as relaxed as possible so that he does not ignore the arrogant upstart who dared to disturb the respected gentleman. But where? There are a lot of people constantly hovering around Bruno on the race track. The prospect of sneaking through the hotel did not smile, but where to go if there was no other way out? How does a crazy fan keep watch over a famous artist? No, that’s a very bad comparison. Scout tracking down enemy resident? Yes, that’s better.

Henry was already going crazy with hopelessness and was almost deaf from the sound of the engines – on this circuit the pits were not separated from the road at all, and the poor mechanics swarmed just a few meters from the passing cars. The insight came unexpectedly. In the person of fellow countryman Peter Bridge, who slowly walked along the pit line. Judging by the dusty face and glasses around his neck, he had just gotten out of the car. Next to him stood a lively, small Italian woman with a generous figure, very beautiful to look at, lively. Henry had seen her before with Señor Bruno. She kept whispering something in his ear and gesticulating constantly. It looks like an assistant or secretary. The coyote sensed a new target and rushed over it with commendable speed.

– Why not on the track? – Bridge asked instead of greeting.

“I’m already done,” Henry replied curtly. Have you all been asked this question?

– And I. The sky was so cloudy.

Indeed, Henry had not lifted his head for a long time. Until recently the sun was shining, but now thick, gray clouds hang firmly in the sky. It will start pouring soon. Henry had heard so much about sudden local rains that apparently it was time to get to know each other better.

“You’ve always been a brute, Peter,” his companion Bridge pushed. – Just imagine us, such a handsome young man.

Thank you, beautiful señora, praise heaven Henry. Otherwise Peter would have started a boring conversation about the condition of the track. He’ll be fine.

“Henry, great guy, also from the States,” Bridge said casually. – Senora Tomasi, Mr. Bruno’s permanent assistant, without hair he is like without hands.

“You always flatter, Peter,” the señora waved her goodbye cheerfully. “Don’t listen to him, young man, he’s exaggerating, I’m just a banal secretary.”

“The senora is a humble person, but you have to know how many leaders have changed over the years, and Emma still stands in her place,” Bridge said.

“Do you have a hint about my age, villain?” – Emma smiled.

Bridge playfully made excuses. How old are you really, señora? Henry took an experienced look at the neck and arms, the most treacherously feminine parts of the body: at least forty-five, fit to be a mother.

– You must have worked together at Monetti? – Henry suggested logically.

“Exactly,” Emma nodded. “It was a great time, the fifties, the court was full of romantics and selfless people, the team had an excellent team, not like… Peter was a handsome young man then, all the girls fell for him, but he was intemperate in his tongue, completely stupid. I didn’t want to listen to the experienced Aunt Emma.

“What happened, happened,” Bridge agreed without shame.

– Can you imagine if he started arguing with the Old Man, arguing that the front-engine lineup had exhausted itself? – Emma said confidentially. “Mario can’t stand an argument, but then a very young racer raised his voice, so he immediately showed Peter to the door.

“It was brutal, no doubt,” Bridge chuckled. – But years have passed, and where are the huge, clunky front-engine bikes now? Pure dinosaurs are extinct.

“If I had stayed with Monetti, I could have won the title,” Henry noted cautiously.

“Okay,” Bridge waved his hand. – The most important thing is that you don’t change yourself. But fate brought me together with the best stables, I drove exceptional cars and most importantly, I found extraordinary friends. I race at will, I go back and forth across the ocean, I’m never bored.

– Do you know how much Peter is loved in the United States? – Henry turned to Emma. “We have many successful pilots, but not a single world celebrity of this level, only him.”

“Come on,” Bridge shrugged. – The catch is that European motorsport is brewing in its own cauldron, and there is no place for external stables to go there. And the races in the United States yielded to no one but ourselves. But I got excited about the idea of ​​creating an international American team. I’ll be racing for a few more years and getting started. How am I worse than Stanton? Who else but a racer knows all the ins and outs of running a stable? We will exhibit on both continents. Then the popularity of American car racing will increase many times over. Imagine!

Emma gasped in admiration and Henry worried: Bridge could talk about his dream forever. Developing the prestige of motorsport is of course important, but much more important is the development of Henry himself.

“My friend, with all due respect to you and our country, I have always dreamed of performing for Monetti,” Henry said. – I have been following Europeans since childhood, there is something attractive in these beautiful red cars, they radiate a kind of natural magnetism, the spirit of real racing. Yes, they are not always fast, but they are certainly graceful and elegant. Indeed, so many years of glorious traditions from the past. The best pre-war pilots and champions of the 1950s raced for Monetti. This is a legend. Every name is a song.

It turned out to be very convincing, it almost brought a tear of emotion to my eyes.

“I had no idea about your passion,” Bridge chuckled in surprise.

“And you are a poet, dear Henry, and a romantic,” Emma smiled kindly. – Somewhat similar to my first husband. He liked to talk about the greatness of Italy, like a true patriot you can sometimes listen to him. He fought in the Mediterranean and was an officer on a destroyer. You should have seen how his uniform looked on him.

-What happened to your husband? – asked Henry.

“He died in a British air raid,” Emma smiled sadly.

– Sorry my…

– Leave it alone, more than twenty years have passed. He blushed just as cutely. Would you like, I will tell you about my third husband, it was he who introduced me to the world of motor racing; Before that, I must admit, I was afraid of cars, but now I can get behind the wheel myself. .

-What is that there? – Bridge rudely interrupted the lady.

Something truly unusual happened. The usual chaotic, disorganized crowd in the paddock suddenly found a unified direction. Journalists, spectators and staff ran as fast as they could, followed by photojournalists and videographers working heavily in the rear, picking up their numerous belongings. Everyone has anxious and tense faces. The wail of a siren could be heard in the distance. At the races this meant only one thing.

– Someone crashed! – Peter’s face hardened.

Several acquaintances waved away the American’s questions, after which Bridge firmly grabbed Stanton’s elbow as he ran past.

– WHO?

-Georges…

My heart sank into inexplicable melancholy, as if immersed in ice. Bridge, powerfully cutting through the crowd, rushed forward, Henry struggling to keep up with his statuesque figure. Peter and Georges are partners for this race, Thomson needs to know the details. We have to hurry!

The training races were coming to an end, but Georges stubbornly continued to run laps, hoping to improve his time and be closer to the front row. It turned out that the rain was pouring heavily over the far part of the track, but Georges had already started the lap and had no idea about it. There was no signaling system and no one had any idea how to set one up at such a distance.

There were no eyewitnesses to the accident, but the events were reconstructed quite accurately. In one of the fast bends on the road that immediately became slippery, at a speed of over one hundred miles per hour, Georges’ car was abruptly jerked off the road, overturned and fell into a ditch, and the driver himself was thrown from the cockpit thrown. There were no safety zones at that location and Georges crashed into a tree with all his might. Head. Thanks to the ambulance, it arrived fairly quickly, given the length of the route. They loaded the unconscious pilot and took him to the hospital. The situation is critical. All details later.

Eh, Georges, he was so happy when he got a very fast car after many years of hanging around in failed stables. And why does fate often find the most unexpected moment to strike? It doesn’t matter, as long as Georges lives. Even if he can no longer race, he still has had a glorious career.

== To be continued…