Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 47 — page 49: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Doc was fortunate; the operation succeeded and he was pronounced fit to resume his work. In’71 the declaration of war—if seven minutes warn- ing, followed by mass H-bomb raids can be regarded as a “declaration”—dragged him back into circulation as As- sistant Chief Brain Butcher, or something of the sort, at Air Ministry, where over- stressed and cracked-up air- crews were taken to pieces, € - examined, and put together again twice nightly and a matinee on Saturdays. Shortly after this it was considered necessary to estab- lish a centre for advanced re- search into the very real and increasingly serious problem of man’s limitations in flight. The finest medical intellects were focused upon this pro- ject, and Doc Lestrange be- came one of ,the carefully selected and screened in- mates of the squat, heavily- guarded compound adjoining Airfield Eight. I knew little, at that time, of the problems facing these scientists, but I supposed that they would investigate and attempt to overcome the causes 48 AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION of black-out, red-out, bends, toxic effects, high-altitude fever, speed hypnosis, oxygen saturation and anything else experienced by those who choose to fly high-speed mis- siles for a living. I imagined that they would minimise the effectiveness of these obstacles to man’s conquest of space by more careful aircrew selection, dieting, training, hypnosis, improved methods of assisted respiration, advances in pres- sure suit design, complete - adoption of the prone position in flight, perfection of cabin pressurization and the use of drugs. As I walked down Superior Hill I could see the aerodrome before me. The main runway swept across the field, clean and white, from a position almost directly below the spot where I now halted. I could feel again the thrill of coming in to land ; remember again the virtually obsolete Vampires upon which I trained, and the obsolescent Hunters I flew until the war. I finally joined a _ Super-Sabre squadron in Kent, spending my brief leaves away from London, where one conmicloooks.con