Clear blue skies out over a dusty desert.

His rocket powered aircraft drifted safely away from the huge, four-engine, propeller-driven, B-29 bomber. Chuck felt the ache of two broken ribs; an injury suffered after being thrown from a horse.

45,000 feet.

The sky-cowboy fired the first three rockets, one after another. With each blast, gravity’s force pushed him further into his seat.

Now, as the X-plane dangled on the edge of eternity, his thoughts hung on a banter of a moment ago – when he struggled to close the XS-1’s hatch.

“Ridley! I can’t reach it, man!” he shouted over ferocious blasts of air.

“What’s that, Chuck?” asked Jack, as he smiled and pretended not to hear him.

“The latch, Jack!” he shouted back, “I can’t reach it to close the hatch.”

With half-a-smile, Chuck recalled how Jack had handed him the sawed off end of a broomstick.

“Take this,” his partner said.

“Take that!” Chuck said, firing the last of the four rockets.

A sonic-boom was heard and the sound barrier was broken.