But the engine had survived.
Ethan had tested it before storing it.
It still ran.
Ryan stopped beside him.
“You're looking at the combine engine.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ethan pointed toward the old International.
“What if we put that engine into the 986?”
Ryan laughed.
Then he realized Ethan wasn't joking.
“That engine was designed for a combine.”
“It was designed to make power.”
“The mounts won't line up.”
“We build new mounts.”
“The bell housing won't match.”
“We make an adapter plate.”
“The cooling system is different.”
“We change it.”
“The hood won't fit.”
“We cut the hood.”
Ryan crossed his arms.
“And if we spend three weeks building something that tears itself apart the first time you pull a planter?”
“Then we wasted three weeks.”
Ryan looked toward the empty fields.
Planting was approaching fast.
They didn't have many choices.
“We don't have a blueprint.”
“We have measurements.”
“We don't know whether the transmission can handle the torque.”
“It handled the original engine.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“No.”
Ryan shook his head.
“This is a terrible idea.”
Ethan nodded.
“Probably.”
Silence filled the workshop.
Then Ryan looked at the old combine engine.
They already owned it.
They already owned the tractor.
Most of the steel and hydraulic components were already in the shop.
Ryan sighed.
“It would be cheaper than forty-two thousand.”
“Exactly.”
Ryan looked at his brother.
“When do we start?”
Ethan removed his jacket.
“Now.”
Building the Impossible
The workshop lights came on before sunrise the following morning.
The Nebraska sky was still black when Ethan positioned the engine hoist over the dead motor.
Removing the old engine took most of the morning.
Bolts that hadn't moved in decades fought every wrench.
Grease covered their hands and arms.
One hydraulic fitting broke and sprayed old fluid across the concrete.
By noon, the dead engine hung from the hoist.
When it finally came free, the tractor frame looked strangely empty.
Ethan crouched beside the transmission housing and began measuring.
The combine engine was longer.
The crankshaft sat at a different height.
The mounting pattern didn't match the bell housing.
Ryan watched Ethan fill page after page in a notebook.
“Still think it'll work?”
“I think it can.”
“That wasn't the question.”
Ethan looked up.
“I don't know.”
Ryan smiled.
“At least you're honest.”
They spent two days building an adapter plate from thick steel.
Ethan made a cardboard template first.
Ryan transferred it onto metal.
They cut it.
Drilled it.
Measured again.
A mistake of even a fraction of an inch could cause serious vibration or destroy the transmission.
On the third attempt, the shaft finally slid into place.
Ryan stepped back.
“That shouldn't have worked.”
Ethan smiled.
“It hasn't worked yet.”
The engine mounts were next.
The original brackets were too narrow.
Ethan cut them away.
He built reinforced supports from steel channel and welded them directly to the frame.
Their father's old welding helmet still hung beside the workbench.
Ethan put it on.
Sparks filled the workshop.
For the next week, the brothers worked from before sunrise until late at night.
They installed the combine radiator.
Rerouted fuel lines.
Modified the throttle linkage.
Installed a new electric fuel shutoff.
Rebuilt the hydraulic pump.
Replaced cracked hoses.
Designed a new power-steering system.