Джон Болл - Phase Three Alert

On the third floor of Building 708 three of the junior officers of Det. 4 were hard at work on a problem. As they labored, their efforts were inspired by an almost solid wall of pinups. None of the captivating young ladies depicted would have lasted outside for half a minute in what she was wearing — which, in practically all cases, was nothing whatever. The pinups were one of the few amenities that helped to make life at Thule a bit more endurable.

First Lieutenant Ron Cunningham was laying out the project. “If we leave an hour before dawn, then we should be able to make our fuel drop on the ice cap in late twilight. That’s no problem.”

Lieutenant Mike Turner, who combined a string-bean physique with a mathematical mind, punched an electronic calculator in his hand. “If we pick just the right spot,” he announced, “we should be able to do it with one refueling. That is, if those damn wing sections don’t weigh a lot more than we think.”

Tom Collins was deeply absorbed in the chart of upper Greenland that he had spread out before him. “If they do, then we might need two drinks to get back. Roughly, we’ll be able to lift more than eight hundred additional pounds that way.”

Turner, who both knew the performance regulations and believed in them, shook his head. “That would make matters a lot worse,” he said.

“I know,” Cunningham agreed, “but what we can do once we can do twice if we have to.”

Mike Turner still had his reservations. “It isn’t what we can do — it’s what we can get away with.”

“Absolutely,” Collins agreed. “However, the necessary delicate negotiations are in the hands of Sergeant Feinberg. I trust you known him?”

“I do,” Turner answered.

“We’ll have to pass it off as a training exercise,” Collins said. “The problem is there are two of those damn things.”

“So we train two different crews,” Cunningham answered. “It will increase pilot proficiency and qualify us to do difficult lifts off the ice cap — just in case the Army gets into trouble out there.”

Tom Collins was thoughtful. “If only Major Kimsey will buy it, then we’ve got it made.”

A captain from Administration had wandered over in time to pick up some of the discussion. “Frankly,” he said when he had an opportunity, “I think the whole thing’s nuts.”

Rank meant little while in barracks during a phase. Therefore Collins did not hesitate to contradict him. “The hell it is. Look — they’ve brought the whole damn bird back here except for the nose section and the two wing roots. The nose section comes in on the next trip — we do the rest.”

The captain was not satisfied. “And what will they have when they’re finished? Basically junk. They might make the thing into a display, but there’s no one to come and look at it.”

“Eskimos,” Mike said mildly.

“All right — how would you like to fly a chopper that’s been out in the Arctic weather for thirty years? Sikorsky couldn’t fix it. A B-17 is a four-engine beast that’s got to have all kinds of systems and circuits. .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Nuts,” he repeated.

Cunningham went back to his planning. “The C-130 gang will have the sections in position for us to lift. Once the slings have been rigged, the rest should be relatively easy. Well, not easy, but would anybody care to put up any bets?”

Mike Turner was thinking again. “One of us ought to go out there in the C-130, at the risk of life and limb, to see that the sling setup is done properly. The fixed-wing types won’t know anything about that.”

“Good idea,” Cunningham agreed. “One of our flight mechanics would be the boy.”

“About Major Kimsey—” Collins began.

Cunningham nodded to cut him off. “That, of course, is the problem. But I’ll think of something.”

The colonel had the door of his quarters part way open so that Major Valen had no trouble announcing his presence. “Come in, Dave,” the colonel invited. “How about some hot cocoa?”

The chaplain dropped into a chair. “A godsend,” he said. After that he kept quiet until the colonel put a steaming mug into his hands.

“Anything on your mind?” Colonel Kleckner asked.

That was a tough one because something certainly was, but the major didn’t want to discuss it too directly. And he would not lie. “Some general ideas,” he prefaced. “I’ve noticed some things recently.”

“Such as?” The colonel seated himself, in amiable mood, with his own cocoa.

“There’s quite a difference in the way that various people react to the life up here,” the major began. “Some of them adjust very well. Others have a hard time of it.”

“I know,” the colonel agreed. “But on the whole, I think you’ll have to agree that this is a remarkably fraternal community. More than any other place I can name.”

“True, sir, and that helps a lot, but basically this is still tough duty.”

“Is it getting to you?” Colonel Kleckner asked.

The chaplain shook his head. “Only in that I’m concerned for some of the men. Which, after all, is my job.”

The colonel was well ahead of him. “Have you any suggestions, Dave?” he asked.

That was the moment and Valen took the ball. “I can reach some of them from the pulpit, but not everyone comes and there is a practical limit to what words alone can do.”

“Of course.” The colonel continued to listen.

“Summer isn’t too far off; when the weather warms up a little, some additional recreational activity will help a lot. Climbs up Mount Dundas, baseball when it’s possible, some photography — there is certainly some spectacular scenery to shoot up here.”

“You feel that more recreation is the answer?” the colonel suggested.

“Part of it, certainly. Almost anything that the men can get involved in — something that will take their minds off the isolation and the constant presence of the High Arctic. And the separation. Someday, I’d like to see a program for family visits up here — in summer, of course.”

“We don’t have very much summer. And no warm weather.”

“Right — but if perhaps the extra achievers might be rewarded by a visit with their wives or girl friends. .”

“But not both at the same time,” the colonel noted.

Major Valen smiled. “I doubt if any of our guys would make that mistake.”

Colonel Kleckner took his time drinking his cocoa. Then he looked up. “I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind,” he promised.

By 1700 hours the storm had subsided enough to be downgraded to Phase One. That made trips to the mess hall possible and life at Thule brightened immediately as a consequence. The Danish supervisor of the messen saw to it that an especially good meal was prepared; the scheduled beef stew was canceled and steaks were set up instead. All hands showed up for the meal and the big hall was well filled. The movie for the evening was announced. The staff librarians prepared for an extra run of business.

Shortly after 1800, Weather advised that the storm could very well intensify and that a Phase Three was possible. Following that grim pronouncement, the dessert bar did a land-office business. Thule ice cream was consumed by the gallon and the iced-tea containers were drained dry.

Immediately after eating, Colonel Kleckner stopped at the library and asked if there were any books available on the air aspects of World War II. The catalog listed several, but for some unstated reason, all of them had been recently checked out.

After selecting some titles off the shelves, the colonel returned to Building 708. There he shed his parka, got out of his arctic footgear, and washed the used cocoa mugs. After that he went upstairs and casually wandered down to the Det. 4 end of the building.