Джон Болл - Phase Three Alert

He looked down at the immense ocean of ice that lay below him and then pressed the intercom. “Start visual scanning search,” he ordered. “I want both sides covered at all times, from now on.”

“Yes, sir.” Stovers responded.

Against the stark blue of the Arctic sky, where it became visible, The Passionate Penguin flew on, a magnificent machine that responded to every command from her pilot.

With a nod Ferguson turned her over to Colonel Kleckner and then sat back, searching the immense ice cap, and letting the richness of life fill him. On the surface below, the winds were still treacherous, but here in the sky aboard his fine and wonderful aircraft, he heard the song of the angels.

Brigadier General Everett Pritchard carried out his Pentagon assignment with distinction, but much of the time he wished strongly that he was back out in a field command. Technically he was no longer on flying status, but he still wore his command-pilot’s wings atop the impressive display of ribbons on his uniform. Having made it his business to visit the various units over which he had jurisdiction as often as he was reasonably able, he had scheduled himself up to Thule and was planning his departure when he received word that that whole area was socked in by a more or less unexpected Arctic storm.

Armed with that information, he put in a call to his old friend Colonel James Kleckner to set up a new time for his visit. At Thule the call was transferred to Operations, where the NCOIC answered the telephone. He told the general’s aide that a full-scale rescue effort was underway and that the colonel was personally taking part.

The line was held open while the general was informed. Immediately thereafter, the general picked up the phone himself to learn the details. When he had been given the story, he asked without hesitating, “Is there anything we can do from here to help?”

“I doubt it, sir,” the Thule operations man answered. “Sondrestrom is closed and they report the whole area as unflyable. Hopefully, before any additional equipment could get up here, we’ll have the job done.”

“How many aircraft do you have out on search, Sergeant?”

“Four, sir.”

“And what are they?”

The man at Thule had anticipated that possible question. “Two Jollies, sir, from Det. Four, a Hercules, and the Penguin. ”

“Thank you very much, Sergeant. I would like to be notified personally as soon as there is definite news.”

“I’ll pass that word, sir.”

“Good-bye.” The general hung up. A few seconds after he had done so, he turned to his aide, a resourceful young captain who had caught his eye some months before. “Sam,” the general asked, “what is a penguin?”

“A penguin, sir?”

“A penguin.”

The captain flushed slightly. “It’s the Antarctic bird, of course, but could you give me a clue as to what kind of penguin we’re talking about?”

“It’s something that nies — military I presume, but it could be civilian.”

“I’ll check, sir, immediately.” The captain left the office.

He was back a few minutes later. “Sir, the Penguin is a Norwegian ship-to-ship tactical missile. Do you need the specs?”

General Pritchard thought briefly. “That was pretty quick,” he said. “Where did you get that information?”

“From the Defense / Aerospace Code Name Handbook. It’s also listed in Taylor’s Missiles of the World; I double-checked, sir.”

“Nice work, but that isn’t the penguin that I mean. There’s another one, an airplane. The most likely bets are either Canadian or Danish, but I admit that I haven’t heard of it — not that I recall.”

“That’s two of us, sir, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

The captain was gone for some time. When he did return he was slightly flustered. “Were you able to find it?” the general asked.

“Yes, sir, the library was able to dig it out. It took a little time because it’s very obscure.”

“I know, otherwise I would probably know of it. Anyhow, that’s what’s flying over the Greenland Ice Cap right now.”

The captain shook his head. “No, sir, it isn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it couldn’t fly.”

The general looked at him. “Didn’t you say that it’s an airplane?” he asked. “Or imply it?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Are you trying to tell me that there’s an airplane that can’t fly?”

The captain swallowed. “Yes, sir, I am.”

Then the general understood. “It was never operational — is that what you mean?”

“No, sir, it was fully operational. But it couldn’t fly.”

“Sam, has it occurred to you that you’re not making sense?”

“Sir, let me explain. The Penguin was built by Bleriot during World War One.”

“You mean ‘Two.’ ”

“No, sir, ‘One.’ It definitely was an airplane, but its wings were intentionally clipped so that it couldn’t get off the ground. It was used to teach student pilots the feel of the controls at high speed. By that they meant forty-five miles per hour. So, sir, I doubt like hell if that kind of penguin is flying over the Greenland Ice Cap, and according to the best that the library has, that’s positively the only airplane called ‘a penguin’ that was ever built.”

General Pritchard thought briefly once more. “Get me Thule Ops,” he said.

When the call came through it was a little hard to hear at the northern end because one of the Det. 4 Jollies was back for fuel and was making a considerable noise just outside on the ramp. “This is General Pritchard.”

“Yes, sir!”

“First, is there any news concerning your rescue effort?”

“Not yet, sir, but everyone is going forward full bore. Everything possible has been laid on, sir.”

“Good. Now you reported that one of the aircraft on the mission is ‘a penguin,’ is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We don’t seem to have a record of that aircraft here. First of all, who’s flying it?”

“Lieutenant Ferguson and Colonel Kleckner, sir, and there’s a relief pilot on board also — Lieutenant Corbin.”

“And precisely what is it?”

That was it and the NCOIC was cornered. “The Penguin, sir, is a Boeing B-17E. She has more than a four-thousand-mile range and departed here on the mission with full tanks.”

“Sergeant, did you say a B-17? ”

“That is affirmative, sir.”

“ where in hell did they get that? ”

“It was in Hangar Eight, sir.”

“In what kind of condition?”

“In perfect condition, sir. Zero time on everything when she took off, just out of a complete overhaul.”

“And you said that Colonel Kleckner is flying her?”

“He’s definitely on board, yes, sir.”

“Thank you very much, Sergeant.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

As he leaned back in his chair, General Everett Pritchard was a little puzzled while he ran things quickly through his mind. The picture made no sense whatever, because if there had been a B-17 parked somewhere up at Thule for a period of years, he couldn’t possibly have failed to be aware of it.

He picked up a telephone. “Get me General Miller,” he directed.

Within a few moments his colleague was on the line. “Bill,” Pritchard said, “I’ve got an odd one I’d like to ask you about.” He sketched the situation at Thule and explained the emergency rescue attempt. “Now comes the strange part,” he concluded. “When I asked them for a fuller ID on that ‘penguin,’ they reported back that it was a B-17. Repeat, a B-17, apparently named ‘ Penguin .” Just as a starter, to the best of my knowledge no B-17’s were ever at Thule. Do you know anything about this?”