Джон Болл - Phase Three Alert

“Welcome to Thule, sir. It’s good to have you back.”

The general paused and looked around him. “You know, you can call me crazy if you want to, but I like this place. Colonel Lancaster, who served a tour up here, told me that it was the most exotic spot on earth, and I’m inclined to agree with him.”

The general greeted the other officers who had come to meet him, and shook hands with the First Sergeant. Then, with his aide behind him, he walked to the forward staff car. As the aide got into the front seat next to the driver, Colonel Kleckner and the general sat together in back. “Not too cold today,” the general remarked.

“No, sir, by Thule standards we’re having a heat wave. It’s barely below zero.”

Presently the staff car pulled up before Building 708. “Your quarters are here, sir,” Colonel Kleckner said. “We have a small dinner laid on for you and your staff at 1900 hours at the club. That will give you an opportunity to get some rest.”

The general got out of the car. “Let me change out of flight gear,” he said, “then, if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to visit the hospital.”

“Certainly, sir, no problem at all.”

In his room the general became more informal. “Jim, how are things going up here?”

“Smoothly and well. J Site has no problems that I’m aware of and our own operations are in good shape. The staff up here right now is all I could ask for. Off the record, Bill, we’re in better shape now than we have been for some time.”

The general sat on the edge of a chair while he stripped off his flight suit. “Jim, while we have a few minutes together, I want to tell you that I had to throw my weight around a little and smooth down some feathers at Norton. But I want to add something to that: if I had been here, and in command at the time, I would have done precisely what you did, and I told them that flat out. There was a minor rhubarb, but I got them calmed down. I very clearly pointed out that all available aircraft had been ordered to fly and what the hell…” He dropped a heavy shoe onto the floor. “What have you done with that B-17 since then?”

“I ordered it back into the hangar, to remain there until the question of its airworthiness is finally cleared up. Between you and me, it’s in as good shape as anything in the inventory. You won’t believe it when you see it.”

“I intend to see it.” The general disposed of the other shoe and went to the washbasin. Conversation stopped while he refreshed himself there and used the bathroom. As he came out his aide tapped on the bedroom door and handed in a freshly pressed dress uniform. The general accepted it and began to put it on. He touched on two or three classified matters, knowing that the quarters were secure, and finally was ready to leave. He picked up the parka that had been provided for him and selected from the array of arctic-type gloves. “All right, let’s go,” he said.

At the hospital, the entire staff, minus one nurse, was on hand to provide a formal welcome. Once more the general shook hands all around; then he addressed himself to Dr. Markley. “Captain, is it permissible for me to see your patient?”

“Certainly, sir. I would also like to have you meet the Danish catastrophic team that responded to our urgent need. They are top people — I can say that without reservation.”

He led the way down the corridor and paused before showing the general into the sickroom. “You understand that she is still immobilized,” he said.

“Yes, I do. I consider it remarkable that she is still alive. According to the medical officer who briefed me, at my request, her chances were almost nil.”

“Almost, sir, but not absolutely. Come in, please.”

As the general stood and looked down at the small body lying on the hospital bed, an almost visible shadow seemed to pass across his face.

“Sir,” Colonel Kleckner said, “I’d like to have you meet the others. Major Dashner is the nurse who went with the flight up to Kanak under Phase Two conditions to bring the patient back. Miss Morgensen is a member of the Danish team. Dr. Lindegaard is at Kanak now to see Dr. Pedersen, but he will be back in time for the dinner party.”

“Good.” The reply was mechanical; the general was still looking down at the thin little form lying on the bed. “Is she awake at all?” he asked.

“No,” Markley answered. “We made certain of that. If she makes it, this period will just be a gap in her life.”

The general continued to look at the little girl. “I know that she is still alive — obviously. But what is the honest prognosis — has she any chance at all to recover?”

Markley was extremely cautious. “I’ll put it this way, sir: by all of the odds, even with normally good fortune on her side, she would be dead by now. But, as you can see, she isn’t. It is Dr. Lindegaard’s opinion that the disease has been arrested. We have the full details on the first reported case of human recovery from rabies. Up to this point, her history is paralleling that one.”

Miss Morgensen spoke up for the first time. “If you will allow me, General, I wish to say that if she lives, it will be because of Dr. Markley, and Dr. Bowditch, and what they did before we got here.”

The general looked at her and liked what he saw. “Thank you,” he said. “I would like to ask you a question, if the doctor doesn’t mind.”

Markley nodded his consent.

“Based on your own experience, Miss Morgensen, would you give this patient one chance, in say fifty, to survive?”

The Danish nurse met his inquiring eyes evenly and squarely. “Sir, since she has now come this far, I would give her better than that. I am a believer, sir; I expect her to recover.”

“Major Dashner?” the general asked.

“I believe, sir, that Dr. Markley is being very cautious, and very modest.”

The general lingered. “I presume that the chaplain has been in,” he said.

Grethe Morgensen answered that. “Every day, sir, usually at least twice. Both chaplains, as a matter of fact. The Catholic chaplain has said masses for her, and Major Valen has conducted special services in the chapel.”

“Well,” the general said after thinking for a moment, “if she’s got God on her side she’ll make it, and it looks as if she does.” He turned and left the room.

Outside Colonel Kleckner glanced at his watch, saw that there was plenty of time available, and asked: “What now, sir? Would you care to come over to headquarters?”

“Is there something pressing on hand?”

“No, sir, not to my knowledge.”

“Then perhaps we could go down to the flight line.”

The colonel’s staff car, with the warning light on top, pulled away from the hospital as a small blue flag bearing two stars fluttered in a socket next to the front bumper. The driver pulled up smoothly beside the personnel door to Hangar 8 and then, as he got out to open the car door, accidently touched the horn for a bare moment.

The general got to his feet and waited for his host to join him. Then, as his aide held the door open, he went inside.

The overhead lights were already on. In the center of the floor The Passionate Penguin gleamed with newness; not a single spot disfigured her shining surfaces. UNITED STATES AIR FORCE was lettered perfectly on the side of her fuselage. In front of her nose, in immaculate class-A uniform, her crew stood at attention in a dead-straight line. Every man’s hands were precisely at his sides, every man’s eyes were straight forward and unblinking, every man’s shoes had been spit-shined to perfection.

The general approached the very tall, quite slender, rather good-looking young lieutenant who was at the end of the line closest to the nose of the aircraft. As the general stopped before him, Ferguson snapped a salute on behalf of the crew. “Air Force B-17 three-six-zero ready for inspection, sir,” he reported in crisp military tones.