Джон Болл - Phase Three Alert

“Don’t.” The general taxied as though he was reluctant to see the flight end. “I haven’t decided,” he said. “The Air Force museum will want her, but that’s a graveyard. Now her promotional value should be enormous. We could send her everywhere.”

“Sergeant Feinberg has some ideas about that, sir. He feels that she could star in a motion picture. She could join the recruiting service. Rebuilding classic cars and airplanes is very big right now, all over the country and the world.”

The general turned the beautiful bomber — and she was beautiful — onto the spot that the ground man was indicating, and then cut the switches. He sat still, showing no inclination to get up. Ferguson stayed where he was, remaining silent.

Finally the general spoke. “Lieutenant, a thought has occurred to me. I think that the Penguin has a considerable future in the various areas we’ve just mentioned. And she’s airworthy, no doubt of that. We can let the maintenance types look her over if they feel that they must.”

“Yes, sir, why not.”

“A general officer under most circumstances is entitled to his own aircraft. And if he is fortunate enough to be chosen for three-star rank, then he can pretty much have the one he wants.”

“I hope that he can also select the crew.”

“Oh, yes. Which brings up a little matter that I had almost forgotten.” The general reached into his pocket and extracted a small blue box. “At the time I put the Penguin onto the ice cap, I was a captain. These are the original insignia I was wearing during the flight.” He opened the box to display the sets of twin bars. You’re due pretty soon, aren’t you?”

“Within the next two or three months I believe, sir.”

“Then when the time comes, I’d like to have you wear these. They go with the airplane.”

“I’ll treasure them, sir. When it’s appropriate, I’d be very proud if you’d put them on for me.”

“I’d be honored. Now let’s get out of here.”

Five minutes later the two men stood looking up at the insignia on the nose of The Passionate Penguin. “I’m glad that you didn’t change it,” the general said.

“Certainly not, sir. It was suggested, but immediately voted down.”

“Are you coming to the party tonight, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, only an emergency call to fly the Penguin could keep me away.”

The general took his departure. The remainder of the Penguin’s crew, with an instinctive understanding of the situation, had kept away from the airplane. The men were gathered, talking quietly together, in a corner of the hangar. As Ferguson walked over to join them, Sergeant Feinberg drew him aside. “May I suggest a little man-to-man discussion,” he proposed.

“Go ahead, Perry.”

“Several of us have noticed that the general is in a very warm and mellow mood. Also he seems very much attached to the Penguin . Now I seem to recall that the pilot who originally landed her on the ice cap was also named Miller. Of course that’s a very common name.”

“But an uncommon man, Perry. Your guess is right; he’s the one.”

Across Perry Feinberg’s wide face a cunning grin began to form. “Then certainly we should take advantage of the situation. I approve of generals, particularly when they can be useful. Considering all things, now might be the ideal time to hit him for some single sideband equipment and the weather radar. The Air Force can well afford it.”

Ferguson nodded. “Perry, maybe it’s being around you so much lately that’s done it, but I am beginning to acquire the technique. The same thought came to me. There is to be a small party this evening. I shall choose the right moment.”

“Then I consider that the matter is settled. I only regret that I won’t be here personally to supervise the installation.”

“While we’re on this general subject,” Ferguson said, “I have a question to ask you. Just before we took off in the Penguin, you said to me, ‘I can con you into it, but I don’t have the time.’ Do you recall that phrase?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I do.” A slight touch of discomfort tinged his words.

“How did you propose to con me?”

Sergeant Feinberg very nearly blushed. “Well, sir, you know how it is; an artist doesn’t always like to talk about his work.”

“I want to know.”

“Very well, if that’s an order. Precisely the way I did do it: wait until the last moment and then protest that there isn’t time to engage in any discussions. That was how I had it planned from the beginning.”

Ferguson nodded. “That’s a good point to know,” he said.

The colonel raised a toast. “Although some of the junior officers may not agree, I have for a long time maintained that a woman never attains her maximum charm until she has reached thirty. With that thought in mind, I give you one who fits that description, The Passionate Penguin.”

After the toast had been drunk, Tom Collins rose. “I now give you the Twin Otter,” he said. “That will be a vastly easier job, of course. Then, I have noted from the charts, there is in Aero Commander on the ice cap, quite nearby, that is reported to be intact.”

“There’s also a B-29,” Captain Tilton contributed.

“Forget it,” the general advised. “It burns too much gas.”

“How many planes are actually out there?” Major Valen asked.

“Over forty,” Major Mulder answered, “but about half of them were destroyed on impact. Ten or twelve, of various types and kinds, are known to be substantially undamaged.”

That called for another round and it was drunk with enthusiasm.

In the morning, General Miller made a call to the Pentagon from Colonel Kleckner’s office. He asked for, and got, the general who headed the Air Force Office of Information, a sometimes harrowing assignment that carried more weight than is generally appreciated.

“Charlie,” Miller said. “You know about the B-17 they’ve rebuilt up here.”

“Of course. As a matter of fact, it’s your old airplane, isn’t it?”

“Precisely, so I’ve got an idea. What if I were to fly her back after all these years — could you get any mileage out of that?”

“ Hell, yes — the visual appeal would be great. The TV networks will love it. What’s the bird’s actual status?”

“She’s officially back in commission. All the maintenance requirements have been met, and by the book, that’s all it took.”

“Great. Send me a crew list as soon as you can. I’ll have bios ready for the press, pictures, all that. Is Tilton in on this?”

“Absolutely — he’s already prepared most of the material. There’s a C-141 coming down to McGuire in the morning; everything you will need from here will be on board.”

“Look, perhaps Tilton could come with you, as IO for the aircraft. I can send a replacement up on the rotator to cover the bases while he’s on TDY.”

“That’s a good idea, Charlie. While you’re at it, send up a C-130 crew, ski-qualified if possible, but that isn’t essential. Ev Pritchard’s office will handle it.”

“Bill, since we’re talking, can you bring with you any of the people who actually were in on that rebuilding job? That would be outstanding.” The man in the Pentagon was rapidly making notes.

General Miller smiled. “You’ve just filled an inside straight,” he said. “My copilot will be the man who actually found her on the ice cap. He won’t take the credit; he insists it was his crew. However, I expect to bring them all with me.”

“Absolutely superior. I’ll call all of the top media people. Bless you!”

“One more thing,” Miller said. “Do me a favor. Call Princeton and get hold of Professor Mafusky in the department of mathematics. Invite him to be present when we come in. Since he was part of my original crew, I think he’d like to be there.”