When he went to bed that night, Ferguson lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling, his mind churning and his body actively resisting any approach of sleep. He was, at that moment, in love, and the object of his affections was not a young woman, but a machine.
Even at minimum wage scales, the amount of work that had already gone into the rebuilding of the Penguin represented far more than the aircraft itself could possibly be worth — that is, if she were to be considered as so much aluminum, so many thousands of rivets, so many miles of wiring, so many pounds of various fluids, so much rubber, and so many other ingredients. But it was impossible for him to think of her that way. Skilled pilot that he was, he had never known any airplane as well as he knew that B-17 and the whole, to him, was vastly greater than the sum of the parts.
He recalled reading about a railroad engineer who, upon his retirement, had asked to buy the locomotive that had been his constant working partner for thirty years. Because steam power was going out anyway, the railroad had given him the engine. Together with his friends, the engineer had laid two miles of temporary track, from the railroad yards to his home. On a great day in his life he had driven the engine for the last time, over the impromptu rails and onto the side yard of his property. During his retirement his familiar iron friend was his faithful companion. It, too, took up a new career and became an enormous attraction for all of the neighborhood children.
A week later the original nose insignia of The Passionate Penguin had been repainted in brilliant fresh colors. The third engine was ready to be reinstalled and tested and most of the instruments were entirely overhauled and certified accurate. The C-130 Hercules made a trip to Anchorage, Alaska, for some essential maintenance; Captain Boyd and his crew took her almost literally across the pole on a long nonstop flight plan that covered some of the most desolate parts of the globe. In order to at least give the appearance of doing something officially useful, Scott Ferguson spent considerable time in the Det. 4 hangar familiarizing himself with the HH-3 helicopter. He made two trips to the Eskimo village of Kanak and enjoyed every moment of both experiences.
The number one engine ran like a dream. When it had been carefully tested, and when the crew working on number four reported no problems with their rebuilding chore, Ferguson went to see the colonel. At the request of both men, Captain Tilton, the Information Officer, was also present.
“Sir,” Ferguson began. “The Penguin is on schedule — a little ahead of it, in fact. All of the instruments check out, three of the four engines are running like Swiss watches, and the structure of the airframe couldn’t possibly be better. You know the quality of the work that’s gone into her.”
“I certainly do,” the colonel agreed, “and that brings up a point I was going to ask you: are you going to paint United States Air Force down her side?”
Ferguson hesitated. “I would appreciate some guidance from you on that, sir,” he said.
“Well, this is unofficial, of course, but if she did have the Air Force name on her, it might simplify getting fuel when you need it and so on. Avionics, for instance.”
“She is a war bird,” Tilton said. “The C-47’s that were her contemporaries are still flying, in many instances, and they carry the Air Force name.”
“Did you say avionics, sir?” Ferguson asked.
“Well, I can’t have an aircraft flying around up here without suitable communications equipment and navigational gear. But I also can’t have any equipment issued to what might be considered a civilian bird.”
Ferguson saw the light. “Sir, the Penguin originally joined the Air Force when it was the Army Air Corps and she never quit. The name goes on.”
“That’s very good, because I called over to Anchorage to have them send some gear back on the C-130. I couldn’t very well report that it was for a bomber, so I told them that she was a rescue vehicle. Do you recall the Dumbo B-17’s that carried lifeboats underneath them during the final stages of World War II?”
“Come to think of it, sir — yes!”
Captain Tilton recognized his moment. “We have the celebration laid out, sir, and it looks very good, if I may say so. The painting of the B-17 in flight has been completed; we want to start the festivities with a special breakfast for all hands who took part in the work; a few have left, but we can’t help that. At the conclusion of the meal, we’d like to have you unveil the painting. This will be at the NCO Club. Champagne will be served — to all but the flight crew.
“The formal ceremonies will start at 1400 hours at the flight line. Chaplain Valen will open with prayer, then Det. Four will be given a plaque for their part in bringing in the wing roots. Sergeant Feinberg will speak briefly on the project, how it came about, and pay tribute to Lieutenant Ferguson for having inspired the whole thing. Lieutenant Jane Miles at J Site will be Miss B-17 for the day. You know her?”
“I do,” the colonel said.
“Then, sir, you, on behalf of the base, and Commander Kure, representing Denmark, will escort Mrs. Kure to the hangar. The doors will be opened and the aircraft will be rolled out onto the ramp. With the photographers on the job, Mrs. Kure will rechristen the Penguin.”
“Wait a minute,” the colonel interjected. “Mrs. Kure is a very refined lady — have you forgotten the design on the nose of the plane?”
“Sir, we discussed that with the commander and he assured us that it would be all right.”
“OK, then. Continue.”
Tilton consulted his notes. “After Mrs. Kure has done the honors, the band will play the Air Force song. As soon as that is over, the crew will march out in formation and stand beside the B-17 while the national anthem is played. This will all be filmed, of course. After the anthem, the crew will board the aircraft and start engines. The tower will give clearance. As the plane taxies to the end of the runway, the band will play The Passionate Penguin March. Tony did a wonderful job on that — it’s a little suggestive of the ‘Grand March’ in Aida.”
Tilton paused for effect and discovered that he had the colonel’s complete attention. “Then, sir, everything will be quiet while the Penguin runs up, clears the tower, and moves into position. We’ll have the tower show her a green light, so that everyone can see it.”
“You might want to hook up the communications into the PA system,” the colonel suggested.
“Excellent, sir! We should have thought of that.” Tilton made a note. “Then, after the green light the tower will also voice clear the Penguin for takeoff. That will be the most dramatic moment: she will start down the runway and time her takeoff so that she will be just opposite the spectators when she lifts into the air. After she lands, the final event planned is a gala dinner for all hands. And we would like very much to have you sign an order, sir, restoring the Penguin to operational status. The rescue-craft idea is outstanding: if someone is taken sick at Alert, she can go up and get him. They don’t have a hospital, and we do.”