“When is this to be?” the colonel asked.
Ferguson was alertly proud. “Anytime after twenty days, sir. We want to run all of the final tests to be absolutely sure that she’s one hundred percent.”
“So ordered,” the colonel declared.
Airman Robert Elliott did not want to leave Thule. His tour would be over in two more days, but missing the rollout and flight of the B-17 represented a material disappointment. He asked for, and was denied, a thirty-day extension of his tour. As a consequence, he departed as scheduled on the rotator and duly arrived at McGuire Air Force Base some hours later.
Since he was automatically on furlough, he did not wait for a military ride; he took ground transportation to Philadelphia International Airport and from there caught a 707 bound for Los Angeles. As he sat on the cushions, admiring the stewardesses and reflecting on civilian life, Airman Elliott began to think of the many things he was going to tell his family when he got off the plane. When his lunch was served he tied in with a willing appetite, but he could not forget the many hours of work he had so gladly put in helping to clean and polish the fuselage of the noble B-17.
There was a civilian, a man in his fifties, seated with him. The middle seat was empty and had been folded down to make a common table. That invited conversation and Elliott was more than willing. He exchanged the usual pleasantries with his companion and then, in answer to a question, told him that he was returning home from Thule.
“I understand that that is a very tough tour,” the civilian said.
“Not so bad, sir. The food is all right, and you get used to it after a while.”
“But it still must be awfully boring.”
Elliott dropped his voice. “Not this time, sir. You see, we had something going.”
“A sports tournament?”
“Oh no, something much better than that.” He stopped, remembering the agreement that nothing would be said or written stateside until the rebuilding was an accomplished fact, but it was all but done now and he had already, to a degree at least, committed himself. “We got into an airplane rebuilding project,” he added, and then wished that he hadn’t.
“Hey, that sounds like fun!”
Obviously the civilian was all right. “It was, sir, a lot. It was really something to do.”
“Tell me about it.”
Elliott thought quickly, but it was a friendly inquiry and nothing more. And the story was a wonderful one. He told it. not in detail, but with enough particulars to convey the basic idea.
The civilian displayed considerable interest. “They aren’t going to try and fly it again, are they?” he asked. The tone of his voice betrayed a concern that was an immediate warning.
Elliott all but wished himself dead. “I don’t think so,” he almost lied, “at least not for some time.” He turned his full attention back to his food tray. When the man he had been talking to had nothing more to say, and appeared to be thinking deeply, Elliott held his lips hard together, shut his eyes, and prayed fervently. Every bit of joy had gone out of his life and he was almost afraid to face his parents. He would not dare tell them one thing about the B-17.
TO COMMANDER THULE AIR BASE PRIORITY
INFORMATION RECEIVED THIS HEADQUARTERS INDICATES PROJECT WITHIN YOUR COMMAND REBUILDING DERELICT B-17 BOMBER RETRIEVED FROM ICE CAP. AS RECREATIONAL ACTIVITY, PROJECT IS APPROVED PROVIDING COMPLETED AIRCRAFT, IF FINISHED, IS USED FOR DISPLAY PURPOSES ONLY. SINCE AIRFRAME EXPOSED TO EXTREME WEATHER CONDITIONS FOR MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS, IT IS POSTED UNSAFE AND MAY NOT BE FLOWN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES REPEAT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. ADVISE ALL CONCERNED PERSONNEL THIS DIRECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. END.
RECORDS AND REFUSAL BRANCH DIRECTOR OF AEROSPACE SAFETY NORTON AIR FORCE BASE, CALIFORNIA
OFFICIAL
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In stunned, silent shock, Thule Air Base carried on with its assigned mission. The door to Hangar 8 remained closed; for several days no one entered it unless he was required to do so.
The reenlistment office reported that no one had been in, not even the career personnel who had chosen the Air Force as their life’s work.
When the base theater had a flying film booked, almost no one showed up to see the picture.
The consumption of alcoholic beverages at the clubs increased to the point where the medical officers recommended to the commander that some counteraction should be taken. There were three traffic accidents during a period when such incidents were all but unknown.
The personnel officer received so many applications for transfer, and so many sets of early retirement papers, he went in some haste to see the base commander.
“Colonel,” he reported, “as long as I’ve been in the Air Force, I’ve never seen morale go to pieces like this. Look here, sir.” He handed over a formal document.
Colonel Kleckner glanced at it and registered genuine surprise. “I can’t believe it,” he said.
“Well, there it is: Sergeant Perry S. Feinberg putting in to leave the service.”
It was a stunning shock. “I’ve been under the impression that the Air Force was his whole life,” the colonel said quietly.
“I agree with you, sir, I’m sure that it was. But if this thing has gotten so bad that even Sergeant Feinberg can’t stand up under it, then Thule Air Base is falling apart. No reflection on you, sir. We all know that it wasn’t your fault in any way.”
“I never would have believed it of Feinberg,” the colonel said, half to himself.
“It’s a clincher, sir, I admit. Is there anything we can do about it?”
The colonel sat very still and thought hard for several more seconds, then he issued an order. “Send Sergeant Feinberg to see me,” he directed.
When the sergeant reported, he snapped to attention before the colonel’s desk, saluted, and said crisply, “Sergeant Feinberg reporting to the colonel as ordered, sir.”
The colonel returned the salute. “At ease, Sergeant, sit down.”
“Yes, sir.” Sergeant Feinberg sat with strict protocol and remained straight in his chair. Colonel Kleckner ordered two coffees to be brought in, and then closed the door to his office.
“Sergeant,” the colonel continued when he was behind his desk once more, “this is a strictly confidential meeting; you will not repeat one word of it, in any form, outside this office.”
“Understood, sir.”
“At any time, or under any circumstances.”
“No, sir — under no circumstances whatsoever.”
The colonel remained silent until a tap on the door announced the arrival of the coffee. After it had been delivered, and the door was again shut, the colonel continued. “I am aware that the morale at Thule is in bad condition.”
“It’s gone straight to hell in a bucket, sir. Beyond the point of retrievability I would say, sir.”
“And it has hit you personally.”
“I’m terminating my career, sir.”
“Drop the formality, Perry — this is on a man-to-man basis.”
“In that case, sir, I’m going to get my ass out of here as soon as the Lord will let me.”
The colonel drank some of his coffee. “I don’t blame you one damn bit; I wish I could do the same. But you know that I can’t. However, there are some things that I can do; a base commander does enjoy certain privileges.”
“Such as, sir?”
“Up to a point, I can make waves. I have a few friends who sit higher on the totem pole than I do.”
“Colonel, do I understand correctly that you’re prepared to go to bat for us?”
“The United States Air Force,” Colonel Keckner said distinctly, “is made up of fighting men; that’s what we’re trained to do.”