By Cheresa D. Clark

A twist of her wing thumbs by gentle human handlers starts her day. It takes 36 strokes: one for each vein in all four of her hearts. A handler counts each turn aloud.

This is the routine that starts her blood flowing after a night of peaceful slumber.

As she slurps her morning brew — a modern potion of highly refined gasoline — a few handlers climb aboard. With a few more tickles on her insides and a baritone put-put-putter, the dragon awakens. Yawning to life with smoky breath and propeller-driven wings, the beast begins to roar.

This avfueled fantasy is coming to life at Centennial Airport courtesy of the Experimental Aircraft Association and Wings Over the Rockies Air & Space Museum.

The dragon's name, Aluminum Overcast, seems an inapt moniker on this shiny October morning in Colorado. Nonetheless, she's the honored guest — a Flying Fortress turned aerial museum — meant to educate and inspire young and old alike about American history, World War II, and the precious cost of freedom.

"I want you to think about the way we waged war. We didn't know anything about flying armadas back then, but we knew a lot about warfare," says John Bode, a volunteer B-17 pilot. "The Army Air Corps' job was to break the will of our enemy to fight. That was it. It was the first time we sent thousands of airplanes and thousands of men into the air."

And by thousands, he means many more than the 52,000 men who lost their lives in the 12,731 B-17s built for the war.

And back then, he says, the enemy included more than foreign armies.

"We're going to go out today to about 1,500 to 2,000 feet above downtown Denver. The temperature is about 70 degrees. It's nice, were comfortable. We're not battling elements," Bode told a crowd of aviation fans waiting to take a flight aboard the antique aerial machine Oct. 18. "They were flying along at 30,000 feet with the outside temperature at minus 45, so the elements killed them just as much as the bullets did."

During the war, each aircraft carried a crew of four officers, known as "old men" if they were lucky enough to survive into their early 20s, and six sergeants, enlisted men who might receive more lenient treatment in enemy hands by virtue of such rank.

Given such circumstances, one might imagine that it took a whole lot of guts and determination — and a whole lot more luck — to survive a daylight bombing raid over Europe. But perhaps even more fascinating is the sheer ingenuity that kept these warbirds, and their precious cargo, alive in the air.

"Everything we were doing was just trial and error," Bode says. "When you're 18, you know everything and you're resilient. So you go out and you try something, and if it doesn't work you try something else. All of the modifications you see on his aircraft — this is a Boeing B-17G, the last in the production line — they were all done in the field before being included by the manufacturer."

Such hasty adaptations included placing guns in the nose, adding sliding Plexiglas windows, and changing the placement of ammo boxes, to name a few, says Mary Dominiak, a volunteer tour coordinator.

These days, the Aluminum Overcast flies with a crew of three and up to nine passengers on each flight, and her modern manifests include people of all ages and backgrounds, from World War II veterans who've experienced the horrors of war, to children who may only vaguely understand the definition of freedom.

As they explore the relic during their 30-minute adventure, the passengers' thrill of this modern flight can be measured by radiant smiles — emotions that echo throughout the B-17 experience.

"That's my girl!" exclaims her crew chief, Don Burbank, of the 70-year-old warbird as it takes to the sky. The volunteer airman carries a perpetual grin as his lady turns toward the sun.

From his position in the cockpit, it's difficult to determine if the twinkle in his eye is unadulterated joy, or simply the sun reflecting off his lady's lustrous wings.

Perhaps it's a little of both, because unless one counts numerous bombing raids on fire ants, this lady is truly lucky. Aluminum Overcast one of only about a dozen surviving members of her species, hatched May 18, 1945, just as the war ended in Europe.

And as far as Bode's concerned, he hopes she lives to fly at least 70 more.

"There's a romance to flying the B-17. ... As I started doing it, it became more and more evident how important our war veterans' sacrifices are," he says. "Sponsoring the multigenerational relationship, and having veterans and children connect, is phenomenal — and beyond rewarding."

And after their flight? Well, her passengers all have a little extra twinkle in their eyes, too. Or perhaps it's just the sun casting its joy off the dragon’s silver wings.