by Alan James
As Kelly continued to watch the screen, he found that the monotonous motion of the sweep, around and around and around, painting the two aircraft, again and again, began to slowly block out the sites and sounds of the trailer. Again and again it swept. Around and around it swept.
‘Mesmerizing,’ he thought to himself. He raised his hands to wipe away the sleep that was slowly overtaking him. There was a small bathroom at this end of the trailer and he decided to splash a little water on his face; anything to wake him a bit. As he began to pull his gaze from the sweep, it painted a very faint echo in the upper left corner.
‘Northwest,’ he thought, ‘at angels eighty.’ He stared. ‘That’s not right.’ He blinked to clear his vision, then, looked again. ‘Oh, c’mon,’ he said under his breath. ‘That can’t be right. We’ve got nothing around here that flies at eighty thousand feet.’
Johnson was just returning as the sweep again moved past the little echo. But this time, it painted nothing. “Did you see that?” Kelly said, turning his head.
“What’s that … see what?” Will said, looking at the screen as he took his seat.
Kelly found himself pointing to an empty spot as the sweep again moved past the upper left corner, leaving nothing but empty space. “Right there,” he said, touching the screen. “It was big, like maybe an old dash-eighty or a seven-oh-seven,” he paused, “and it was at angels eighty.”
“Eighty thousand feet?” Will laughed quietly. He quickly glanced at the others. They were busy at their stations; not seeing or hearing what was going on at his end of the trailer. Looking Kelly square in the eyes he asked so that only Kelly could hear, “You’ve flown just about everything we’ve got, haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but …”
“Then tell me somethin’ Kellerman,” he paused, “what do you know, that we got here in the States, that flies at eighty thousand feet?”
Kelly sat with a puzzled look on his face as Will continued, “It was probably just a KC-ninety-seven out of Yuma … on a training mission. They’re over here all the time.” He added short sentences as he thought of them, each time trying to make his explanation sound better. “Probably at angels eight.” “You must’ve read it wrong.” “We’ve got nothin’ that flies that high.” “Nothin’,” he said, as he flipped the switch to the off position. Kelly still had his finger on the screen as it faded to black just as the sweep was about to paint the empty upper left hand corner again.
Kelly watched as Will stood again and walked back to Matson. Dr. Forest was standing behind Matson, and, as Will bent over to whisper, the doctor leaned in to listen. Kelly kept his head down, pretending to shuffle through some of the paperwork on the desk in front of him. He could see Matson and Forest both cast quick glances in his direction, and then turn back to Will. They remained huddled, continuing their conversation. Their whispers grew louder from time to time, and Kelly could just make out a few words. “Gonna have to tell him sooner or later,” and “not now, not yet.” He tried to make it look as if he were paying no attention to them. He shuffled the papers again, reached down and raised his briefcase to the table, all the time listening. The last thing he could make out was something about a “Colonel Rathman,” or “Rashman.”
Kelly had heard that name before, or one like it. ‘Rantman,’ he thought to himself, ‘that’s the guy I’m thinking of.’ But if it was the same Rantman, he couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this little project. Kelly remembered the name from his flight school days. Rantman was a World War II and early Korean ace; one of the hottest pilots the United States ever put in the sky. Scuttlebutt was, when the US started the space program everyone was talking about, he would be at or near the top of the list. ‘Nah,’ he said to himself, ‘couldn’t be Rantman … gotta be somebody else.’
***
Kelly had finished in the bathroom. The cold water felt good on his face. Between that, and the time he had spent at Will’s station watching the radar screen, and going through some of the paperwork in his briefcase, he had managed to kill almost forty minutes. He hadn’t thought about reading his orders until now. They didn’t say much: report to Kenneth Matson; follow orders received from said Matson; conduct yourself in a manner befitting an officer of the United States Air Force. He checked his watch. The next scheduled event was getting close. As he moved back up the length of the trailer, he also checked the time slowly clicking up on each screen. It now read 02:50 hours. As he approached Matson’s station he could see that the event schedule was already displayed:
LOCAL TIME 02:51
RECOVERY 01:44
IDENTIFICATION 02:02
ACCEPTED 02:04
RECALL 03:01
ACCEPPTANCE 2 03:03
LANDING 00:00
DEPARTURE 00:00
As before, Matson turned to Perkins, “I guess we’re ready for the recall tape Ben.”
Ben reached for the lockbox once more, turned the key, opened the lid and reached inside for the next cartridge. And, like last time, Forest took it and turned toward Matson. He held it at eye level between them.
“Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “we’ve never gotten this far before.” Matson nodded. Forest opened the player and removed the used IDENT tape, pushed the RECALL tape into the slot and watched as the cover again closed with a snap. Forest’s hands went to his keyboard and his screen again answered:
RECALL
SEND 03:01 LOCAL
LOCAL 02:56
TRANSMIT SEQUENCE ACTIVATED ON
ENTER
He held his index finger over the enter key. After a pause for a deep breath, he raised his finger deliberately, then brought it down sharply. No one made a sound as the sharp crack from the key stroke echoed thru the trailer.
Cory Brickman finally broke the silence. “This is gonna be the longest seven minutes we’ve ever spent in here.”
They all sat quietly, staring at their screens. Then, one by one, each man seemed to sense Kelly standing behind them. Matson and Dr. Forest turned first, then Brickman, Johnson and Perkins. With all five men staring at him, Kelly asked no one in particular, “What have we got that flies at angels eighty? Or should I ask, what have you got that flies at angels eighty?”
Matson turned to Forest. Forest shrugged his shoulders.
“KC-ninety-sevens don’t fly at eighty thousand,” Matson said. “Will told you that what you saw must have been a ninety-seven. He’s been a scope dope for at least twenty-five years that I know of, and more before I met him. I’ll take his word for it, over yours, any day, son. It had to have been a ninety-seven.”
“I’ll admit,” Kelly said, “I’ve been a target, a thousand times more often then I’ve sat in front of a scope, but, I know how to read a transponder echo.” He paused only long enough that no one could get in the next word, “ … and I’m certain, that echo came back at eighty. I’d bet money on it.”
“Listen Kelly,” Matson used Kellerman’s first name, hoping a sound of familiarity would lighten his mood, “ … you understand the military concept of compartmentalization, and information being passed from one compartment to another on a need to know basis, don’t you?”
“Sure I do,” Kelly replied. “I understand security, and clearance levels, and all that stuff. But, I figured that when I walked in that door,” he thumbed in the direction of the hallway, “that we were all on the same team here.”
“Well, unfortunately … for now,” Matson returned, “you, and the rest of us, are still in different compartments. And it’s going to have to stay that way for a bit longer.” He didn’t give Kelly time to respond. “Remember what I told you about being patient.”
Kelly shifted his weight and glanced to see that all eyes were on him. He nodded his head in the affirmative, then looke
d at the ceiling, as if looking for strength, or answers. “Alright!” he said, still looking up. Then, bringing his gaze back down to Matson, “We’ll play it your way awhile longer, but I …”
Just then Perkins drew everyone’s attention with a quick turn back to his screen. With his hands on his headset as before, he gave a countdown from five. The time on the screen clicked to 03:01. He slowly removed his right hand from his head, his index finger bobbing up and down as he counted off the seconds. As he reached ten, it was over. The recall signal had been sent. “That’s it boys. We’ll see if we get two answers in one night.”
“Hell,” Matson quipped, “we’ve already had one more than we’ve ever got before.”
Now, all eyes were on the screens. As the local time reached 03:02, the screens, like last time, went blank. Each man now sat, or stood, as if in a trance, staring at his watch. 03:02:30 … 03:02:45. And then, at 03:03, the screens came to life again. Perkins ran is finger down the event schedule, and there, like last time: ACCEPTANCE 2 at 03:03 had changed to: ACCEPTED 03:03.
“No mistake about it now,” Matson said, breathing heavily. He reached under his table. It was obvious he was searching for something. Then he was on all fours, digging at a pile deep against the wall. Almost out of reach, he finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out what appeared to be a large, heavy manual. He shoved his keyboard to one side with an elbow and set it in front of him. “She’s comin’ home,” he continued. Then jokingly, “The only problem is, I’m not sure I remember how to get her back here.”
Cory Brickman grabbed his chair and moved over to Forest’s station. They huddled in quiet conversation while Will threw on a light overcoat and headed for the hallway and the door.
With Will outside, and the other four men busy, Kelly headed back to the radar scope at the rear of the trailer. He moved his briefcase to a position that would best block the scope as much as possible from the others. Flipping the switch, he watched as the screen came to life. He kept a sideways glance at the sweep as he shuffled papers, trying not to look too suspicious. In actuality, he didn’t care if he got caught. He just wanted another look at the little bogie he had spotted before. And, as the sweep reached the upper left hand corner, there it was. It was echoing loud and clear. And it was shouting: angels eighty, just like the last time. He had not made a mistake.
Something struck Kelly as odd as he stared at the echo. It now read as a ninety-seven, just like Will and Matson insisted. The problem with that, also like Will had said, ninety-sevens don’t fly at that altitude; nowhere close to that altitude. And the other thing that bothered him now was, it hadn’t moved much since he first spotted it. It was pinging a strong ID and altitude, but hardly any air speed. If it was flying, then it was flying at just above stall speed.
And then, it was gone. He continued to sneak a peek at the other end of the trailer. The others were still busy at their places; Perkins and Matson still leafing through the manual; Forest and Brickman still gleaning information off of the doctor’s screen. Kelly moved his briefcase to the floor and slid his chair directly in front of the scope. He noted the time and continued to monitor the sweep. He could hear a small commotion in the hallway. Johnson was on his way back in. He didn’t care. As the sweep moved slowly around another time, it painted his bogey once more. This time it was nearly fifty miles to the south of its original position. He checked his watch again.
‘Fifty miles,’ he paused, saying to himself, ‘in three minutes. That’s got to be close to a thousand miles an hour.’ He sat staring once again, not really focusing on anything in particular. He was trying to process this new information; information that made no sense. He turned to sneak another look over his right shoulder; still, no one watching. He turned back to the scope, not noticing that Will was now walking up behind him. The sweep painted once more, and there sat the little bogey, nearly motionless in its new position.
As Will stopped behind him, he had dragged some cold air in from outside. Kelly felt it as it laid gently on his back and neck. He now knew he had company.
“Do you see it, this time?” he asked Will quietly, not wanting to raise everyone’s attention. Then he turned in his chair and looked Will in the face. “Do you see it this time?” Then without waiting for Will to answer, he turned, put both elbows on the table, grasped both sides of the scope with his hands, and stared at his bogey, afraid that it would disappear again if he took his eyes off of it.
“Wait here,” Will said, as he turned and headed to Matson and the rest of the men.
Kelly could hear them, bantering back and forth again. He didn’t bother trying to listen this time. He no longer cared what they thought. He was going to get his questions answered, or they could make other arrangements for a pilot. As that thought raced through his mind, he suddenly had a vision of the locked gate and razor wire on the fence outside.
The men’s voices suddenly went quiet, and he could hear footsteps behind him. He turned to see all five of them making a half circle, hemming him in at the end of the trailer. ‘Here I am again, he thought to himself, ‘at the end of another long dark alleyway, and no real plan of escape.’
“Well, Kellerman,” Matson spoke first, “looks like you’ve stuck your nose in far enough now that we’ve got to make a decision. We either fill you in on what’s going on here,” Forest added …
“… or we kill you,” Brickman finished the sentence laughing.
“Give it a rest,” Matson chided Brickman, then turned back to Kelly. “Like I said, we either fill you in, or we kick you loose. And we can’t kick you loose until we are sure we won’t need you,” Matson took a breath, then continued. “ … and we won’t know if we’ll need you until we find out if our plane is coming home … or not,” he scratched his forehead. “You see … don’t you? We’re in sort of a pickle … a catch twenty-two, as it were … after all … you are the only pilot in the building,” he paused.
“So, this is what we’ve decided to do,” Forest said, leaning in. “Since the boys upstairs laid this thing with you, squarely in our lap, we’re going to take care of it the way we see fit. Since Will here,” he nodded in Johnson’s direction, “has been here the longest, he’s going to try to make sense of this whole thing for you. Ask him what you want, and he’ll answer what he thinks you need to know, which will probably be almost anything you want to know. This is sort of one of those, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound,’ type of things. Once you know even a little, you’ll know too much. And if our plane doesn’t come home, well, we’ll worry about that, and what to do with you, when it happens.”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked, “What to do with me.”
“Hah!” Matson laughed, “You do see our problem, don’t you? If we have nothing for you to fly, and you hold all the information we are about to give you, well, you see,” he stammered, then asked, “a conundrum, isn’t it?”
THE TRUTH
Will sat at the table next to the radar scope. Kelly, now ready for answers, stood next to him and pointed at the echo: “Let’s start with this,” he said.
“I not sure that’s the best place to start Kellerman.”
“What is this thing Johnson? If I’m supposed to fly it, you’d think you could tell me what it is.”
“It’s not that simple,” Will struggled for the right words. “Look, I could tell you it’s an airplane, because that’s what it is. And then I could tell you it’s the plane you’re gonna fly, or supposed to fly. And then you’d say, but it flies at angels eighty and over a thousand miles an hour. And then I’d say, it flies a lot higher than angels eighty, and a lot faster than a thousand miles and hour. So, that would make it, the very special airplane that you’re gonna fly. And after saying all that, you still wouldn’t have all the answers you want.”
Kelly stared at the scope again, then back at Will, “OK, lets start wherever you think is best.”
Will stood again, walked to the coffee pot and drew two cups, black. He took a long pull on one and handed the other to Kelly. While retaking his seat, he questioned, “Do you remember where you were, or what you were doing, around July of nineteen forty-seven?”
“Well yeah, I do remember,” Kelly said, setting the coffee cup down and pushing it aside. “Me and a buddy of mine had just graduated from MIT. We were hot to join the Army Air Core, but the scuttlebutt was that the new Air Force was due to be split off from the Army. The split was supposed to be finalized sometime that September. So, we headed to Florida for a little R&R. You know, we figured we needed to kill some time. I guess I was spending most of that time, maybe three or four months, on the beach, with the ladies.”
“You didn’t listen to any radio or read any papers?”
“I don’t remember reading any papers. Like I said, I was on the beach, with the ladies.” Kelly showed half a smile. “I wasn’t paying much attention to current events.”
“You must have heard, somewhere down the line, about an incident that happened at Roswell?” Kelly showed no inclination to speak, so Will finished with, “New Mexico?” Will stared at Kelly, waiting for a reaction. Finally, he could see a light slowly coming on in Kelly’s eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
Kelly looked away from Will to the radar scope. The sweep was still painting his little bogey (a solid echo, every time around). He dropped his head as if a great wave of disbelief had suddenly rolled over him.
“Yeah, I know,” said Will. “It’s a little hard to take,” he paused, “but, it’s true.”
Kelly was searching for words now. He didn’t know which question to ask next. He looked at Will again. “So,” the words came slowly, and with hesitation, “you’re tellin’ me, that the echo on the scope … is,” he paused, “ … a flying disc?”