THE BRINK - OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT

by Marshall Huffman

  “Nothing solid. The obvious answer is the expanse of the ocean with little land mass in those areas. If they are using the ocean floor as a base that would be the best place to locate and remain undetected. Other than a few small islands and a few atolls there is little out there, but water.”

  “I thought all this mystical stuff was supposed to happen in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “I wish you were right Mr. President. It would be a hell of a lot easier to locate the source of the transmissions.”

  “Why are they taking our planes, ships, and submarines?

  What is it that they want? The bombs? Hell they probably have weapons ten times more powerful.”

  “Not just ours. The Russian's and Brit's as well.”

  “That’s what I meant. The question remains the same. Why?” the President asked.

  “I would guess to find out what our military capability is. They may want to know what they are up against before they show their hand.”

  “Do you really think that would be necessary? If they are capable of getting from God knows where, to here, they must be pretty sophisticated. Why would they worry?”

  “Maybe they are unsure. Maybe they don’t think like us. Maybe they are paranoid. Hell sir, it could be for any number of reasons. I sure wouldn’t want to commit any of my troops to a fight without knowing what I was up against. No matter what the nation or armed force. You can get a real surprise that way. Look at Vietnam,” one of the Generals offered.

  “Good point. So you think they may be some sort of advanced scouting party to see if they can take over the earth?”

  “I don’t know if they intend to take over but I do think they will want to know a good deal about us before they make contact. If they intend to make contact, they will want to be sure they can handle anything we throw at them before they show their faces.”

  “If they have faces,” the President said.

  “What are we doing at present?” the Secretary of Defense asked.

  “We have repositioned two of our COMSATS over the mid Pacific. In a few more days we will have a third in place. Our intent is to set up a triangulation situation so we can try to get an exact fix on the transmission location. We may not be able to get an exact fix but it will certainly narrow the area down a great deal.”

  “What about using the SEALANT mapping satellite?”

  “You mean to use it to locate the source of the transmissions?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “It isn’t quite that simple. SEALANT is great for mapping out depths but it won’t pick up small objects. It can’t locate subs or sunken ships or else we could have pinpointed the Titanic long ago. If it could do that we could save ourselves millions when looking for lost subs. SEALANT isn’t designed for that type of work.”

  “What if you got a fairly good fix and then used SEALANT to try to find the exact spot?” the President asked.

  “Sorry sir. It just wouldn’t work. It would still be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “A needle as big as the one we saw in the picture?”

  “Sir that was just one man’s estimate. We are not all that convinced the pictures are even what he says they are. How could it be verified? ow can we be sure it is for real?”

  “How can we be sure it isn’t?” the President shot back.

  “You’re right sir, but even so, it doesn’t mean they would or could build the same thing here on Earth. Think of the pressure exerted by that entire ocean.”

  “I guess you’re probably right. I just want to get to the bottom of this,” he said resignedly.

  “How are you coming on that DBS of yours,” one of the

  Generals asked the Secretary of Navy.

  “DSV,” John corrected, “We are making really good progress. I have a briefing scheduled for later on today that will bring me up to the minute. At last report we were only a few months from completion. It might be as few as five months.”

  “That’s excellent,” the President interjected,

  “Admiral Marcus is in charge of the project isn’t he?”

  “Yes sir. A very good Navy man.”

  “I agree. If anyone can get it done ahead of schedule it’s Marcus.”

  “So in a hundred and fifty days or so you should be ready to use that fancy DSV of yours?”

  “If all goes well. We still have to get through sea trials and the normal training of the crew. That will take some additional time,” the Secretary of Navy replied.

  “What if we had the scientists make the initial run? Use them to help locate the source of the transmissions,” the President asked.

  “Oh I don’t know sir. I mean, I have never even given consideration to leaving the DSV under civilian control. This is a military vessel. Civilians? I would want to really think that through.”

  “Look. Who better to help figure this out than a bunch of scientists? We would leave Admiral Marcus in charge. Have him skipper the damn thing and have the civilians work for him. They seem to be getting along rather well at present,” the President said.

  “It’s such a radical departure. I mean how would we really control them? Scientists are usually such strange people.”

  “You could supplement them with some of the regular crew. Marcus can keep those people under control. If it was anyone else I may have second thoughts but he can handle any situation thrown at him. Besides John, can you think of a better time for us to do something radical? Look at our situation. It’s not exactly one any of us has handled before,” the President said.

  “I guess you’re right when you put it like that. I’ll talk it over with Admiral Marcus and his right hand man, Dr. Ferris, right away,” the Secretary of Navy said.

  “Why bring in this Dr. Ferris at this point?” one of the Generals asked.

  “He is the civilian driver on the project. He has kept them all in line and had a great deal to do with our current success to date. He is smart and he will have to be brought in sooner or later. We might as well find out where he stands in all of this now rather than later.”

  “Just tell him you’re looking for another lost sub. You seem to be losing them faster than they can make them,” the General said smiling.

  “With all due respect General, up yours. You stick to playing toy soldiers on the ground and leave the real task of world peace up to the Navy.”

  “Knock it off, both of you. General, I appreciate your input as long as it is constructive. Other than that, shut up. And John, you know better,” the President said sternly.

  “Sorry sir,” they both said.

  “Anyway. I happen to agree with John. We need to find out where Dr. Ferris and the rest stand. He will need to be brought up to speed as quickly as possible. He may even have some useful suggestions, something we seem to be short of at the moment. Get him on board as quickly as possible,” the President ordered.

  “Yes sir. I’ll see to it right way.”

  “Fine. Now gentlemen let’s get on with the rest of the world's problems. General Fallon, can you tell me what’s happening with the situation in.........”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  - OTIS AIR FORCE BASE -

  “Admiral Marcus. It’s John.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Secretary.”

  “Marcus, I would like you to bring Dr. Ferris along for our meeting this afternoon. I know its short notice but it is very important.”

  “Well sir. I’ll sure try. The AccuTech people just arrived today and he is really busy trying to get them up to speed. They are one of the key elements on getting finished ahead of schedule.”

  “I understand, but I cannot stress too much the importance of this meeting. If he cannot make it I will certainly understand. We will reschedule the meeting for tomorrow but I want you to give your best effort to getting him here today. I have some rather astounding news that you both need to hear.”

  “Do I need to prepare Dr. Ferris?” Marcus asked.

  “No. The less you say the b
etter. Just do your best to get him here. Even if we have to move the meeting back a few hours. That would be better than waiting until tomorrow.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Secretary,” Marcus said and hung up. What in the world was going on? What could have the Secretary of the Navy so stirred up? And why bring Dr. Ferris along? He dialed Peter. Peter answered on his secured cellular phone. He was just winding up the celebration of the success of the navigational system.

  “Dr. Ferris,” he said.

  “Peter. It’s me. Hit the scrambler button will you?”

  “Done. What can I do for you Admiral?”

  “Your presence has been requested at a special briefing with the Secretary of the Navy immediately.”

  “Me? I’m not in the Navy. What gives?”

  “I wish I could tell you more but all I can say is that he specifically ordered me to get you to Washington.”

  “When is this meeting?”

  “Today. 1600 Hundred hours. Four o’clock your time.”

  “Marcus. I can’t possibly make it in that time frame.”

  “Yes you can. I have an F-14 fueled and standing by. You just get yourself over to the flight line and they will take it from there.”

  “But Marcus I have a ton of things going on. The computer team just arrived and I need to spend time getting them settled in and into the main stream of things.”

  “Sorry Dr. Ferris, but when the Secretary of the Navy gives me an order you can damn sure believe I’m going to see that it is carried out. I know I can’t order you to come but I would really appreciate your doing so.”

  “All right Marcus. But I have to tell you I don’t care much for this.”

  “I understand. Now, if you will just look out your hanger door you should find a military car waiting.”

  Peter walked over to the door and looked out. Sure enough a car was waiting there.

  “Yes. It’s here.”

  “Good. Just get in and they will take you to your quarters for whatever you might need. They will then take you to the flight line. See you soon Doctor.”

  “I can’t wait. Thanks a lot,” Peter said and cut off the call.

  He walked over and told his team that he had been called to a special briefing and that he was going to have to leave immediately. He asked Luke to give the AccuTech people a tour of the Chameleon once they got settled. Peter could have just as well had asked him to stand on his head. He was intoxicated with the success of the test he had just run.

  Peter said goodbye to them and headed to the waiting car. The helo dropped him off at Goose Neck and another car was waiting to take him to his house. At his quarters he changed clothes and quickly tried to call Susan at her quarters. She wasn’t in. He tried her cell but it went to voice mail immediately. It figured. She would be at the hanger getting everything organized. He climbed in the car and was deposited at the flight line. They suited him up in a G-suit and introduced him to the pilot.

  “Captain Lloyd, this is Doctor Ferris. Doc, this is your pilot, Captain “Mad Dog” Lloyd,” Sergeant Keller said. They shook hands and the Captain led him to the waiting F-14 Tomcat. Peter walked around the plane with the Captain and he showed him the pre-flight inspection.

  When they were done Peter asked, “So where do you want me?”

  “You’ll be in the RIO seat.”

  “RIO?”

  “Radio Intercept Officer's seat. Rear seat.”

  “AH. That I understand.”

  They went to the ladder and the crew members helped him get situated in the narrow back seat. They strapped him in and went over the emergency bailout procedures.

  “Remember. Don’t touch those yellow and black loops unless you really mean business. There ain’t no turning back once you pull those babies,” he was warned.

  “Got it,” Peter said confidently, not having the vaguest idea what the young man had really just said.

  All he knew was to not touch anything. He had no intentions of yanking on any handles.

  “Here,” the crewman said, handing him a bag, “If you have to puke, do it in the bag. The Captain hates it when people puke in his cockpit,” He said grinning.

  “I can handle it. I’ve done this before,” Peter lied.

  “You have landed on a carrier before?”

  “What carrier? What the hell are you talking about? No one mentioned a carrier. I’m supposed to be going to Washington.”

  “There has been a change of plans. Didn’t they tell you?”

  “Get me out of this thing. I have no intention of landing on any carrier,” Peter said starting to unbuckle the belts.

  “Hey. Just kidding,” the crewman said and headed down the ladder.

  “Some joke.”

  Asshole, Peter thought to himself. The canopy came down and Peter immediately felt a slight bit of claustrophobia.

  “Relax. You’ll get used to it in a minute,” the pilot said into the earphones as if reading his mind.

  He could hear the engines winding up and soon they started to taxi. They were in position a few seconds later.

  “Tower. Tango, Fox-trot, three-ninner, ready to roll.”

  “Roger, Tango, Fox-trot, three-ninner. Hold one.”

  “Roger. Holding.”

  A few seconds went buy and Peter looked around at the cramped space. It was jammed full of every type of instrument known to man, of that he was sure.

  “Tango, Fox-trot, three-ninner. Tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Immediately upon departure, come to waypoint 121 at 8 Angles.”

  “Copy 121 degrees at 8 Angles. Rolling.”

  The F-14’s canopy filled with a great roar as the pilot went to full MIL power. He released the wheel brakes and Peter was thrust to the back of the seat. The landscape started to rush past until it was little more than a blur. Suddenly his stomach leaped into his throat and it felt like someone was trying to shove his heart through the back of his chest.

  He heard a quick thumping noise and hoped it was the wheels retracting. The plane did a sharp right turn and he could feel the breath being shoved out of his lungs.

  Was this guy trying to kill him or just scare the crap out of him? He decided you should never get into a plane with someone who goes by the name of ‘Mad Dog’. It was a little late for that bit of wisdom.

  “How are you doing back there?”

  “Just great,” he said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

  “Good. We have leveled out now and I’ve throttled back to 60 percent power,” he informed Peter.

  “That thing you’re straddling is called the TID or Tactical Information Display. You see it?”

  “How could I help not see it? It looks like a radar screen.”

  “Good. Look just to the left of that. You will see a small analog gauge. It’s just above your left knee.”

  “Got it.”

  “What is it reading?”

  “Looks like 7,900.”

  “That’s it. It’s the Altimeter. We’re at 7,900 feet.”

  “Tango, Fox-trot, three-ninner. Tower. You are cleared for 30 Angles.”

  “Roger, tower. 30 Angles.”

  “Okay Doctor. We just got clearance to go to 30,000 feet. Now keep an eye on that sucker and watch it wind up. First we add a little speed,” he said kicking on the first stage of the afterburners.

  “Now a little pitch, not too much. Just 2800 feet of climb rate, and if this doesn’t make your heart rate jump into the danger zone you’re probably already dead. The pilot pulled back on the stick steadily, watching the pitch ladder on the HUD. Peter could feel his body being forced back into the seat. A little pitch? All he could see was blue sky. It felt like they were heading straight up.

  Mad Dog yelled over the intercom, “And to think I get paid to do this. Hell, I’d pay those dumb fools to let me do this.”

  He was enjoying this a lot more than Peter, that was for sure. Peter was thinking that they couldn’t pay him enough to do this for a living. They leveled out a few minutes lat
er and Peter could breathe again.

  “Were at Mach 1.6,” Mad Dog informed Peter, “God I love speed.”

  The rest of the trip was uneventful until it came time to land. The pilot got very busy and Peter just tried to sink into the back seat. There was a stiff cross wind and the F-14 was crabbing a lot. Mad Dog said he had handled much tougher landings than this. This was just a walk in the park. To Peter it seemed nothing more than a controlled crash.

  They touched down and Mad Dog applied the air brakes. They came to a stop in a relatively short distance. They taxied over to a hanger and the crew came out to help them unbuckle. They had to literally pull Peter out. His knees were very weak.

  When they were on the ground Mad Dog said, “I’ll be here at ops. Just let me know when you’re ready to go back.”

  “Thanks but I think I’ll just walk.”

  The Captain just laughed. Peter walked, more or less straight, to the waiting car.

  “Came in with ‘Mad Dog’, I see,” the driver said.

  “Mad Hatter is more like it,” Peter replied.

  “He is a true speed freak,” his driver said closing the door for him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  - PENTAGON -

  The ride to the Pentagon took almost as long as the flight itself. The traffic was at its worst. A light freezing rain had been falling most of the day resulting is several fender benders, changing every street into a minor disaster. They finally arrived after almost an hour drive.

  “Dr. Ferris, how nice to see you again. You have met the Secretary, John Taylor.

  “Dr. Ferris, Admiral Marcus has been singing your praises. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “I appreciate the nice things the Admiral has been saying, Mr. Secretary. The Admiral is being gracious. It’s his directions that I’ve been following.”

  “You have both done an outstanding job. The President asked me to express his appreciation.”

  “Thank you sir,” Peter said.

  “I’m sure your both wondering why you’re here. I will get to that in just a second. You will have to bear with me a few moments while I set the stage for what I am about to tell you. I’m sure I don’t need to say this but, everything you hear in this room is Top Secret. Nothing leaves this room without my express permission. Having said that, let’s move on. You already know that in the past few years we have and a rash of military accidents. That in itself is not so unusual. It’s a high risk occupation, but these are unusual in the fact that not only can they not be explained, but we can’t even locate any part of the craft. Both aircraft and naval ships have just disappeared from the face of the earth. Not only our craft, but the Russians and British are experiencing the same thing. We estimate that between the three of us we have lost somewhere around 465 high yield nuclear devices.”