PHOENIX: (Projekt Saucer series)

by W. A. Harbinson

  ‘You’re not a real human being, Wilson.’

  ‘Nor do I want to be. Now take heed of my warning, Mr Fuller. Tell your superiors not to try upstaging me.’

  ‘I’ll pass the message on,’ Fuller said.

  When Wilson left the bar, Fuller ordered another whisky. He took his time drinking it, distractedly studying the crescents, spheres and orbital paths on the walls, thinking of the great dream of space and Wilson’s part in it. Fuller was no romantic - he had the instincts of a killer - but even he possessed certain human needs that could not be denied. Wilson was something else: a kind of mutant, without emotion, a creature driven by the dictates of the mind, unhampered by feelings. Even Hitler had been driven by resentment and hatred - recognisable human traits - but Wilson existed outside such emotions, which made him inhuman. Fuller, who was frightened by very little, was frightened by that thought.

  He finished his drink, left the bar, and went to look for a whorehouse.

  Even whores had feelings.

  Chapter Twenty-Two When Dwight entered the lobby of the airport at Albuquerque, New Mexico, after a commercial flight from Dayton, Ohio, he had been drinking again and was feeling a little drunk, but he knew that it would soon pass away, letting his depression and fear return. He didn’t relish that much.

  His old friend, Captain Andrew Boyle, was waiting for him in an air force uniform too tight for his expanding beer belly, but he seemed as energetic as ever, with a broad grin creasing his good-natured, sun-reddened face. Slapping his hand on Dwight’s shoulder, he said, ‘Hi, there, partner! Long time, no see. You look like you’ve lost a bit of weight and could do with some sunshine, but otherwise you’re recognizably yourself. Hell, man, it’s really good to see you. It’s been too long, pal.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dwight said. ‘Too long.’ They embraced, shook hands, then walked to the car park, Dwight carrying his overnight bag in one hand, Andy dangling his car keys. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘how long’s it been now? Eight, nine years?’

  ‘Nine years, more or less, though it doesn’t seem that long. Time moves like the wind these days. We’re getting old too fast, Andy.’

  ‘Yeah, and no better for it. Christ, those were the days, man! I still get a lump in my throat when I think of the old B-29s. We did a lot of crazy things in those days. You had to be young to do it.’

  Dwight and Andy had flown in the B-29s over the Pacific during World War II, being shot at by the Japs and having more than one hair-raising escape. It all ended in 1945, when both were demobilised, and apart from a brief reunion when, a few years later, they served briefly with an Air Force Reserve Troop Carrier Wing, they had only managed to keep in touch through the mail and by phone, united by the kind of emotional bonds that could only be forged in war. They would both go to their graves, Dwight suspected, secretly relishing those dangerous years as the best of their lives. This was a shaming truth.

  ‘Anyway,’ Andy said, as they climbed into his well used 1947 Frazer Manhattan in the car park, ‘this work you’re doing must be almost as exciting - I mean, searching for UFOs.’

  ‘It’s not quite the same,’ Dwight confessed. ‘It’s more like a bad dream. Quite frankly, it’s pushing me to the limit and I’m thinking of getting out.’

  ‘Out of the Air Force?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You were born for the Air Force,’ Andy told him, turning on the ignition. ‘You’re a natural lifer.’

  ‘I used to think so. Not now.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Andy said.

  Leaving the airport, he took the road away from Albuquerque, heading into the morning’s brightening sunlight, past fenced-in hangars and a lot of warehouses and factories.

  As a radar operative at Cannon AFB, Andy had regularly fed Dwight with information on UFO sightings. However, last night he had phoned with more urgency than usual to tell him that the previous evening he had personally witnessed the landing of a flying saucer in the restricted area of the base. That’s why Dwight was here.

  ‘I can’t believe this business is driving you out of the Air Force,’ Andy said, driving with the windows rolled down, letting cooling air rush in around them. ‘You thrived on the dangers of the war, so what’s happening now?’

  ‘It’s not the same as the war,’ Dwight said. ‘Not the same kind of danger. During the war, we were treated as heroes, doing what our country wanted, but chasing UFOs brings you nothing but flak.’

  ‘What kind of flak?’

  ‘Antagonistic interrogations. Lack of promotion. Postings to places like Alaska. Accusations of incompetence where clearly there was none. Midnight phone calls from irate superior officers. General harassment of every imaginable kind. Now there’s talk of men in black paying visits to UFO witnesses, warning them off. UFO witnesses are also starting to disappear. Damm it, Andy, this isn’t something you see. It’s not a dogfight in clear sky.’

  ‘How’s Beth taking it?’

  ‘Not much better than me. I’m drinking too much - I know it, but I can’t stop - and Beth’s frightened about the men in black, as well as about my drinking and my growing desire to get the hell out of it. It’s been eighteen months since Captain Ruppelt’s departure from Project Blue Book and, subsequently, the Air Force. Since then, the organisation’s been reduced to a mere three members - Captain Bob Jackson, a secretary, and me. To make matters worse, our investigating authority has been passed over to the inexperienced 4602d Air Intelligence Service Squadron; and most of our projects have been strangled systematically through a deliberate reduction in funds.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Andy muttered as the engineering and canning factories on the outskirts of Albuquerque gave way to sun-drenched, pastoral farmlands.

  ‘Obviously,’ Dwight continued, ‘I’ve been badly shaken and disillusioned by what’s happened. I’m also unable to comprehend why the Air Force is supposedly concerned with UFOs, yet at the same time is ruthlessly discouraging a proper investigation of the phenomenon. Personally, I’ve been harassed constantly by my superior officers and passed over many times for promotion. Now I want to get the hell out - but ironically, given that she was the one who first suggested leaving the force, Beth says it’s the drink talking and that there’s nothing I could do as a civilian. She thinks I’m threatening our livelihood. She just wants me to transfer out of Blue Book, but I want to get out of the Air Force completely and she simply won’t wear that. Frankly, Andy, I don’t know what to do. I’m just running scared, I guess.’

  ‘I don’t blame you, old buddy, but are you sure you’re not imagining a lot of this?’

  ‘No, I’m not imagining it. Too many bad things have happened to those involved in UFO research. Also, I’m not imagining the harassment. Christ, Andy, even during that UFO invasion of Washington DC, I was hamstrung and practically ordered back to Dayton. As a matter of fact, I flew here on a commercial flight - at my own expense, Andy - because when I tried to charter an air force plane I was refused permission.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘They said the base was temporarily sealed off because a security exercise was taking place. A routine security exercise, they said.’

  ‘This was yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it was bullshit,’ Andy said. ‘There was no security exercise taking place at Cannon yesterday - and the base wasn’t sealed off. Did you tell them why you wanted to come here?’

  ‘No. I just announced myself as head of Project Blue Book. That was enough.’

  ‘But you’ve visited the base before.’

  ‘That’s right. So the only reason they could’ve had for their lies was the landing you saw. Tell me about it.’

  Andy glanced in his rear-view mirror, a reflex action denoting confusion, then he concentrated again on the road ahead. ‘Weird,’ he said. ‘Kinda spooky. Problem is, I’d been drinking, a real bellyful of beer, and that made me keep my mouth shut about it - to everybody but you. It was about two in the morning. I was
just returning to the base... What the hell! We’ll soon be there, Dwight. Let’s wait till we get there.’

  They arrived at the sprawling Cannon Air Force Base a few minutes later. After driving past the guardhouse and barrier at the entrance, Andy kept going along the fenced-in perimeter lining the road until he came to a place near the outer limits of the base, well away from the airstrip. He slowed down and stopped. Dwight could see the corrugated iron roof of a large hangar beyond the high fence. Andy pointed at it.

  ‘Right there,’ he said. ‘About two in the morning. I was driving right past there, coming in the other direction - pretty loaded, as I said - when I saw that the lights on that hangar were still on. As I was passing, I thought how unusual it was for it to be lit up at that time in the morning. I also noticed that there was a series of arc lights forming a circle in the cleared area directly in front of it. Then, inexplicably, the engine of my car cut out and I rolled to a halt. Cursing, not too sure of what was happening, thinking that the drink had made me do something stupid, I tried to start the car again, but it just wouldn’t spark. Then I heard a weird noise, a high-pitched whining sound, coming from the other side of the fence... and I looked up and saw that... that thing coming down.’

  He shook his head from side to side, as if still not believing it, and looked at the hangar beyond the fence, reliving the night before.

  ‘A domed, disc-shaped aircraft. It was landing about fifty yards inside the fence, in that area illuminated by the circle of arc lights, directly facing the open doors of the hangar. The aircraft, or flying saucer, had no lights – that’s why the landing area was illuminated. The circular part around the dome of the aircraft was shaped like two plates, one placed upside-down on the other, and the raised dome in the middle was just like a pilot’s nose cabin, made of what seemed like Perspex, with a single pilot in it. The circular plates were revolving around the dome, which seemed to be gyroscopically balanced and, though fixed, was swaying up and down a little as the saucer descended. The closer it got to the ground, the slower the plates rotated and the quieter it became, until the high-pitched whining had become a low whirring sound. The saucer had balllike landing gear, which I saw being lowered in preparation for touchdown. It was practically hovering in the air, just above the level of the perimeter fence. Then it disappeared below the top of the fence and the sound of it cut out completely. When it did, my car’s engine started up again.’

  Dwight was hearing all this clearly, but finding it hard to take in. He knew that Andy wasn’t lying, but it still seemed incredible.

  ‘Any insignia on the saucer?’

  ‘None,’ Andy said.

  ‘And the hangar doors were open?’

  ‘Yes. That hangar, I know, is used for secret aeronautical research projects, so I’m convinced that the saucer was being kept there. Certainly, it didn’t take off again. I drove my car off the road, cut its lights and ignition, and sat there for a good couple of hours, sobering up and hoping to see the flying saucer ascending.’ Andy shook his head from side to side, as if still finding it hard to accept what he had witnessed. ‘But it didn’t. At one point I thought I could hear muffled screeching sounds - like clamps or wheels needing oil - then, after a while, I heard the hangar doors closing. The arc lights above and in front of them were turned off. After that, there was silence.’

  ‘That’s a restricted area of the base?’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘What do I think?’ Andy unconsciously echoed Dwight’s words as he glanced up and down the sunlit road that ran past the base. ‘I’ll tell you. You believe in the extraterrestrial hypothesis, right? Well, let me remind you that most of the best saucer sightings have been over top-secret military installations - in other words, mostly right here in New Mexico. So on the assumption that the saucers aren’t piloted by extraterrestrials spying on our military secrets, what else could they be?’

  ‘Soviet secret weapons.’

  ‘Man-made?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But not necessarily Soviet. It’s highly unlikely that the Soviets could have managed to fly their spy planes over our top-secret military installations without being brought down by us. On the assumption, then, that the saucers are neither Soviet nor extraterrestrial, but are seen over our own top-secret establishments - and, as in this case, have even been seen to land – there’s a growing belief among some of us that they’re radical new US aircraft prototypes, developed by the Air Force or Navy.’

  ‘I can’t really accept this,’ Dwight said.

  ‘No? Then let’s see if we can get you into the base.’ Andy turned the car around and drove back to the main gate, stopping at the barrier. When he told the armed corporal in the gatehouse who Dwight was, the kid rang through for clearance, then put the phone down and shook his head, looking embarrassed.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but I can’t let you bring your guest in.’

  ‘Guest? He’s not a guest! He’s the decorated US Air Force captain in charge of Project Blue Book. Now let us in, damn it!’

  ‘Sorry,’ the corporal repeated, straightening up, ‘but I can’t do that, sir.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I have my orders.’

  ‘What reasons were given?’

  ‘No reasons were given, sir. I was just informed by my superior officer that Captain Randall wasn’t to be allowed in.’

  ‘And who’s your superior officer?’

  ‘Major Shapiro, the base intelligence officer.’

  ‘Anyone else being denied permission to the base today, corporal?’

  ‘I can’t answer that, sir.’

  ‘Okay, corporal, thank you.’ Andy reversed away from the barrier, then took off in the direction they had come from, back to Albuquerque. ‘Do you get the picture now?’ he said. ‘The flying saucer I saw last night was certainly no Russian spy plane, since its landing had clearly been prepared for and it certainly spent at least last night in that offlimits hangar. Therefore, it was either an alien spacecraft landing with the full permission of the Air Force or a top-secret Air Force - or even Navy - aircraft. But since it didn’t look advanced enough to be an alien spacecraft, I’d opt for it being one of our own.’

  ‘Oh, boy!’ Dwight exclaimed softly. ‘That would certainly explain why certain members of intelligence don’t want us to find out too much.’

  ‘Right. The extraterrestrial hypothesis is a smokescreen. In reality, they’re defending their own secrets. Those saucers are man-made.’ He glanced at Dwight and grinned. ‘I’ve got some more news for you, but I’ll let you have it over a drink. I think you’ll need it, old buddy.’

  They spent the rest of the drive in silence, allowing Dwight to think. He was having trouble putting his thoughts in order, but eventually he managed to do so. Now he saw, more clearly, the reason behind all the harassment, the smoke-screen of disinformation, the veiled threats from superior officers, the virtual destruction of Project Blue Book… the Air Force was protecting its own while pretending to be concerned with alien spacecraft.

  Nevertheless, some nagging doubts remained, mostly to do with the extraordinary capabilities of the saucers reported. Dwight simply couldn’t imagine that the Air Force had made such technological advances, not even in secret. Even for him, this was too much to deal with at the present time. It scared him to think of it.

  In a roadside bar just outside Albuquerque, they settled into a dimly lit booth, both drinking large bourbons. When they were feeling more relaxed, Andy withdrew an air force folder from his briefcase, opened it, and squinted down through the gloom at the pages.

  ‘These classified Air Force intelligence documents were leaked to me by a friend. I can’t give you his name, but I can verify the authenticity of the documents.’ Grinning, he raised his finger like a schoolteacher. ‘Okay. Let’s try presenting a case for the possibility of man-made flying saucers.’ He dropped his raised finger onto the pages opened before him
. ‘Though it’s not widely known, American intelligence has been interested in the possibility of man-made flying saucers for a long time. First indication of this is an old intelligence report - I have it right here in my file - stating that a patent for a so-called flying saucer with a circular fixed wing was taken out by an unnamed American citizen as early as March 22, 1932.’

  ‘Unnamed,’ Dwight emphasised, sighing with disappointment. Andy smiled brightly, triumphantly. ‘That unnamed citizen was probably Jonathan E. Caldwell. This would explain why, on August 19, 1949, at the height of the immediate post-war UFO flap, the Air Force Command of Baltimore called a press conference to announce that two different types of prototypes that might solve the mystery of the flying saucers had been found in an abandoned farm near Glen Burnie, Maryland. According to the Air Force spokesman, both machines had been designed and constructed before the war by Jonathan E.Caldwell, with the aid of a local mechanic, and one of the machines had actually been flown.’

  ‘I have that on file as well,’ Dwight said. Andy ignored his disappointment. ‘The machines had been abandoned for years and were falling apart, but as they were a combination of airplane and helicopter, with round wings and contrarotating propellers, it was the belief of Air Force intelligence that in flight they’d have resembled flying saucers. So they could have been the prototypes of the more advanced UFOs seen in the skies over the past few years.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dwight said. ‘That notion was squashed less than twenty-four hours later when, at another urgent press conference, a different Air Force spokesman announced that the Caldwell machines had absolutely no connection with the reported phenomena of flying saucers.’

  ‘Correct. But what the Air Force spokesman didn’t state is that Caldwell’s plane was a craft with a circular wing of the parasol type, or one raised above the fuselage like an umbrella. It was constructed in 1932 and tested the following year by Professor J. Owen Evans in a wind-tunnel in Los Angeles, then flown by the well known pilot, Jimmy Doolittle, displaying a top speed of 97 mph and a landing speed of 23 mph. In 1936, Caldwell produced a modified version of the prototype, but it crashed, killing the pilot, thus putting Caldwell out of business for good.’