THE BRINK - OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT

by Marshall Huffman

“Zebra Ninner Three, do you guys happen to be looking off to the right?”

  “Roger that. What is that thing?” Hathaway asked.

  “Beats me. Did you see it drop and then change direction?”

  “Sure did. Any idea what it is?”

  A long silence followed as they continued to watch the object. It was growing in size and they realized it had changed course and was heading in their general direction.

  “It seems to be headed this way,” McKinley was the first to say.

  “Sure does. How much time on re-fuel?”

  “Six minutes. We are at regular flow.”

  “Let’s do an emergency fill and break off. I don’t want to be tethered to you if it continues to come this way.”

  “Roger. Going to emergency flow.”

  They had just started the procedure when they realized that the object was closing at an impossible rate of speed.

  “Break away. Break away,” Hathaway said into his mic.

  “Brea.....no.... Repeat br.......” was all that came over the earpiece.

  “We’re losing contact. I think they are ready. Let’s do it,” McKinley said.

  He quickly glanced over at the approaching object and his mouth dropped open. Just as the two planes started to separate the night sky was suddenly blocked out and the moon and stars disappeared into total blackness.

  “This doesn’t look good. I hate to say it but I think we are having a UFO encounter of the worst kind” Hathaway said, looking over at Scott.

  “I don’t want to admit it either but what the hell else could it be? Where is the tanker?” Scott said, looking out of the window.

  It was pitch black and they couldn’t even see the lights on the KC-130.

  “What’s going on here? What happened to the tanker?” Major Hathaway said, straining to see out of the cockpit windows.

  “This is too weird,” his co-pilot said in a soft voice.

  “Christ. Look at our air speed,” Hathaway said, glancing down at his instruments.

  “That can’t be right. It’s indicating “zero”,

  Scott confirmed.

  “Man oh man. This looks like another fine mess you’ve gotten us into Ollie,” Hathaway said in his best Laurel and Hardy voice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  - GUAM -

  “General Marshal. I hate to wake you sir but I think you had better come to OPS. We have a situation,” the Captain said over the phone.

  “All right Captain. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” the General said, glancing at his watch.

  It was just past three a.m. and he knew it must be serious for them to roust him out of bed at this hour. ‘A situation’ was almost the worst news he could get and it meant an immediate response was necessary. He quickly dressed, ran cold water over his face, and headed to the OPS Center.

  “Attention,” someone shouted as he entered the room but he quickly waved them to resume and headed to the central command ops situation board.

  “Captain?”

  “Sir. We were monitoring a routine refueling operation over the Southern Philippine Sea, right about here,” he said, pointing to a red dot on the huge map, “We suddenly lost transmission and now we cannot locate them on radar. Both the KC-130 and the B-52 have disappeared.”

  The General didn’t say a word but just raised his eyebrows. He was a master at the pregnant pause. It always unnerved his subordinates and made them give him much more than if he rattled off a stream of questions.

  “General we don’t know what happened yet,” the Captain said, fidgeting with a pen in his hand. The General just waited.

  “We do know that they had made contact and were in the re-fueling process. We have the tape. Would you like for me to play it?”

  “That seems like a good idea,” he said graciously.

  The Captain switched on the recording of the conversation between the B-52 and the KC-130. They all listened in silence. When it went dead the General asked to listen to it again. They all stood around as he analyzed what was being said.

  “Did they declare any kind of emergency?”

  “Just the breakaway procedure. No Mayday or emergency signal was sent. At least none that we got.”

  “Suggestions?” the General asked of those assembled around him. Once again a long silence filled the room.

  “Come gentlemen. I don’t bite. Someone is thinking what I’m thinking. Who has the balls to say it?”

  “They collided?” one of the officers said.

  “Anyone else?” the General asked, looking around.

  “Sir. I know this is extremely unpopular but....”

  “Go on. Say what is on your mind.”

  “Sir, to me, and I know I’m really going out on a limb here, it sounds like a......well....”

  “Spit it out boy,” the General said.

  “It sort of sounds like a UFO encounter.”

  Several of the senior officers looked away or down at their shoes. They did not want to be in the line of fire when the General went off.

  “UFO? Alien spacecraft? Is that what you’re suggesting here Lieutenant Snapp?”

  “Sir. I’m just saying that’s what it kind of sounds like to me.”

  The General looked around the room and immediately saw that the Lieutenant was all alone on this one.

  “Son, I admire your fortitude. UFO? Aliens? I’ll tell you what Lieutenant, that is exactly what it sounds like to me too,” he said.

  Several of the officer’s eyes snapped back to where the General was standing. This was not what they had expected at all.

  “I have known John Hathaway since before we flew missions together over Cambodia and he is one of the Air Force’s best B-52 jockeys. John doesn’t rattle and he knows his stuff better than any man alive. It sounds like he is describing a UFO encounter and by God if he thinks it was then that is good enough for me. I want two copies, two only, made of that tape and ready for me by 0500 hours. I want the original placed in the security lockup. Lieutenant Snapp, you personally see to this, understand?”

  “Yes sir, General,” the Lieutenant said, standing a little taller.

  “Good. Gentlemen I want an analysis from each of you at the same time. I want these done independently and without pressure from any of your senior officers. Have them on my desk, along with the tape, by 0500. Dismissed,” the General said, saluted, and left for his office.

  This was going to be one very long day, he told himself as he took off his coat and sat down at his desk. He waited a few minutes before switching on the desk lamp, replaying in his mind the words Major John Hathaway had uttered just a few short hours ago. He wondered if his good friend was still alive. It didn’t look good at the moment. He picked up the phone and started the ball rolling for a search and rescue mission to begin in the South Philippine Sea.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  - THE WHITE HOUSE -

  The members of the National Security Council were seated around the table, talking among themselves, waiting for the President to arrive. The select group included the Vice President, Secretary of State, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Secretary of Defense, and the Director of the CIA, along with the White House Chief of Staff.

  “So Harry,” Bob Dolan, the newly appointed director of the CIA said, addressing the White House Chief of Staff, “Why the extra seats? Are we having guests?”

  It was not unusual to have various people report but they were seldom offered a seat and it was even rarer that there were several places reserved.

  “Gee Bob, you have the place bugged don’t you? You shouldn’t have to ask me,” he joked.

  “Now Harry. You know we are not allowed to eavesdrop on your people over here. By the way, the chef said that the lobster you are planning on serving tonight is a little on the small side,” he kidded back.

  Harry was just about to make a remark when a Marine opened the door and announced the President. He strolled into the room and motioned for everyone to remain seated. The Marine c
losed the door but remained inside.

  “Gentlemen. I have just come from a very long briefing and rather than me giving you the information secondhand, I think it is best if you hear all of it firsthand. We are going to be joined by some distinguished and interesting people. I want you to listen to what they have to say, all of them, before you start trying to find fault with what they are telling you. I can assure you that this will be one of those days you will remember for the rest of your lives. I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but I can tell you the hair on the back of my neck is still standing on end,” he said, looking at the men seated around the table.

  An uneasy silence settled around the room as each person focused on what he was saying.

  “Guard,” he said, “Show our guests in.”

  The Marine opened the door and ushered in the five people. Three were military and two were civilians. One of the civilians was a distinguished looking woman. They took their chairs as indicated by the Marine. Once they were seated, he departed, closing the door after him.

  “Members of the NSC, I would like to introduce our guests. Some of you may know a few of them already. First is Admiral Richard Potts, then General Jesse Marshal, next is Captain Morgan. Most of you know Ambassador Vladimir Kirkoff of Russia. Our other distinguished guest is Dr. Susan Long. I will let each of them tell you in his or her own words why they are here. Admiral Potts if you would begin please?” the President said taking his seat.

  “Gentlemen and Doctor Long. Most of you know who I am. I am the Commander of CINCPAC. I am going to tell you something that only two or possible three other people have known up until today. On July 12, we lost contact with the USS Kentucky. Most of you know that she is one of our finest FBM subs. She has not reported on station and we have very little to go on. The Kentucky left port on July 6, and was due on station on July 8. We always give a confirmation of ‘proceeding as assigned’ burst transmission at the start of a patrol. The Kentucky did not do so. The USS Hawkbill, one of our attack subs, was in the area and picked up contact on the Kentucky in the early morning hours of July 8. She was less than fifteen miles from where she was to start patrol.”

  The people in the room sat totally still, hardly breathing. A missing submarine as lethal as the USS Kentucky was their worst nightmare. The Admiral reached into his uniform coat pocket and removed a small cassette recorder.

  “What you are about to hear are the recordings from the sonar room on board the Hawkbill,” he said and placed the recorder on the table, pushing the start button.

  A series of noises, faintly sounding like a quiet washing machine came over the speaker. It continued for several minutes.

  “That is the contact of the USS Kentucky. It has been verified by its signature and there is no question about it. It is the Kentucky,” he said as the recording played on.

  A few seconds later a loud, high-pitched noise filled the room, and the Admiral reached over and lowered the volume some. The noise almost overpowered the tiny speakers as it continued to roll off of the tape. It lasted for several minutes before it subsided. When it ceased the tape was almost totally silent. The Admiral shut off the recording.

  “That is the last time we heard from the USS Kentucky. By the way, the sonar man on duty had his eardrum ruptured by the noise you just heard. We have run this tape through our computer signature file forward and backward and every other way we can think of but have not come up with one single clue.”

  No one spoke for several minutes and finally Thomas Arnold, the Secretary of State asked, “Admiral, why hasn’t the submarine been reported as missing, at least to us?”

  “Mr. Secretary it is not officially missing at this point. It failed to send its initial transmission but technically it will not be missing until we either receive an EDS or have confirmation regarding an accident. It will not be deemed officially missing until the end of its patrol on October first.”

  “Excuse me, what is an EDS?” the Chief of Staff asked.

  “Emergency Distress Signal.”

  “Please gentlemen. Let’s wait until all the others have had a chance to talk. I think a lot of this will be cleared up or at least made as clear as mud. Thomas, don’t get hung up on when we should be notified. I think you will see that it isn’t our priority here,” The President said, “General Marshal, why don’t you take over.”

  “I’m General Marshall and unfortunately I am here to inform you that on Wednesday of last week we lost one of our B-52’s and a KC-130 tanker. Now a refueling accident, while extremely rare, is bound to happen. It is a very dangerous and high-risk operation. I wish that was all there was to it. Like Admiral Potts, I too am reluctant to bring this out into the open. Not because of the great airmen we lost but because of this tape,” he said, producing a similar tape recorder and pushing the start button.

  They could hear the banter and procedures being called out over the mic as the two airplanes went about the task of refueling.

  “Zebra Ninner-three, Do you guys happen to be looking off to the right?”

  “Roger that. What is that thing?”

  “Beats me. Did you see it drop and then change direction?”

  “Sure did. Any idea what it is?”

  A long silence followed.

  “It seems to be headed this way.”

  “Sure does. How much time on re-fuel?”

  “Six minutes. We are at regular flow.”

  “Let’s do an emergency fill and break off. I don’t want to be tethered to you if it continues to come this way.”

  “Roger. Going to emergency flow.”

  Static filled the tape for a moment then,

  “Break away. Break away.”

  “Brea.....no.... Repeat br.......”

  “We’re losing contact. I think they are ready. Let’s do it.”

  “This doesn’t look good. I hate to say this but I think we are having a UFO encounter of the worst kind.”

  “I don’t want to admit it either but what the hell else could it be? Where is the tanker?”

  “What’s going on here? What happened to the tanker?”

  “This is too weird.”

  Hissing and static filled the room.

  The tape ended.

  “We started a search and rescue mission over the spot of the refuel within thirty minutes. We located no wreckage and have no clue as to what actually happened. I wish I could tell you more but that’s it,” he said, pointing to the tape recorder.

  No one said a word. Two incidents, both unexplained within a matter of days. This was more than just a routine briefing and they all knew it.

  “Captain Morgan. If you would please,” the President said, with a wave of his hand.

  “I’m Captain Morgan of the USS Kamehameha, SSN 642. I was on routine patrol, just west of the Kruil Trench. That’s at the base of the Sea of Okhotsk. We had been following a Russian “boomer” of the Typhoon class. We ID’d her as the Petrovich. We had picked her up as she came out of the Aleutian Basin and had been trying to tag along after her. We lost her a few times but managed to pick up her signature each time a little later,” he told them.

  The Russian Ambassador shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “My sonar man informed me that he had located her and was tracking her position. He relayed the information to me and we set a course to intercept. A few minutes later the sonar man reported an unusual anomaly in background noise. He plotted it and found it was moving toward the Petrovich. Not just moving in the usual sense, it was traveling at around 75 to 80 knots. Underwater.”

  The men in the room glanced at each other as if to confirm what they had just heard.

  “It continued to gain on the Petrovich. She tried to outrun it but was losing ground fast and then the Captain executed a very unusual maneuver. He turned toward the noise and fired his torpedoes. The torpedoes never acquired a target. A few minutes later a loud noise came over the speakers and was followed shortly by al
most total silence. I have the tape here. It is essentially identical to the one played by the Admiral,” Captain Morgan said.

  He played the tape and it was virtually the same recording.

  “I was in the sonar room and heard this recording first hand and will testify as to its authenticity.”

  “That’s fine Captain Morgan. No one here doubts what you have just said or played. Ambassador Kirkoff. We have been very candid in sharing this information with you. Would you please tell us about your experiences?” the President said.

  “Mr. President. Distinguished members. I am very sad to inform you that we have lost two of our TU-22c backfire bombers and I can now confirm the loss of the Petrovich. Our accounts of the bombers' loss is almost a carbon paper of what you have described,” he told them.

  “Carbon copy,” the Vice President corrected.

  “What? Oh yes. You Americans and your slang. A carbon copy or whatever it is you say. Our recordings are very similar to yours. We have never found a trace of the Tu-22c’s to date. I hate to inform you of this because we had grave doubts as to who was to blame but not only have we lost the Petrovich but much like your Kentucky, the Potempkin has failed to report on station as well.”

  “My God. What is going on here? We don’t just lose planes and ships in mysterious ways and neither does Russia. Mr. President what in the world is this all leading to?” Bob Dolan, the director of the CIA suddenly burst out.

  “I know Bob. I know. I wish I could tell you it was going to get better but we still have one last guest to go. Doctor.” the President said.

  “Gentlemen. I am Doctor Long. I am the director of the VLA which is short for Very Large Array. We have twenty-seven large antennas that essentially listen to space and record and take radiographic pictures thousands and thousands of light years out in deep space. A little over a year ago, quite by accident actually, we happened to pick of a string of extremely narrow band transmissions. While that is unusual for sure, what was even more startling was that they were originating from within our own galaxy. After several months of re-aligning our array, a monumental task by the way,” she said, warming to the lecture, “We were even more startled to discover what we believe to be transmissions from within our own solar system.”