PHOENIX: (Projekt Saucer series)

by W. A. Harbinson

  ‘Ho, ho,’ Bob whispered.

  ‘First, it’s recommended that the three major private UFO organizations - the Aerial Phenomena Research Organization, or APRO, the Civilian Saucer Intelligence, or CSI, and Dr Frederick Epstein’s Aerial Phenomena Investigations Institute, or APII - be watched because of what’s described as their potentially great influence on mass thinking in the event of widespread sightings. Included in this recommendation is the statement: “The apparent irresponsibility and the possible use of such groups for subversive purposes should be kept in mind”.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Bob exclaimed.

  ‘Next, it recommends that the national security agencies take immediate steps to strip the UFO phenomenon of its importance and eliminate the aura of mystery that it’s acquired. The means will include a so-called public education programme.’

  ‘Mass brainwashing,’ Bob translated bitterly.

  ‘Finally, the panel has outlined a programme of public education’ - Bob snorted contemptuously – ‘with two purposes: training and debunking. The former will help people identify known objects and thus reduce the mass of reports caused by misidentification; the latter will reduce public interest in UFOs and thereby decrease or eliminate UFO reports altogether.’

  ‘Shove it under the carpet,’ Bob translated.

  ‘As a means of pursuing this so-called education programme,’ Captain Ruppelt continued sombrely, ignoring Bob’s outraged interjections, ‘the panel’s suggested that the government hire psychologists familiar with mass psychology, military training film companies, Walt Disney Productions, and popular personalities such as Arthur Godfrey, to subtly convey this new thinking to the masses. It’s also recommended that the sighting reports should not be declassified, but that security should be tightened even more while all so-called non-military personnel should still be denied access to our UFO files.’

  Ruppelt stopped scanning the report and looked at Dwight and Bob in turn. After a tense silence, he said, ‘Interpreting these recommendations the only way possible, it seems clear to me that the whole purpose of the Robertson Panel has been to enable the Air Force to state for the next decade or so that an impartial body had examined the UFO data and found no evidence for anything unusual in the skies.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Bob said bitterly.

  ‘While this is an obvious distortion of fact, it means that the Air Force can now avoid discussing the nature of the objects and instead concentrate on the public relations campaign to eliminate the UFO reports totally. In other words, Project Blue Book is finished. If it continues under that name, it won’t be as we know it.’

  ‘No,’ Dwight said, ‘it won’t. Project Blue Book’s going to become responsible for a policy of ridicule and denial that’ll inhibit the effectiveness of any future study of the phenomena. It’ll now be just another arm of the Robertson panel’s CIA-backed propaganda campaign.’

  ‘Those bastards,’ Bob said.

  Though clearly not happy, Ruppelt smiled at him, then he turned the report over, picked up some other pages, and spread them out on his desk as if they were dirt.

  ‘I’m afraid, gentlemen, that while the deliberately leaked Robertson panel report recommends the dropping of all secrecy and the expansion of Project Blue Book’s staff, in the official report, from which this summary has been extracted, they’ve actually recommended a tightening of security, a mass debunking of the phenomena, a subtle ridicule of witnesses, and... the virtual elimination of all the Project Blue Book staff.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Bob said, practically groaning.

  Ignoring him, but sounding choked up, Ruppelt said, ‘The following are being posted elsewhere.’ Lowering his head and sounding even more choked, he read off the list of names of those being posted. The list included him. The only people left were Dwight, Bob, and Thelma Wheeler.

  ‘The original three,’ Ruppelt pointed out. ‘You’re now in charge, Dwight.’

  ‘Of what? They’ve left me in charge of a pile of shit.’

  ‘It sure smells that way,’ Bob said.

  Ruppelt stood up and put on his peaked cap. ‘I knew this last night, so I’ve already packed my kit. They told me I had to leave immediately and that’s what I’m doing. My bags are out in the jeep and I’m leaving right now. It was my pleasure knowing you, gentlemen. I’m just sorry it’s ended this way.’

  ‘So am I,’ Dwight said.

  He and Bob followed Ruppelt out of his office and into the main room, where the latter called the staff together and painfully read out the instructions for their postings. When the shocked staff had taken in the news, he walked around shaking hands with each of them in turn, clearly embarrassed when some of the girls shed tears. After shaking the last hand, he indicated that Dwight and Bob should escort him to the front door of the ATIC building. Outside, on the veranda, with the planes taking off, landing, and roaring in low over the runway and hangars, he stared intently at both of them.

  ‘They’re trying to grind you down,’ he said, ‘and they might well succeed, but in the meantime, here are a few questions for you to answer.’ He spread his hands in the air and started raising each finger in turn as he ticked off the questions. ‘Why, when the Air Force was telling the whole world that the study of UFOs hadn’t produced enough evidence to warrant investigation, did they secretly order all reports to be investigated? Why, when all of us had actually read General Twining’s statement that the phenomenon was something real, did they deny that such a statement had ever been submitted? Why, when they themselves initiated Project Sign and received its official report concluding that the UFOs were of extraterrestrial origin, did they dissolve the project and then burn the report? Why, when Project Sign was changed to Project Grudge, did they go all out to ridicule the reported sightings and then disperse most of the staff on the project? Why, when the Air Force continued to claim that they had absolutely no interest in UFOs, did they insist that all reports be sent to the Pentagon? Finally, why did the CIA lie to us, why has the Robertson Report been kept from us, and why has Project Blue Book been destroyed? Those questions need to be answered, gentlemen, and you’re the only ones left. Goodbye... and good luck!’

  He saluted and walked down to his jeep and then drove out of their lives.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Dwight said.

  Chapter Twenty Ernst Stoll was disgusted by the reflection in the mirror. He had aged since coming here, his features now gaunt, skin yellowish from bad food and lack of activity, eyes losing their lustre. Realising just how much the jungle was taking its toll, he cursed under his breath and called for his comfort girl, Maria, to bring him coffee. She did so quickly, padding towards him on bare feet, her face bruised from the beating he had given her last night when his latest sexual innovations had failed to produce the desired result. That, too, was disappearing - his potency, his damned manhood - and when he glanced again in the mirror to see Maria retreating nervously from him, leaving his steaming cup of coffee on the table just behind him, he realised that she knew this all too well and might be talking about it. Feeling even more humiliated, he decided to get rid of her, and started pondering how best to do it as he wiped his face with a towel.

  Then the mirror shook a little, bouncing off the wall, making his already fractured image move out of the frame and back in again.

  Steadying the mirror with his free hand, Ernst finished drying his face, then put the towel down and felt the floor shaking under his feet as a familiar bass humming sound filled the room, emanating from outside. Realising that they had arrived earlier than expected, he hurriedly buttoned up his shirt, slipped on his boots, and started across the room.

  Maria was on her hands and knees, polishing the wooden floorboards with a waxed cloth. A local Indian girl, but the illegitimate daughter of a white man who had discarded her, she had barely turned seventeen, which was the age Ernst liked them. Right now, her naked body was clearly visible through the thin cotton dress, where it tightened over her raised rump an
d curved spine. Ernst felt a wave of the lust that was rarely satisfied these days, so he angrily pressed his booted foot on her spine and pressed her face down on the floor. The bass humming sound filled the room, making the floors and walls shake, but Ernst could still feel the trembling of the girl under his booted foot. He had the urge to crush her spine, thus releasing his frustration, but instead he took his pleasure from the fear he could hear in her voice.

  ‘Please, master,’ she whimpered.

  He pressed harder with his boot, heard her soft groan of pain, laughed and removed his boot from her spine, then left the house.

  Outside, on the veranda, the bass humming sound was louder, almost palpable, an odd vibration that shook the building. He looked up to see a 300-foot-diameter flying saucer descending vertically, slowly, onto the landing pad that now took up most of the ground in the immense walled enclosure in front of the house.

  The craft descending was an object of such beauty that it nearly brought a lump to Ernst’s throat, reminding him of what he had lost when sidetracked from aeronautical engineering to become an SS policeman. Still high up in the air and viewed by Ernst from almost directly below, the saucer was spinning rapidly on its own axis, except for the central part, which was stationary. It was, he knew, constructed like a giant meniscus lens, or like two inverted plates, that were rotating around the dome-shaped, gyroscopically stabilised central fuselage containing the control cabin, passenger accommodations and supplies. Driven by an advanced electromagnetic propulsion system that ionised the surrounding air and created an electrical conducting field, the saucer was not hindered by normal heat and drag; it therefore had remarkable lift while being devoid of sonic booms or other noises, other than the infrasound that seemed almost palpable.

  The rapid rotation of the great outer rings slowed down as the saucer descended, but its electromagnetic gravity-damping system - which also aided its lift and ability to hover almost motionless in the air - was creating violent currents of air within a cylindrical zone the same width as the saucer, making the grass and plants flutter, sucking up loose soil and gravel, and causing them to spin wildly, noisily, in the air as if caught in the eye of a hurricane.

  The native workers who lived in the shacks located around the inner edge of the compound were standing outside their modest homes, untouched by the whirlpool of wind that did not extend beyond the cylindrical zone of the saucer, which made it seem magical. They were looking up in awe as the gigantic saucer descended, pointing and chattering to express their disbelief, even though they had seen it many times before.

  Ernst felt a lump in his throat as the saucer descended to almost ground level, filling up most of the compound, its central dome as high as a two-storey building. Composed of an electrically charged, minutely porous magnesium orthosilicate, it had a whitish glow caused by the ionisation, but it darkened to a more normal metallic grey as it hovered just above ground level, its hydraulic legs emerging from four points around the base to embed themselves in the soft earth. The saucer bounced gently on the legs, but eventually settled down and was still. Its rotating rings gradually slowed and then stopped altogether, as did the wind that had been created by its gravity-damping system. Silence reigned for a moment.

  Still standing on his veranda, Ernst was deeply moved and embittered simultaneously. He should have helped to construct that saucer, flown it, been part of it, but instead he was condemned to this hellish jungle, rounding up Ache Indians and haggling shamelessly with Federales instead of using his engineering talents for work in the Antarctic colony. He had been chosen for this and must do it, but it still deeply wounded him.

  With the outer rings of the saucer no longer rotating, the infrasound faded away and a panel in the concave base dropped down on hinged arms to form a ramp leading to the ground. Armed guards wearing black coveralls emerged to form a protective ring around the ramp, then Wilson appeared, dressed completely in black, followed by more armed guards, dressed in black also.

  Ernst stepped off the porch and went to greet his master. When Wilson shook his hand, Ernst was startled by how youthful he looked. Though he was now over eighty, his silvery-grey hair was abundant, his skin was smooth on a handsome, ascetic face, and his eyes were as blue and icily clear as the Antarctic sky. The only giveaway, Ernst noticed, was in the slight rigidity to his features when he attempted to smile and, perhaps, a slight stiffness to his movements.

  ‘How are you, Ernst?’ he asked, his voice no warmer than his icy gaze.

  ‘I’m fine, sir. And you?’

  ‘All the operations so far have been successful. Doctors Eckhardt and Gold are making good progress. By having the courage to let them try things out on me, I’ve kept old age at bay.’

  Though aware that the good doctors Eckhardt and Gold always tried things out on unfortunate live subjects before operating on Wilson, Ernst thought it wise to pass no comment.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t stay for long,’ Wilson continued. ‘We’ll simply collect the livestock, then be on our way again. You and I can have a quick talk while Porter’ - he indicated the armed, black-uniformed brute behind him – ‘sees to the Indians. All right, Porter, get started.’

  Realising that for the first time Kammler and Nebe were not with Wilson, Ernst waited until the burly Porter had marched off to the cages with a group of his armed thugs before asking about the whereabouts of his former, detested, World War II comrades.

  ‘They’re dead,’ Wilson said indifferently, taking a seat at one side of the low table on the veranda. ‘An unfortunate accident. They went together in a saucer to collect supplies left by the Americans at the other side of the mountain range. The saucer malfunctioned and crashed, killing everyone on board. Kammler and Nebe are no more.’

  Even though he had detested Kammler and deeply feared Nebe, Ernst was shocked to hear of their passing. Nevertheless, after calling out for Maria to bring tea, he saw a ray of hope in his darkness. ‘So what will you do now that they’re gone? Surely you need someone experienced to replace them and help run the colony. Surely, I – ’

  ‘No,’ Wilson said, instantly crushing his hopes. ‘I know what you’re going to suggest, Ernst, but it isn’t possible right now. I can run the colony on my own. Your work here is more important. We can’t do without a constant supply of Ache Indians, so we can’t do without your presence here. You have done truly excellent work in opening up and maintaining lines of communication between General Stroessner and us. Those lines must not be broken. As Stroessner will almost certainly become the next President of Paraguay - probably within the next few months – it’s important that you remain here to offer him support and strengthen the alliance between us. In time, I promise, you’ll return to the colony, but right now your presence here is vital.’

  Torn between pride and his suspicion that Wilson was lying and intended keeping him here forever, Ernst shifted uneasily in his chair. He compensated for his disappointment and deepening depression by barking angrily at Maria who, when she emerged from the house to pour their tea, spilt some onto the saucers.

  ‘Her hands were shaking badly,’ Wilson noted when Maria had backed nervously into the house. ‘Is she frightened of you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ernst said. ‘During the war I learnt that fear could work miracles, so I make sure that everyone’s frightened of me.’

  ‘Very good,’ Wilson said, though it was impossible to tell if he meant it or not, so unemotional, almost toneless, was his soft voice. ‘And is the round-up of the Indians trouble-free?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ernst replied. ‘The Federales do it for me. I merely stay in touch with them, tell them what I want, haggle like an Arab about the price, then let them get on with it. They know the jungle; also, they’ve been hunting the Ache for years, so they know what they’re doing. Naturally, as you can imagine, they’re ruthless, which makes them effective.’

  ‘Any problems holding the prisoners in the compound?’

  ‘No. The Federales don’t bring the prisoners
here until I give them a date, which is usually the day before you arrive. If the Federales round them up too early, they have to look after them for me and I’m sure they get certain benefits out of that - if you get my meaning.’

  ‘I do,’ Wilson replied, not mentioning rape or other forms of abuse, but registering a slight distaste for the low appetites of the still primitive human race. ‘So they’re only in your cages a short time?’

  ‘Correct.’ Even as Ernst spoke, Wilson’s black-uniformed troops were opening the gates of the bamboo cages at one side of the compound and starting to herd out the terrified Ache Indians, men, women and children, to march them at gunpoint across the compound and up into the saucer by another, wider ramp that had since been lowered from the base. Looking up at the towering saucer, some of the Indians were terrified, started gibbering or covering their eyes with their hands, then tried either to break out of the column or turn back. When they did so, however, Wilson’s men in black hammered them brutally with the butts of their weapons and forced them onward again.

  I seem to have spent half my life watching people being herded at gunpoint from one form of imprisonment to another, Ernst thought, recalling the Jews in the cattle trucks in Poland and Germany, all fodder for another great dream. Masters and slaves, indeed.

  ‘The last time we spoke,’ Ernst said, ‘you were making a deal with the Americans in return for supplies. I take it from the fate of Kammler and Nebe that you now have an agreement with the United States.’

  ‘Yes, Ernst. They drop what we want at the far side of the mountain range and our saucers pick it up and bring it home. In return for this, I feed them titbits of our technology - though never enough to put us in any danger from them. They’ve also agreed to the late Artur Nebe’s suggestion for a long-term programme of disinformation based on a mixture of ridicule and intimidation of UFO witnesses, both civilian and military.’