PHOENIX: (Projekt Saucer series)

by W. A. Harbinson

  She ignored the sour joke, instead glancing around the untidy room. Her look of distaste reminded Dwight of his past three years as a bachelor, mostly spent in a fog of alcohol, filled with too many fears and nightmares. It was the drinking, he knew, that had led to the separation. In resigning his commission and leaving the Air Force, he had only given impetus to the break that had clearly been coming. It was hard to recall it clearly now, but he did remember the fear. It was the fear that had led to his drinking, as well as his nightmares. He had once loved the Air Force, lived for it, was proud of it, but when he became involved with Project Blue Book, the Air Force had turned against him, blocking him, chastising him, eventually humiliating him, until his life became a living nightmare from which there was no escape.

  All of that had come to a head shortly after his visit to Cannon AFB, when he’d had his terrifying experience with the men in black in that motel room outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. That event, more than anything else, had set the seal on his constant dread.

  He had started dreaming about flying saucers, alien entities, men in black, and eventually, as his friends in the ATIC were attacked one after the other – transferred, demoted, charged with spurious offences, haunted by anonymous phone calls – he had become increasingly isolated and then started cracking up. The heavy drinking soon started, leading to many fights with Beth, and when he told her he was resigning his commission, that was the last straw. They hadn’t actually divorced, but merely separated, with Beth taking an apartment close to her parents in Dayton, moving in with a deeply upset Nichola. Shortly after that move, Dwight left the Air Force, took this job as a gas station attendant, which included the use of this broken-down house, and embarked on the worst three years of his life, trying to deaden his fear and shame with regular drinking. It pained him just to recall it.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you came here, after all this time, just to tell me about Captain Ruppelt.’

  ‘No, Dwight, I didn’t.’

  ‘So what is it? Sounds like something serious. You think it’s time for a divorce, is that it?’

  ‘Why, would you give me one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Why not? Because you still love me?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, Beth, that’s exactly it. That’s the pitiful truth of the matter. Maybe that’s why I’m drinking. I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter how hard I try. And believe me, I’ve tried hard. As for Nichola, not having her around is a night-and-day torment. God, I miss her. I really do.’

  Beth blushed, lowered her head, sipped some of her drink, and then looked up again.

  ‘I still love you, too, Dwight. I really do. It’s because I loved you so much that I couldn’t bear to watch you destroying yourself. That’s why we separated, Dwight. There was no other reason.’

  ‘I know that. But it’s been three years, Beth. So why are you here?’

  ‘Because I still love you. Because Nichola loves you. Because I miss you, but Nichola misses you even more and needs you as well. Every year, for the past three years, she’s begged me to bring you back for Christmas. I refused her the first two years; I couldn’t refuse her a third time. Also, I think it’s time, Dwight. I think you should at least spend Christmas with us and see what it’s like. For me. For Nichola. Most of all, for yourself. Just Christmas to start with, that’s all. What do you say?’

  Dwight’s instinct was to refuse because, in truth, he felt scared. He was frightened of being with them, of resurrecting buried feelings, but the very thought of being home released those emotions and brought a lump to his throat. He was also moved by Beth’s presence, still loving her, wanting her, and though feeling awkward with her, embarrassed by his condition, he was moved by a desperate yearning to get back what he had lost.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said.

  During the drive to Beth’s apartment near Carillon Park in Dayton, Dwight was increasingly nervous, but the instant Nichola threw herself into his arms, his problems were over. Now twelve years old, with an oval face and long dark hair, Nichola shared her mother’s natural grace and beauty. After a light supper and long talk with his daughter – during which he lied blatantly about the joys of his job at the gas station and then discussed Nichola’s progress at school – Dwight retired to the bed in the spare room. There, for the first time in months, he had a sleep undisturbed by dreadful nightmares.

  The next morning, Christmas Day, they were joined by Beth’s parents, Joe and Glenda McGinnis, whose customary good humour removed the last of Dwight’s discomfort at being back temporarily with his wife and child. Thoughtful as always, Beth had made Dwight sign the labels on some of the presents she had bought for Nichola, and when Dwight saw the delight on his daughter’s face, he was deeply moved. Later, when he received his own presents, some from Beth, some from Nichola, he had to turn away in order to hide his brimming tears; though he practically broke down when Beth kissed him lightly, tentatively, on the lips.

  ‘God, Beth!’ was all he could murmur, trying to catch his breath. They shared a fine Christmas dinner, drank far too much, revived themselves with an afternoon walk through the park, then passed the rest of the afternoon in front of the TV set, which showed snow in many parts of the country while Bing Crosby, appropriately, sang ‘White Christmas’. By the early evening, after Beth’s parents had left, Dwight was in a mellow mood, perhaps dangerously sentimental, and had to wipe tears from his eyes a second time when he tucked Nichola into her bed and returned to the living-room.

  ‘God, I miss her,’ he said.

  ‘And me, too, I hope,’ Beth retorted. She was stretched out on the sofa, wearing slacks and a loose sweater, holding a glass of white wine in one hand, her gaze fixed on the TV.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Dwight said, ‘you, too.’

  He wanted to fall to his knees beside her, to thank her for bringing him home, even if just for Christmas, thus reminding him of what he had lost by giving in to his fears.

  ‘Beth…’ he began, about to pour out his heart... Then the front doorbell rang.

  Beth glanced up, blushing guiltily, then swung her legs off the sofa and hurried past him, letting her hand slide over his shoulder, as if in encouragement.

  ‘I have a surprise visitor,’ she said. ‘I just hope you’ll be pleased.’

  Though initially frustrated at the thought of this unexpected intrusion, Dwight was at first startled, then delighted, when Beth led former USAF Captain Bob Jackson into the living-room. Dwight hadn’t seen his old friend for three years, but Bob looked pretty much the same: still sleek-faced and sassy, if a little thicker around the waist. Wearing a plain grey suit with white shirt and tie, he was grinning from ear to ear and looking a lot healthier than the man who had been posted to Alaska just after Dwight had left the Air Force. He embraced Dwight, then vigorously shook his hand.

  ‘Hell, man,’ he said, ‘it’s good to see you. It’s been too long, buddy.’

  Stepping away from each other, they both grinned in a kind of dumb disbelief, until Beth said, ‘Okay, you two, sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’

  ‘I’ve been drinking all day,’ Bob said, ‘so a beer will do fine. Christmas Day, don’t you know?’ He grinned at Dwight as he took a soft chair near the fire. ‘Had a good Christmas yourself, did you, Dwight?’

  ‘Terrific,’ Dwight replied, sitting on the sofa facing his old friend. 'My first Christmas with my family in three years.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. I only got back from Washington DC yesterday and Beth told me when I called. She also said she was hoping to have you home for Christmas and told me to drop in. Said it might do you some good. Am I doing you good, Dwight?’

  ‘Feels just like old times, Bob.’ Beth handed Bob a beer, then joined Dwight on the sofa. He was still nursing a glass of white wine and letting it last. ‘So obviously you know what happened to me. What happened to you?’

  Bob sighed. ‘Life at the ATIC was hell after yo
u left. They kept transferring me here and there, from one lousy place to another. Promotion was refused. I was repeatedly charged for petty infractions, so in the end I just got the hell out. Most of the others on Project Blue Book had similar experiences – just like you and Ruppelt.’

  ‘When did you resign your commission?’

  ‘Two years ago.’

  ‘So what have you been up to since then?’

  ‘Well, you know, Dwight, I just couldn’t forget this UFO business. Couldn’t get it out of my goddamned head. So after a couple of months just fooling around, including getting married to our former secretary, Thelma Wheeler – remember her?’ he asked, briefly changing the subject.

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Dwight responded, instantly recalling the sexy blonde WAC corporal from Huntsville, Alabama, with whom Bob had had a lengthy flirtation.

  ‘She was harassed as well,’ Bob continued. ‘Harassed until she couldn’t take it any more and packed it in, like me. Anyway, when we were married, we decided to get out of Dayton entirely, so I took a job as technical advisor for an aeronautical engineering company located in Greenbelt, Maryland. In truth, I was kind of a salesman, using my Air Force background to sell the merits of the company to the many military establishments in that area. The job was okay – it got me out and about a lot – but I still couldn’t shake off all those questions that Ruppelt had raised about the UFO phenomenon. They haunted me night and day. Finally, through one of my acquaintances, I was introduced to Dr Frederick Epstein, a former astronomer who’d become obsessed with UFOs and now heads the Aerial Phenomena Investigations Institute, a civilian UFO organisation located in Washington DC.’

  ‘I know him,’ Dwight said. ‘I interviewed him way back in 1953, shortly after he’d formed the organisation.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Bob said. ‘He reminded me of that interview the first time we met. Anyway, I went to work as an investigator for the APII, initially on a part-time basis, then full time. And that’s what I do now.’

  Beginning to understand that there was more to this meeting than a casual Christmas visit, Dwight glanced at Beth. She merely offered a slightly teasing smile, sipped her drink, then said, ‘Bob’s come to Dayton to carry out some investigations on behalf of the APII. Until this evening, I hadn’t seen him for three years either.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Bob said. ‘I’m here to investigate the growing claims that there’s a storage facility in Wright-Patterson AFB for corpses found in crashed UFOs.’

  ‘There was no such room when we were there,’ Dwight said.

  ‘No, but the base has changed a lot since we left and the ATIC was virtually dissolved. There are lots of restricted areas in Wright-Patterson – more now than ever before – and one of them could contain a top-secret storage facility for crashed UFO parts, or even dead crew members.’

  ‘This whole business of alien corpses at Wright-Patterson is based on the notorious Aztec case of 1948,’ Dwight reminded him. ‘It all began with a book by one Frank Scully, a former Hollywood Weekly Variety columnist who alleged that a flying saucer crashed east of Aztec, New Mexico, in 1948, and was found virtually intact, with sixteen dead aliens, or UFOnauts, inside. According to Scully, the flying saucer was dismantled and the pieces, along with the remains of the sixteen aliens, were transported in secret to Muroc Dry Lake, now Edwards AFB, California, then on to a so-called top-secret Hangar 18 in Wright-Patterson. Scully also alleged that there’d been three other flying-saucer landings during the same period and that a total of thirty-four dead aliens had been found and were also being held at Wright-Patterson.’

  ‘But having been at Wright-Patterson at the time, you didn’t believe it.’

  ‘Right,’ Dwight said emphatically. ‘Precious little substantiation could be found for Scully’s claims. In fact, two years later, an investigative reporter, J. P. Cahn, revealed that Scully had received most of his dubious information from Silas Newton and a Dr Gee, later identified as Leo A. Gebauer. Both men were experienced confidence tricksters who’d been arrested that very year for trying to sell worthless war surplus equipment as oil detection devices. They probably based their whole story on the Roswell Incident of 1947, which we both know so well.’

  Dwight certainly knew that case well and could still recall virtually every word of his conversations with Flight Intelligence Officer First Lieutenant William B. Harris, who had compiled the official report on the Socorro sighting. He also recalled that at the insistence of General Hoyt Vandenberg, then Deputy Chief of the Air Force, the three charred corpses and the debris from the Socorro crash had been picked up by an intelligence team from the 509th Bomb Group and transported under strict secrecy to an unknown destination, though rumour had it as Carswell AFB, Fort Worth, Texas.

  ‘If Scully based his Aztec landing on the Roswell Incident, at least he picked a damned good case,’ Bob insisted. ‘You and I both know that the crash at Roswell was a real one – just as real as some of the reported landings.’

  ‘What landings?’ Dwight asked, becoming interested despite himself.

  ‘One of our leading test pilots, Gordon Cooper, has claimed that while at the Edwards Air Force Base Flight Test Centre in California last year – the same place where Scully’s crashed flying saucer and its dead occupants were reportedly taken in 1948 – a team of photographers assigned by him to photograph the dry lakes near Edwards AFB spotted a strange-looking craft hovering just above the lake bed. Then the object descended slowly and sat on the lakebed for a few minutes. According to the photographers, it was at least the size of a vehicle that would carry normal people. They also insisted that it was a circular-shaped UFO that took off at a sharp angle and rapidly flew out of sight.’

  ‘Naturally they took photos.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So what happened to their film?’

  ‘According to Cooper, it was forwarded to Washington DC for evaluation, but no report came back and the film never resurfaced.’

  ‘No film, no evidence – the same old story.’

  Bob was unfazed by Dwight’s cynicism. ‘Dr Epstein has shown me the certified statements of two USAF pilots, confirming that UFO landings took place at Cannon AFB, New Mexico, on May 18, 1954, at Dewed Nike Base on September 29, 1957. He also has CIA-censored reports on another two UFO landings that took place at Holloman AFB. You might be convinced about Cannon AFB, since it was your own experience there, in 1954, that finally encouraged you to get out of the Air Force.’

  Shocked to be reminded of that fearsome experience, Dwight glanced at Beth and was rewarded with an encouraging smile. Sipping the last of his wine, he recalled his visit to the road outside Cannon AFB, New Mexico, where his friend, Captain Andrew Boyle, had given him a good description of his personal sighting of the landing of a saucer-shaped craft outside a hangar in a restricted area of the base. After showing him the specific hangar, Boyle had given him a photograph of the UFO as proof.

  Even more vivid and frightening than this recollection was the memory of how, when Dwight had been lying on his bed in the motel room, located on the outskirts of Albuquerque, a dazzling pulsating light had filled the room, a bass humming sound had almost split his head, and three men dressed in black coveralls had entered. One of them had temporarily paralysed Dwight with some kind of stun gun, another had whispered a warning in his ear, and the third had stolen his invaluable UFO photograph. Shortly after the men in black left the room, the pulsating light and headsplitting noise went away and feeling returned to Dwight’s body. What was not to go away was the fear that subsequently drove him to the bottle and out of the Air Force for good.

  He felt that fear now.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘you’ve got me on that one. What about the other two?’

  Grinning, Bob said, ‘The first one took place shortly before 8.00am on an unspecified day in September, 1956, when a domed, disc-shaped UFO landed about fifty yards from US 70, about twelve miles west of the base. The ignition systems and radios of passing cars we
nt dead and the peak-hour commuter traffic backed up as amazed witnesses – including two Air Force colonels, two sergeants, and dozens of civilian Holloman AFB employees – watched the UFO for over ten minutes, until it took off with a low whirring sound. Shortly after its disappearance, word of the sighting flew from Holloman to Washington DC and the area was soon inundated with Air Force intelligence officers and CIA agents. Base employees who’d witnessed the sighting were sworn to secrecy and the Pentagon’s evaluation team wired a report stating that the UFO wasn’t any type of aircraft under development by the US or any foreign terrestrial power.’

  Bob sipped some beer, then took a deep breath and let it out again. He was clearly enjoying this.

  ‘Then, just this summer, a mechanic at Holloman AFB was working on a grounded Lockheed F-104 jet interceptor when he saw a disc-shaped object hovering silently over the tarmac. After watching the object retracting its ball-like landing gear, he called another mechanic and both of them watched the UFO take off vertically at great speed. During a subsequent interrogation, both men identified the craft type they had seen from a book of over three hundred UFO photographs. They were then informed that personnel in the base control tower had observed the same object for two or three minutes. They were also warned not to discuss the sighting and made to sign a statement swearing them to secrecy.’

  ‘Very persuasive,’ Dwight said, impressed by Bob’s enthusiasm and responding instinctively to it, feeling more alive than he had done for three years. ‘But I still don’t believe you’ll find a Hangar 18 in Wright-Patterson AFB, let alone alien corpses or crashed UFO debris. What did you find there?’

  Bob grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘According to my informant, all requests to Wright-Patterson AFB for information regarding Hangar 18 are routinely given the reply that it doesn’t exist. But he insists that Wright-Patterson’s top-security Area B contains a building numbered 18-A. Indeed, he said he’s personally seen it, though he’s never been allowed in. It’s a building – not a hangar – with a tall wire fence around it. All of its windows have been knocked out and replaced with concrete.’ ‘Anything else?’