A naval admiral leaned forward, cleared his throat and addressed the Colonel. “Now you’ve signed the document you can only ever discuss what we are about to tell you with the people in this room or with someone whom one of the people in this room has given you written authority to speak with. Is that absolutely clear?”
Somewhat taken back by the admiral’s brusque manner, the pilot snapped back. “How am I supposed to get written permission when I don’t know any of the names of the civilians here or what they even do?” An Air Force general smiled. “And it’s highly unlikely that you ever will, Colonel. Let’s just say, ‘Don’t talk about this briefing ever, unless it’s to your next commanding officer who is similarly cleared...and yes, you can have that in writing…from me.”
The admiral took over again. “Put simply Colonel, let me remind you of an old-but-true adage: ‘Government is too important to be left to politicians’. No, it’s not treason, it’s a fact. Please, may I ask you not to interrupt me until I have completed my little speech? We’re not here to debate this issue today, but to simply get you up to speed. For many years, very senior people in various arms of the military and various government agencies have ensured this country’s and the free world’s preparedness and superiority against all its existing and potential threats. Government, presidential or otherwise, is simply an administrative device for effective management. Democracy unfortunately makes this less efficient than it might be but we have to at least give an appearance of a free society. The people that really run this country, and indeed a great many others, respect and support freedom but we recognise that run rampant it would totally destroy itself and probably the planet as well. The great initiatives that have kept the population secure and safe have never been hatched by Congress. Indeed the really key decisions cannot be left to a bunch of squabbling, self-serving politicians. So we let them do what they do whilst wiser heads get on with it making sure things happen and work or sometimes vice versa.”
Chester’s face obviously betrayed his emotions. The admiral once again cut him short. “As I said Colonel, this is not a debate. For example, the B2 Stealth Bomber and the F-17 Stealth Fighter give us unrivalled air superiority. They enabled our Gulf War causalities to be held at a level unimaginable even a decade earlier. Our nuclear submarines are undetectable. The alloys used on our unstoppable smart missiles enable us to make them lighter and fit the targeting technology that makes collateral civilian casualties almost negligible. Look at economics. Western financial dominance is not as a result of corrupt CEOs managing their fiefdoms like personal bank accounts, but it’s due to the vast and intricate computer programs developed by various covert agencies to manipulate world markets. All these developments, and believe me, many many more, were conceived, protected and managed by people like us and colleagues throughout the civilised world. This is how things really work Colonel. The people have their security under the umbrella of what they perceive to be a democracy, while we try to keep them safe, with no interference from lesser intellects. Oh, certainly congress may have approved the budget for, say, the Stealth Bomber, but do you really believe that the costs they rubber-stamped was what it really cost? You’re way too intelligent to believe that. The real development and management cost of projects of this magnitude are in black budgets hidden well away from the eyes of civil servants. If they were published, they’d never be approved, and we’d end up a second-rate power and vulnerable from all sides with the consequent knock on effect to our economy.”
The admiral stopped to light a cigarette. Chester noticed, most unusually, that no one objected. “Of course,” the admiral continued as he took a long drag, “we’re also putting vast resources into a cure for cancer.” There were a few discrete chuckles from around the table.
The Air Force general took up the reins. “It’s the same with threats. You probably think it’s mainly militant Muslims, Columbian drug cartels, Iran, North Korea or the Russian Mafia that pose us the biggest danger. Believe me, there are far greater threats to our security that we have to manage and cope with on an ongoing basis. We have to do this in secrecy so as not to cause alarm, and give the illusion of safety so that people can go about their business in blissful ignorance.”
Unable to keep silent any longer the Colonel spoke. “If I accept, for the sake of argument, and I mean for the sake of argument, you’re not a bunch of intellectual power-crazed egotists, why are you telling me all this? I’m a test pilot, not a politician.”
“Indeed you are Colonel, and you’re a professional,” interjected one of the civilians, “as are we, and we’d like your help. What do you know about Project Aurora?”
Taken aback yet again, Chester thought for a moment, then replied carefully, “rumours mainly. I’ve heard that it doesn’t exist.”
“You are correct,” agreed the suit. “It doesn’t exist officially. Unofficially it very much exists, and to date twenty-five plus billion dollars has been quietly invested in it and many billions will follow. This vehicle can fly higher and faster than anything even in the imaginations of design engineers in the aviation industry. When the programme is complete the machine will be capable of a performance envelope that edges into science fiction. It will be the ultimate reconnaissance vehicle. We’d like you to work on it. You’d be based at Groom Lake Air Force Base.”
He let the comment hang in the air. He had the Colonel hooked, and everyone in the room knew it. They didn’t make mistakes. Groom Lake was regarded in almost mystical reverence in the flying community. Shrouded in mystery and the source of the most outlandish rumours, Chester would have given almost anything just to have a peek over the fence. Even its official call sign was intriguing: Dreamland.
The admiral stubbed out his cigarette. “Yes, Groom Lake, or as our little fraternity refer to it, Area 51. Sadly, due to the goddamn internet and the fucking X-files so does just about every member of the public.” Once again a low chuckle reverberated around the room. “And no, despite the supermarkets tabloid’s hysterical assertions,” he continued, “it’s not a facility for retro engineering downed UFO technology, nor are there alien corpses there, and we most certainly aren’t in league with extra terrestrials to abduct human specimens so that they can have probes stuffed up their asses. Though if I were able to arrange it I can think of a certain senator that I’d like to put on the list.”
Three days later, after a particularly unpleasantly rigorous medical, Chester found himself in front of his new commanding officer. The CO, a hoary old veteran with hawk’s blood in his veins, bade him welcome. A plaque on his desk displayed a cartoon picture of a round eyed alien with a red cross through it. Underneath the illustration were the words ‘If you think you’ve seen an extra terrestrial….YOU AINT! And that’s an order’.
Chester retuned the Co’s handshake and picked up the plaque with a smirk. “My wife’s idea of a joke,” smiled the CO. “It’s the burden we shoulder for working here. Even my teenage son doesn’t believe we’re just a flight test facility. He asked me the other day if it was true the Air Force had a Blue Beret downed UFO rapid recovery team.”
“I saw that episode,” grinned the Colonel, “I thought it was rather good.”
“You’ll have to cope with a lot of crap outside,” confessed the CO. “I’m sure you’ll manage. Truth is, we’ll be keeping you so busy you’ll be spending most of your time on the base. What did you make of the Illuminate?” Chester gave him a blank look.
“The board in Washington,” he continued. “A spooky bunch but very, very powerful…and they pay well…we see them quite a lot here. Still, they never cause any problems and they ask very intelligent questions and our budgets are passed without a murmur. God knows how they do the accounting but it gives us unrestricted opportunity to play with some pretty exotic stuff.”
Within a few weeks Chester had found out that the CO’s take on the word exotic took on a whole new definition of the word. Strapped into the cockpit of the sleek and massive beast that was proje
ct Aurora he’d initially gazed warily at the multiplicity of sensors and probes that ran from the high-tech cockpit to various parts of his body. The flight operating manual was a document the like of which he had never seen. Numerous references were made to systems and avionics that were as yet still totally foreign to him. He’d never heard of a bio sat interface or indeed a cranial transponder and the section on the pulse wave detonation engine had made his head hurt. Nonetheless, as time went by, his intelligence and engineering background ensured that he began to form an operating picture of the mind-blowingly advanced machine that surrounded him. Two years later he knew the needle nosed monster better than he knew his own body.
He gazed lazily out of the cockpit canopy at the clouds many miles beneath him as he chased the sun across the roof of the world. Here at the very edge of space, the lack of air made for an almost totally silent ride. His bio implants tingled, gently letting him know that he’d just entered the next satellite footprint and that his telemetry was being received on the uplink. He mentally recognised this fact and the onboard systems, acknowledging this thought, cut the physical stimulus. A soft chime sounded inside his helmet indicating a non-scheduled radar contact many miles below. He glanced at the radar screen and the intelligent glass on his visor interpreted his two-blink instruction and prompted the computer. Three seconds later an automated voice resonated inside his helmet.
“Target is an F22 out of Edwards Air Force Base, seconded to NASA, undergoing high altitude trials. Threat level zero.”
Chester grinned. The engineers had given the system a woman’s voice. She always sounded, well, so unflappable. This was just as well as he’d not always felt that way himself as he’d come to grips with the highly-strung aircraft. Project Aurora was the first and only trans-atmospheric aircraft in existence. Constructed of composites of a complexity that were way beyond his understanding, the craft could withstand the brutal physics that accompanied mach ten speeds and the mind-bending temperature variances that resulted. With its revolutionary propulsion system, the machine could achieve sub-orbital altitudes for a short while and a normal cruising altitude that made him undetectable from the ground. Not that that made a difference to any potential threat. His speed alone rendered him uncatchable.
It was a perfect reconnaissance platform, except for the fact that the powers that be had also fitted a weapons system. The logic being, he had been told by the suited faceless civilians, that should the enemy ever develop a similar aircraft then it was vital to have offensive capability.
The chime sounded again in his earpiece, followed by a second more urgent note. Before he’d had a chance to even look at the radar screen the glass of his visor lit up with telemetry. It took him a full three seconds to accommodate the information imparted and he knew it must be incorrect.
“Computer, re-verify data and cross check.” He mentally visualised the satellite currently tracking him and immediately the computer relayed the information he’d received to the orbiting vehicle to confirm the telemetry.
“Onboard systems confirm data, satellite tracking verifies,” said the unflappable woman.
Chester barked into his microphone.
“Dreamland, this is Bullseye, we have an indicated bogie, inbound at…inbound at...it’s an error...inbound bogie at 450,000 feet at mach 4, decelerating. Definitely an error. It’s higher than me and slowing down.
His earpiece crackled into life.
“Bullseye, Dreamland, your contact confirmed. Move to intercept. Treat with extreme prejudice.”
Stunned, Chester replied. “What? Say Again?”
There was a short silence. This time the CO’s voice came on the line, urgent and insistent.
“Chester, no debate, this is a confirmed threat, bring that sucker down.”
The Colonel’s training took over. He hit the scramjets and felt himself pushed back in his seat as the aircraft leapt forwards. Keeping his left eye on the radar contact and his right eye on the aircraft status he thought, ‘Jesus, it’s still slowing down.’ Anticipating his thoughts the aircraft spoke to him. “Weapons systems online, target range 38 miles, closing velocity mach twelve.” Doing the mental maths he realised he had seconds to make a decision. “Acquire target and snapshot one through four,” he said softly.
One point three seconds later the aircraft shuddered as four missiles streaked from their rails. The moment their tailpipes ignited the target stopped abruptly. Chester blinked. The intruder had gone from mach four to a total standstill, a physical impossibility. Two seconds later it started to accelerate upwards at an unbelievable rate. Not quickly enough however. A moment later the sky lit up as the sleek metallic predators found their target.
It was a de-briefing to remember.
The moment his aircraft gently edged to a halt, it was surrounded by armed personal wearing an insignia he’d never seen before. With some alarm, he climbed down from the cockpit to face his CO who was looking faintly embarrassed.
Some six hours later a livid Colonel sat in front of the men from Washington. The Naval admiral again lit a cigarette and leaned forward, preparing to speak. Chester cut him off. “You can put that fucking thing out for a start,” he shouted. “I don’t care who the flying fuck you are. You’ve kept me prisoner here for hours, no ones told me anything and I’ve just had to shoot something down and presumably killed everyone on board on the say so of my CO with about four seconds warning. What the hell was it anyway? Jesus, the thing was above me and slowing down for Christ’s sakes! It stopped completely before I hit it. That’s just not possible.”
“Be quiet Colonel,” snapped the Admiral, “Or I’ll have you locked down for twenty four hours until you get a civil lip.” Shocked at his tone, Chester took a deep breath. The admiral sucked on his cigarette and continued, “I’m genuinely sorry you’ve been kept incommunicado. It’s taken a while to get us all here. I’m also sorry for the experience that you had today. You weren’t ready. Our intelligence was faulty. No incursions were expected in this area for a while. Your training wasn’t complete. Now tell us exactly what happened. Leave out no detail. Once that’s done we’ll give you the answers you want.”
Three gruelling hours later, the pilot sat back exhausted from the barrage of questions that he’d fielded. “That’s it,” he snapped. “I want chapter and verse.”
“We’re at war,” the admiral said quietly. “We have been for almost sixty years. When we last met we told you how things worked, why they work, why we and many others manage what’s going on. We explained the reasons: to try and keep this fragile planet peaceful and safe for its inhabitants. I explained that we control the flow of information, fund what needs to be funded, manage the world’s economies from afar and do what we can to maintain the ecosystem. There are those who seek to take this away from us.”
A civilian took up the narrative. “As I’m sure you’re aware, in 1947 there were stories of a crashed UFO in Roswell, New Mexico. The legend developed that alien bodies were recovered. It was naturally dismissed by the military as a weather balloon. Working where you do I’m sure you’re no doubt aware that there are incredible myths about the government working on projects based on technology from crashed UFOs. There are a plethora of books in the media about people who believe that they have been abducted by aliens and been experimented on. At Rendlesham Forest in England there were highly detailed reports of a UFO landing near a top security RAF base. The stories go on and on. What I have to tell you now is…they’re all true.”
He let the statement hang in the air.
Clearing his throat rather obviously, the Colonel spoke. “You’ll understand that I’m a mite sceptical.”
“You shouldn’t be now,” said the civilian. “You’ve just shot down a UFO. That’s what Project Aurora really is. An interceptor designed specifically for that purpose. They’re vulnerable when entering the atmosphere as you’ve just found out. You were due to be fully briefed on this in the next few weeks before the next incursion was pre
dicted.”
“You mean all this alien stuff is real?” Chester’s head was spinning. “We really are retro-engineering downed UFO technology? There really are people being abducted and having experiments carried out on them? What the hell for? Have we really conducted autopsies on aliens? I mean…what’s real and what isn’t? Why are we at war? Christ guys, I need a briefing.”
The Air Force general interrupted him. “I’m sorry Chester, you got thrown in at the deep end unprepared. What’s actually happening is a little more complex than is imagined, even by the rumour specialists on the net. What we know is that these incursions have been occurring for the last sixty years. The purpose of these incursions is intelligence gathering. A prelude to invasion.” He leaned forwards to emphasise his point. “They’re very careful,” he continued, “and we rarely catch them, but we’ve had our fair share of successes.”
Chester tried to clear his head, “What’s all this abduction crap and medical experiments about then? Is that part of the intelligence gathering?”
The admiral drew heavily on his cigarette. “Not exactly Colonel. As my colleague indicated, it’s a slightly more complex situation. You see, the technology we need to defend ourselves isn’t exactly easy to come by, even by studying downed flying saucers.”
Now totally fazed, Chester ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Then where did we get it from?”
“We have a pact,” the civilian offered, “with the Greys.”
“Who the flying fuck are the Greys?”
The door to the briefing room opened suddenly. Chester spun around and what he saw rooted him to the spot. The pictures he’d seen on the internet were remarkably accurate, though the alien was taller than he’d imagined. Other than that, the black teardrop eyes and the large bald cranium were as predicted. Totally naked, the being’s skin glistened in the room’s harsh lighting. “We are Colonel,” the creature said. “Both of our races have a shared interest in this vibrant little planet of yours.”
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