Читать книгу Delta G - David J. Crawford - Страница 11

There was a knock on the VIP room door at 0030 hours in the morning. One of the radar techs woke Sheridan telling him that there was an ELT, (emergency locator transponder) radio beacon going off, and one of the ice drilling rigs had reported seeing a glow over the northern horizon. He threw on his fatigues and boots and headed down the stairs toward the radar console room. The door was open when he got there. Vince Beach was studying the radar display and the ELT beacon was audible on the speaker set.

All aircraft are equipped with an ELT transponder. This beacon is activated when a switch built into the unit is activated by high G-forces, such as in a crash. It is analogous to an air bag going off and the car notifying OnStar of the deployment via cell phone. However, this is a radio beacon that uses a universal frequency of 1030 to 1090 MHz. In the event of a crash the radio beacon can be used as a directional finder to locate the crash site.

The funny thing about this ELT activation was that nothing was on the radar screen prior to its activation. No distress signal was given. The beacon was coming from the north in the direction of the glow over the horizon.

Vince got on the tropo-phone hotline and notified the Space Command HQ in Cheyenne Mountain of a suspected crash. NORAD confirmed that there was no military or civilian aircraft in the region prior to the ELT. Then encrypted message traffic came in over the KW-7 instructing them to cease discussing the incident over the tropo-phone. They were to use the encrypted keyboard. The reason given was that it could be a Soviet aircraft that was testing the radar coverage area and it was flying below the radar. It may have actually crashed.

The ice drilling rig operator was now on the radio telling us that the glow on the horizon was moving slowly to the east. This sure didn’t look like a crash site. Captain Sheridan and Vince put on their parkas, iron pants, goggles, and gloves and headed outside onto the catwalk near the snow harvester dredge. They looked to the north and sure enough could see the glow. It was more than a glow though. It was a fuzzy inverted V-shaped object, glowing yellow, and then green. It looked to be just over the horizon. Whatever it was, it wasn’t burning and it was huge. Distances and size are deceiving on the icecap.

Space Command HQ authorized a Search and Rescue operation to be organized and sent out. Vince got on the PA system and hit the crash alarm. Everyone was up in an instant and met in the gymnasium. Blankets were gathered. Four men headed down stairs to the maintenance shed to fire up the site’s three snowcats. The tracked vehicles with a crew box were sort of like mating a minivan with a bulldozer. They held up to a dozen personnel each and were onsite in the event of a catastrophic event on the station. They were life boats so to speak. Each one had its own survival gear and first aid equipment stored on board.

Vince picked another half dozen men and had them report to the shed. He then had Jorgen man the infirmary. The snowcats were loaded up within a few minutes. The diesel engines were preheated and fired up quickly.

The glow was still moving slowly to the east as the three snowcats with the four men each lurched out onto the icecap. They made pretty good time. They would easily do about twenty-five mph. However, the snow rifts and drifts made it a slow go. Dan Wilson was in the lead snowcat. He was a little apprehensive. It sure did not look like a plane crash or fire on the horizon. The closer he got the higher the glow seemed to get until they reached a point where they could clearly see it hovering over the horizon and still apparently moving to the east. The only thing that kept everyone calm was the fact that an ELT was still going off. Only airplanes have ELTs, right? The snowcats were now out for about forty-five minutes. They were about fifteen miles out and could barely make out the DYE-3 site behind them. They were still quite a ways from the glow. It still looked like it was on the horizon, but higher now. It was still fuzzy and shaped like an inverted V. Sort of like the Star Trek symbol. Talk about irony.

Dan was feeling less guilty now for insisting they bring one of the only two weapons from the site, the old M-1 carbine. Nobody had ever even loaded the magazine in one of these things let alone fired it. However, Dan was now taking a crash course in ballistics. He gave up trying to figure out the stripper clip and manually placed one round in the chamber. Luckily he didn’t shoot a hole through the wind shield or blow his foot off, but he felt a little more secure and confident.

The snowcats were now out more than an hour and were twenty miles from the site. The glow was now moving faster to the east and was several degrees above the horizon now.

Vince flipped a toggle on the console communication panel and the radio speaker cracked to life. DYE-4 had contacted him to let him know they now had an ELT pinging. They could not see any glow however. DYE-4 was on an island mountain top near the Inuit village of Kulusuk on the east coast of Greenland about 150 miles from DYE-3. This confirmed it was not an equipment malfunction at DYE-3.

DYE-4 had notified Keflavik, Iceland of the ELT. Two F-15s were put on notice and short alert status. They could be airborne in a couple of minutes and make the seven hundred mile trip to DYE-3 in under an hour with use of afterburner. A midair refueling would be needed for the trip back. HQ SAC at Offutt AFB controlled the Air Force’s tanker fleet and were now involved with putting together a rendezvous with a KC-135 over the North Atlantic.

Dan had now been heading northeast of DYE-3 for over an hour. The site wasn’t visible now. Compasses are pretty much useless in the Arctic. They’re too close to the Pole to be reliable. One comfort was that the radar had picked them up using what is known as a side lobe. Using the same technique the Ravens use on setting up for a landing, the side lobe radar was now pinging on the only solid metal objects on the icecap. It couldn’t distinguish three separate vehicles but did register them as a group. They were twenty-two miles out with a relative bearing of 40 degrees true.

Vince was now watching the anemometer and barometric gauge. What he saw was unsettling. The wind gauge was starting to pick up and gust to twenty knots. The barometer was dropping. It didn’t take much wind up here to kick up the snow and produce a white out condition.

Vince told Dave to get suited up because they were heading outside on the catwalk around the Radome. From the catwalk, they could see the swirls of snow writhe up and over the snowdrifts. The odd thing was that there was not a cloud in the sky. The stars were out. The night was perfectly clear. Only the greenish yellow glow shined on the horizon. Whatever it was, it was really picking up speed now. It was now lifting up off the horizon with clear air visible beneath it.

Vince made a command decision to tell Dan to stop any forward motion. A few minutes after this the ELT suddenly went dead. DYE-4 reported theirs went dead, too. At about the same time, the glow suddenly reversed course, heading west at a rapid rate of speed. The glow got brighter, too. It got more yellow. Then it stopped dead in its tracks about where it was first spotted. It rose higher on the horizon, started spinning, and then flashed out of sight in an instant: no noise, nothing on the radar, and no trace. Swoosh, it spun and shot straight up. It was gone in an instant. They just looked at each other in disbelief.

The wind was now picking up to twenty-five knots and the snow was kicking up. The catwalk was a good forty feet above the surface. The blowing snow was only about fifteen feet off the deck. Dan had now reported that he saw the object spiral straight up and vanish in an instant. He was also worried about getting back to the site. They had plenty of fuel, but it was getting dangerous. They were more than twenty miles from the site blinded by the snow and he knew white outs could last days up here.

The funny thing about the M-1 carbine now was that it was now as useless as a bull with ten tits, since Dan couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of him now. It was time to figure out how to keep all three vehicles together and make a 180 degree turn back to DYE-3. Dan had them lined up side by side. The flashing yellow caution lights gave off another eerie glow that significantly increased the pucker factor among the team. They could make better time flying in formation and have less white-knuckled steering with not having to worry about climbing up and over each other in a single file.

Dan made a slow turn to the right. Both the other snowcats were now running parallel ten feet apart and could barely see each other. The wind was whipping the snow horizontally. Dan called back for a heading check. The side lobe radar was losing them in the surface effect of the wind driven snow. Dan asked for the wind direction, thinking he could use the blowing snow as a reference for a relative bearing back to the site. However, the snow was swirling too much to get an accurate bearing. He went with his instincts and pressed ahead dead reckoning.

They were now out for nearly two hours doing about ten mph. The wind was now gusting to over thirty mph. Vince and Dave went back out onto the catwalk. The blowing snow was visible below them. It was still only a wind event. The stars were clearly visible above them. The temperature had dropped to ten below with a wind chill factor now of sixty below. Vince had an idea. Each snowcat was equipped with a flare gun with six shells each. He asked Dan to stop, open the roof hatch and fire a flare straight up. They should be visible if they were not too far out. According to the directions on the flare gun the flares would reach an altitude of 120 meters and burn for 8.5 seconds. They were about fifteen miles out now. Vince and Dave were fifteen meters above the surface and could theoretically cancel out the curvature of the Earth. The flares should be visible and it would be a simple task of walking the snowcats back to the Site visually.

Vince had every light on the station turned on, including every flashlight that could be rounded up and had them pointed in Dan’s general direction.

Dan opened the roof hatch and was immediately hit with a blast of cold air. His goggles froze over immediately. He was prepared for this and took a cloth he had pre-sprayed with windshield wiper fluid and swiped it over his goggles. Looking into the whiteout was like staring through a milk bottle. He lifted the flare pistol straight over his head and fired.

Both Vince and Dave saw the red flair instantly as it shot up on the northeast horizon. With his handheld brick radio, Vince gave Dan a relative bearing of forty degrees from his compass. It was impossible to estimate the distance. Dan looked at his compass and read the opposite direction of 220 degrees. He knew the magnetic declination was huge this far north and that they would have to trade relative bearings back and forth with each other after flare shots to make it back.

This process worked very well for the next hour and a half, after only five more flares were used. Finally, Dan saw one of the metal flag poles along the ice-runway. He followed them back toward the site and simply made a left turn up the taxiway and into the shelter of the maintenance shed. There, they broke out a bottle of scotch and thawed out.

Nobody could really believe what had just happened. Vince and Dave went to the console room. Vince banged out a simple request to NORAD on the Crypto keypad:

“Object vanished. Please advise.”

Dave was very much surprised when there was an almost immediate simple response. He figured the bureaucracy would delay any answer.

“Log event. Recover search crew.”

Neither Vince nor Sheridan knew how to interpret this. Evidently there was someone at NORAD that was taking the initiative. They would have had a “Please Standby” message if not.

“So, this is how it’s going to be. They’ve pretty much told us to ignore it in a polite way and not bother them anymore. Nice to know they are concerned about the crew,” Vince said.

Vince complied and wrote the event up in the daily site log. He even put it on the contacts and radar track sheet. He wrote it up with an interesting “spin.”

 0030Z060685 ELT Activation

 0045Z060685 Visual sighting of glow on northern horizon

 0050Z060685 Contact NORAD HQ

 0055Z060685 Contact Iceland

 0105Z060685 Dispatch Search and Rescue

 0130Z060685 Visual track west to east over north horizon

 0200Z060685 Whiteout conditions – low level

 0300Z060685 Object spins and climbs out to the northwest at warp speed

 0430Z060685 S and R Crew Return to Site

Dave was a little more detailed in his daily report. He wrote three pages on the “event” and sent it in with his weekly activity report. Since he was not told to keep quiet and no Men in Black showed up, he simply sent the report in through normal channels.

The next morning all hell had broken loose at NORAD. Dave was not reprimanded. He was not chastised. He was simply summoned back to HQ Space Command at Cheyenne Mountain for a meeting with the commander. “Oh, shit,” he thought. “I’ve screwed the pooch. But hell, what were they going to do to me, send me to Alaska?”

The next morning a Raven showed up. It off loaded 3,300 gallons of diesel fuel, as well as food, and a heavier anchor chain to be used to smooth the ice runway.

He learned his lesson and did not stare into the prop wash as he boarded the C-130. The crew chief escorted him to the flight deck where he shook hands with the flight crew and strapped in. He put his headset on and did a com-check and was glad to see it was Major Rick Boop who was commanding this flight. He told Dave that they had about ten more minutes before departure. They were going to haul out a D-7 dozer back to Sonde for extensive overhaul.

Flying the C-130 on the Greenland Icecap requires special skills, techniques, and guts. The high altitudes at which the DYE sites are located reduces engine performance by as much as thirty-five percent. Lift also is reduced. Ski landings are similar to normal landings. However, takeoffs on skis are another matter. Skill is required to keep the aircraft lined up on the runway. Because of the friction of the skis on the snow, the runs are longer, especially on warmer days when the surface is softer.

The crew chief checked and armed the eight Jet Assisted Take Off (JATO) bottles attached on the aft end of the fuselage. Under heavy load and certain snow conditions, JATO bottles were often used to literally blast the aircraft off the ice. On this flight, the dozer weighed over 20,000 pounds.

Major Boop taxied the Hercules out onto the skiway. He said that there was another C-130 inbound with another load of diesel. It was circling the site waiting for them to depart. Boop radioed the console room notifying him that he was departing VFR direct to Sonde low level. This meant that they did not have to burn much fuel to climb with the heavy load.

“Raven Two, Sob Story. Roger, VFR direct to Sonde, two thousand feet AGL.” This meant they would follow the icecap at two thousand feet above the surface until they got back.

The C-130 prop pitch was tilted forward and the sound of the four big T-56 turboprops biting into the cold arctic air was reassuring. The C-130 accelerated and bounced down the skiway.

Over the headset, the copilot was calling off the critical airspeeds as the plane accelerated. “V one...V two…Rotate…Victor, Victor, Victor.” Just then a switch was flipped and Dave was thrown back in the jump seat. They were pulling some heavy Gs now. The nose pitched up, and the noise was deafening as the rockets lifted the huge aircraft off the ice at a thirty degree angle. In seconds, the Raven was five hundred feet off the ice. The JATOs cut out and the nose tipped over. Wow, what an adrenalin rush and a real buzz in your shorts.

The Raven went from zero to two hundred in about twelve seconds. That was about equivalent to a rail dragster. As the nose settled on the horizon, Dave looked out. The sky was clear and the snow below just about blinded him. The Raven banked to the left and circled back towards the site. They were coming in at 289 knots and 500 feet. The Site Radome was growing larger by the second as they roared over the top.

Just then over the radio, “Raven Two…Sob Story.” The copilot acknowledged the call. “Raven Two, Raven One is ten miles west inbound VFR direct. Suggest you proceed on current course until he clears IP (inner perimeter).”

“Roger, Wilco, Sob Story, Raven One.” They cleared the area to the north to give him plenty of room. There was plenty of space up here; might as well make use of it.

The C-130 climbed to two thousand feet above the ice and started a turn to the west after they heard Raven Two was safely on the deck. Just then a flash of light caught the flight crew off guard. There was a reflection of the sun off the ice. Where was that coming from? Just to the north a few miles was a pool of aqua green water several miles in diameter. This was impossible even in June in Greenland and at an altitude over a mile and a half above sea level.

Dave asked over the com set, “What the hell is that?” Major Boop responded, “I don’t know, we’re going to go check it out.” He told Boop about the strange event that had taken place the week earlier. It was clear that this was no plane crash. Whatever left this perfect circle in the middle of the icecap used a hell of lot of energy to melt that much ice. There were signs it was a whole lot bigger to begin with but the edges were refreezing towards the center. Somebody is making the equivalent of crop circles in the ice.

The Raven headed for the center of the lake. As it crossed the southern edge the plane suddenly dipped down and to the right. The stall warning horn went off. The airspeed indicator dropped to 170 knots even though there was no apparent deceleration. The turn coordinator showed a full slip to the left even though they were turning opposite. The artificial horizon was rolling in its cage useless. Even though a magnetic compass was useless this far north it was spinning madly.

Boop’s quick reflexes and muscle memory kicked in. He did a text book stall recovery. He lowered the nose, applied power, and kicked the opposite rudder to the turn. The hardest thing for a pilot to do in a stall is to counter intuitively push the nose down. Many stalls result when the pilot sucks the yoke back into his chest trying to milk altitude for airspeed. This is usually a fatal mistake.

The plane recovered with a few hundred feet to spare. There was not time for an “Oh, shit.” It all happened too fast. As they cleared the opposite side of the lake the instruments settled down and returned to normal.

Boop got on the radio back to Sob Story. He wanted to warn Raven Two to stay clear of this area. He’d explain it once they got back to base.

Boop got on the intercom, “Okay, crew, we just had what they call a departure from normal flight conditions in clear weather and calm air. We’re running the stall recovery check list now. You guys all take notes on what you felt, heard, and observed. There will be a debriefing at Sonde.”

The plane climbed up to a comfortable altitude and headed back to Sonde. Boop wanted a few thousand feet under his butt just in case something else happened.

The flight recorder was on as well as the voice recorder. The crew was in no mood to ask a bunch of stupid questions no one knew the answers to. Since it was likely the recorders were going to be removed and scrutinized everything was by the book, professional, and no chit chat. This did make for a quiet flight. However, Boop did pass a note back to Dave.

The note simply said. “Need to talk back at Sonde. Not the first time! Caribou Club at 1700 hours.”

Dave felt like a third grader passing notes. He nodded to Boop that he understood. There were certain things that the crews did not want said with the voice recorder running. Saying you saw a UFO, and, oh, by the way, it about made me crash was not one of them.

Raven One droned on. Sonde was now an hour to the west. All instruments were in the green. Flying over the icecap was like flying inside a milk bottle sometimes. There was no sense of altitude or speed, due to the lack of landmarks.

The closer the plane got to the west coast some of the mountain peaks started to pop up over the horizon. The plane started its descent. It cleared the glacier and followed the fjord down to the runway. The pre-landing checklist was performed and audible per the book. No one said anything other than what was necessary or mission essential.

After the plane touched down and taxied over to the operations ramp. Dave and the crew went into Operations. They were met by the Ops chief, Maintenance chief, and the Base Commander Colonel Snyder.

“You understand, gentlemen, this is an official investigation. Anytime you have a deviation from controlled flight in a C-130 or any other aircraft, the Air Force wants to know about it. Everything you say now is for the official record. We are going to interview you individually first, and then as a group.”

Major Boop followed the three officers to the crew lounge. An NCO was there with a tape recorder and steno pad. Boop knew he was in for a grilling. You don’t just drop a C-130 fifteen hundred feet out of the sky. It just isn’t done unless the plane is improperly trimmed, loaded incorrectly, hits rough air, flies too slowly, etcetera. In other words, he was being set up for the “oh shit factor,” or technically known as pilot error.

After it was over, Major Boop gathered his three man crew and walked with them over to the Caribou Club. The Caribou Club was a combination NCO and Officers’ Club. Dave was already waiting. He had ordered a beer and turned around to see the four crew members walk through the door and make their way to the lounge in the back room. He followed them back. The lounge was known as The Suicide Lounge. Urban legend has it that this was where several people went to drink about their sorrows and depression before jumping into the deep fast moving, freezing waters of the fjord, never to be seen again.

Boop pulled out a felt tip pen. He went up to a corner in the room surrounded by his crew and scribbled something on the wall. Afterwards, they cleared the corner, and all went over to a table. Dave’s curiosity got the better of him. He strode over to see what words of wisdom Boop had scribbled on the wall. It simply read, “Into the thin air and beyond. 06/05/85 RPB Maj USAF.” Under his signature was a strange spiral symbol.

Boop motioned for Dave to come on over to the table. He said, “I’d buy you one, but I see you’re already sucking one down. This place does suck at times. They’re over at Base Ops right now going over our debriefing to see how bad we screwed the pooch. They can’t make any determination up here and the chicken shits will defer any decision to New York. We haven’t been grounded. Raven One is still operational, no damage. Only thing missing is the voice data recorder. Not much on it, but it is out of the plane now along with the flight data recorder. Nothing in the regs that says we can’t fly that bird to support a mission critical flight. As a matter of fact, I’ve got an idea up my sleeve. We’re going back out there. You with us, Dave?”

Dave didn’t have to think twice. “You, betcha. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What’s your plan?”

Boop laid out the plan, “This type of thing has happened in the past. Planes up here sometimes encounter what we call thin air. It is much different than your basic turbulence or vortex. You’re flying along and all of a sudden you just lose lift. Our little event this morning got my attention. However, I kind of anticipated it to be honest with you. When we began to stall, I noticed a drop in airspeed and a drop in turbine pressure. The vertical speed indicator didn’t even budge. The altimeter reading also had a lag in it. This all added up to one thing. The air we flew through had just become instantaneously much thinner. It was like we were flying in a vacuum. We had hit thin air.”

Boop continued, “What we’re going to do is simple. We’re going back out there. However, we need a good reason to launch the bird. A medical emergency or some other reason is what we need to get back out there ASAP. Dave, can you contact DYE-3 and push the envelope a little for us? See if they’d be willing to give us the Bat Signal or something. Maybe they need a critical part or something. On second thought, a medical emergency would raise too many red flags. Maybe if their tropo antenna went down for a few hours. That happens all the time up there. Their equipment is antiquated and spare parts are flown in all the time, right?” Dave responded, “Yes. I’ll figure something out. When do you want to get airborne?” Boop replied, “Give us an hour to refuel. Put the call in straight over to Ops. We’ll be there ready to go.” Dave said, “Okay, but I’m going along for the ride.” Boop smiled and said, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dave then asked Boop what he meant when he said this has happened before. Was he talking about aircraft stalling or the presence of UFOs? Boop grinned again and simply said, “Both. Let me show you something. See these walls in this lounge. Look at all the graffiti, signatures, and words of wisdom. People have been leaving their mark up here on these walls for over forty years. It is a tradition. This is part of the base history and legacy. It would be a crime to paint over these walls. I’ll give you a hint. There are thousands of signatures and words on this wall. See if you can find any with the spiral symbol next to their name. I’m part of a group of flyers that have encountered the thin air phenomena. Others have as well.” Boop got up. He only had to walk a couple of feet. “Check out this one.” It read, “Balls to the wall with thinning hair – DJC – 11/17/65. There was a sketch of Kilroy looking over a wall with a single spiral curl of hair on his head." Boop explained. “See how the last three letters of hair are underlined. I don’t think that is coincidental. There are at least a couple dozen sayings and initials with reference to thin air. They all put the spiral symbol in somewhere to signify a spin or other “sightings.” Let me show you one of the more famous.”

Boop walked behind the bar and pointed to a prominent framed spot on the wall over the cash register. “This is a shrine, so to speak, for Colonel Bernt Balchen. He had once been chief pilot for Admiral Byrd in the Antarctic. He built this base and was its first commander. Let me read the inscription.

‘Today goes fast and tomorrow is almost here. Maybe I have helped a little in the change. So I go on to the next adventure, looking to the future but always thinking back to the past. Remembering my teammates and the lonely places I have seen that no man ever saw before.'This also is inscribed on his tombstone at Arlington.”

Boop turned the frame over, “Speaking of Admiral Byrd, does this sound familiar to you?" On the back of the frame was taped a piece of paper.

 0830 Hours: Turbulence encountered again, increase altitude to 2900 feet, smooth flight conditions again.

 0910 Hours: Vast Ice and snow below, note coloration of yellowish nature, and disperse in a linear pattern. Altering course for a better examination of this color pattern below, note reddish or purple color also. Circled this area two full turns and return to assigned compass heading. Position check made again to base camp, and relay information concerning colorations in the ice and snow below.

 0912 Hours:Both Magnetic and Gyro compasses beginning to gyrate and wobble, we are unable to hold our heading by instrumentation. Take bearing with Sun compass, yet all seems well. The controls are seemingly slow to respond and have sluggish quality, but there is no indication of Icing!

 0915 Hours: In the distance is what appears to be mountains.

 0949 Hours: 29 minutes elapsed flight time from the first sighting of the mountains, it is no illusion. They are mountains and consisting of a small range that I have never seen before!

 0955 Hours: Altitude change to 2,950 feet, encountering strong turbulence again.

 1000 Hours: We are crossing over the small mountain range and still proceeding northward as best as can be ascertained. Beyond the mountain range is what appears to be a valley with a small river or stream running through the center portion. There should be no green valley below! Something is definitely wrong and abnormal here! We should be over Ice and Snow! To the portside are great forests growing on the mountain slopes. Our navigation Instruments are still spinning, the gyroscope is oscillating back and forth!

Dave asked, “Is that what Colonel Balchen was referring to in his epitaph? Strange events and places that no man has seen before.”

Boop shrugged. “No one knows, but this is a copy of a page ripped out of Admiral Byrd’s log book from a flight he made to the pole in February, 1947.”

It took a few seconds for all this to click and sink in. “Damn, you’re right, Major. This has happened before. We’ve seen the open water and hit the thin air. We’ve got to get back out there and figure this out.”

Boop put his hand on Dave’s shoulder, “Want to hear another strange coincidence? Colonel Balchen also flew German rocket components and scientists to Alamogordo, New Mexico after the war. It is also rumored that he was one of the pilots called upon to haul the Roswell aliens from New Mexico to Wright-Patterson.” With that one, Dave took a big swig of his Carlsberg beer, swallowed, and then got up and left the bar.

Boop took a swig of beer himself and then asked an interesting question, “The Russians and us have been putting men in space for nearly three decades now. How come no one has put anyone into a polar orbit? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Dave went over to his office and made a phone call. He dialed up DYE-3 on the tropo line. He dialed directly into Vince Beach’s office. Vince picked up the phone, “DYE 3, Beach here.” Dave responded, “Yeah, Vince, Dave Sheridan here. Just wanted to let you know we made it back to Sonde in one piece. We had an interesting flight though.” Vince responded, “Yeah. We heard. We were monitoring your radio traffic in and out of Sonde. What did you see up there?” Dave was surprised at the breach in protocol. Vince was kind of blunt. He chose his next words carefully; he knew the tropo line was not the most secure voice communications in the world. “Not much Vince, just the ice spiraling up in my face. We hit some thin air.” Vince caught on quick. “Glad to hear everything turned out fine. I’ve flown with Rick Boop for years. He’s one hell of a pilot. Not many can kick a C-130 out of a half turn spin and recover in 1500 feet, especially when you’ve got a ten ton dozer strapped to your ass. Must have had the plane balanced perfectly.” Dave replied, “Yeah, he’s one cool customer.”

He now fed Vince the bait and hoped he’d bite. “Just thought you’d like to know that Klystron tube you ordered is in the warehouse here. It came in on the last C-141. I know that you’re down to the last one and it’s kind of flaky. You must have a problem with your signal conditioner to keep burning out the tubes the way you are.” Vince took the clue, “Yeah, funny you should mention it. Dan is in the radar equipment room doing a diagnostic now. If we lose this one, we’ll be offline for half a day. I better put in a priority MICAP request to get that tube out here.” A MICAP request meant mission capability is impaired if the equipment or material is not delivered ASAP. If the radar went down, there would be a hole 150 miles wide in the NORAD early warning system. Dave responded back, “Roger, MICAP for a Klystron spare.”

“I’ll start drawing up the paperwork here and contact base ops,” Vince said. “Thanks Dave, for looking out for us. I owe you a beer.”

Vince got on the intercom and told Dan to send a message to Sonde Logistics requesting a Klystron Tube MICAP. Dan keyed in the message and hit the send button on the krypto set. Dan called back, “Fire in the hole.”

The message hit the logistics warehouse at Sonde just as Dave walked in. He wanted to be there when it came in to explain the importance of getting that tube out to the site. The Klystron tube was the heart of any radar system. It generated the pulse and radar wave.

The LogTech understood and placed a MICAP order. He punched in the stock number, got a warehouse location and sent a man out for it. “It says here it’s only three pounds. You plan on walking it over to base ops, Captain?” Dave responded, “Sure, I’ll sign for it.” The LogTech printed out a hand receipt. He signed it, put the box under his arm, ran back out to the warm pickup truck, and raced over to Base Ops.

He entered the ops center and walked up to the counter. A burley Master Sergeant, stood up and asked, “What can I do for you, Captain?” Dave said, “We’ve got a MICAP situation out at DYE-3. The radar is about to drop offline, unless we get this Klystron tube out there.” The sergeant was very cooperative. It was pounded into every good NCO; you’ve got to support the mission. “We’ve got Raven One that is fueled and we can have it airborne in less than an hour,” he responded. “Thanks, Sergeant, I’ll wait in the lounge.” Dave poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d only had one beer this evening, but he wanted to piss that out of him. The sergeant got on the alert phone and hit the klaxon alarm button. He lived for this. It was like getting to pull the fire alarm in your high school. All over base little red lights started flashing, pagers went off, and phones rang. The alert crew was notified that they had a critical flight and were to report to base ops immediately.

A few minutes later Major Boop came through the door, followed by his copilot and navigator. He said, “What have you got for us, Sergeant?” The sergeant pointed to Sheridan and said, “You’ve got a MICAP priority run to DYE-3. Their radar is about to go offline.” Dave spoke up. “How are you doing, Major? I need to get this Klystron out to DYE-3 ASAP.”

Boop responded, “We can accommodate you, Captain. We are fueled and ready to go. My crew chief is just getting ready to off load the dozer. We’ve had the heaters on it since we landed. We can’t get her off until we get the lowboy trailer truck fired up. It won’t start. I’ll tell you what, Sergeant, get on the radio with the crew chief and tell him to leave it on the plane. We’ll off load it when we get back. Can’t afford to let that radar go offline. Glenn, start up a mission plan. Carl, start a pre-flight. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Both Captains went off in different directions to carry out their orders. Rick gave Dave a thumbs-up and said, “We can be airborne in a half hour.”

Dave followed the navigator out onto the apron. After they ran up the cargo ramp, the clam shell doors were closed and ramp pulled shut. Dave made his way up to the flight deck and strapped into the jump seat. The ground crew was busy cranking up the AGE carts and blowing warm air into the engine air intakes. Captain Carl Davis, the copilot, secured himself and started the pre-flight. Master Sergeant Bob Svisco, the crew chief, made a quick walk around and then plugged in the headset to the plane’s umbilical. He motioned to the copilot through the cockpit window to fire up the number one engine. The plane came to life and he did the same for the number two engine. Just then, Boop climbed up the flight deck ladder and strapped himself in. He said, “Okay, gentlemen, we’ve got another twelve hours of daylight. We’re in the Arctic, remember. Carl, get departure clearance. As soon as Bob gets in, we’re ready for taxi.” Boop dialed up Ground Control on the radio, “Sonde Ground Control, Raven One with you with the numbers, ready for taxi instruction.”

“Roger, Raven One. Taxi to runway two three via taxiway alpha and hold short.” Rick acknowledged. Bob climbed on board, closed the cabin door, and hit the intercom, “Clear left and right, load secure, fire up three and four.” Boop acknowledged the crew chief and engines three and four were started.

The copilot was busy talking with the control tower, writing information on the air charts, and setting radio and navigation frequencies. Captain Glenn Rylah, the navigator sitting behind Dave, was busy crunching the numbers and computing takeoff roll. He punched in the destination coordinates into the Inertial Navigation System (INS) 68º 58’ 45” N by 42º 59’ 40” W. He then got on the intercom and said calmly, “Major, we’re going to need every foot of this runway to get the beast in the air without the JATOs with the dozer on board.” Rick responded coolly, “Roger that, Glenn.” With that said, the plane began its taxi. Immediate takeoff clearance was granted with a VFR flight plan to DYE 3. The weather was clear, and the wind calm. Rick was hoping for at least a little head wind to shorten the takeoff distance. No such luck. Rick lined the C-130 nose gear up on the center line. He set the break, applied full throttle and then changed the propeller pitch. Once full power was achieved he released the breaks and the C-130 lurched down the runway.

The plane rotated with about 2,500 feet of runway left and sucked up the gear just after liftoff. The plane slowly climbed up and out of the fjord and turned back out over the icecap. Once they reached 5,000 feet Boop dialed in DYE-3 on the radio, “Sob Story, Sob Story, this is Raven One with you on one one niner point two niner.” After a couple of seconds, Dave recognized Dan’s voice on the other end, “Roger, Raven One, Sob Story control. We have you, please say altitude. Squawk one seven zero zero and ident.” The copilot acknowledged and dialed in the radar transponder code 1700. “Raven One, Sob Story Control, understand you have MICAP equipment on board. Please be advised, we are now offline for diagnostics and repair.” It was unusual for the controllers to acknowledge over an open mike that the radar was down. However, this was code for: “Hey, you guys, the radar is offline and we can’t see you. Go fly wherever you want to.” Plus, the fact that the voice data recorder and flight data recorders had been pulled meant that Raven One was now free as a bird.

Boop nodded to the copilot. He turned around to Dave, the navigator, and the crew chief. He turned the radio console off, and keyed the intercom mike. “Okay, I told you we have a plan. Here it is. We saw something up there near the lake. It showed up on our NAVRAD. It was the only metallic structure other than DYE-3 for a couple hundred miles. We’re going to go find out what it is.”

Boop continued to brief the crew on the plan, “Once we get up there we are going to circle the lake. We’re not getting any closer than one mile from the edge. We’re not going over the center of it like we did last time, not pressing our luck. We are going to search for the object with our NAVRAD. Once we get a bead on it, we’ll make a low level pass if we haven’t run into thin air. We’ll land, taxi over to it and check her out. Any questions?” No one spoke up. Rick hit the master switch toggle for the radios. He had shut them off just out of precaution. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had accidentally broadcast over the open air when they thought they were speaking on the intercom.

“We’re going to follow the ice to the lake at about 2,000 feet AGL. The icecap gradually climbs up to about 9,000 feet where we are heading. That will put us at about 11,000 feet above sea level (ASL).”

As the plane droned on for the next hour a glint of aqua blue tint was showing up just on the horizon. Boop said, “Dial in the NAVRAD, wide beam, fifteen degree down angle.” The navigator complied and the radar screen lit up. “Nothing on it”, said Carl. “Roger that. Make a heading towards DYE-3”, ordered Boop. The navigator spoke up, “DYE-3 should now be two o’clock at three zero miles.” Rick turned the plane to the right and lined up the nose with DYE-3. Just then the radar pinged and lit up like a Christmas tree. Carl said, “Nothing wrong with NAVRAD. Suggest we make a turn to the north after passing ten miles abeam DYE-3 and retrace our steps from last time.”

“Sounds like a good plan, Carl.” Rick waited a few minutes and then cranked the C-130 over to the left. After he leveled off, there it was, clear as a bell. Something at eleven o’clock out, twenty miles on the NAVRAD screen. The lake was about three miles wide and perfectly circular in shape. It was deep. The bottom was not visible.

Rick slowed the plane down to two hundred knots and keyed the mike. “It looks like whatever it is, is off to the left side of the lake.” Carl acknowledged, “Roger that, we’re about ten miles out, showing 1,800 feet AGL, and two zero zero knots. Ease her over to the left. Now pinging one mile off the left side of the lake.” Rick cranked in a shallow left turn and then leveled the wings. Then Glenn clicked in, “ETA three minutes.”

“Roger that Glenn.” Everyone’s eyes peered straight ahead like laser beams. Carl broke the silence, “Something pinging this far out is surely visible. ETA one minute.” The lake loomed large on the right side of the cockpit windows. Off to the left a black speck was a sharp contrast to the bright white ice. Boop called it, “Black object on the ice, twelve o’clock, 2 miles.”

“Tallyho, object,” Carl said. Dave still didn’t see it. It was probably below his field of vision sitting in the jump seat.

Boop said, “Okay, gang, I’m going to descend to 1,000 feet AGL and set up a standard left turn orbit. Glenn, get your camera out.” Glenn had brought a video camera. Rick set the turn, and trimmed up the plane. “Okay, I’ve got it in sight. Keep us away from the lake on the right side.” Glenn unbuckled his harness and went back into the cargo bay. He was going to video through the cabin door window. It was easier than leaning across Dave and Rick.

Dave looked out over Rick’s shoulder and could indeed see the black object now. What the heck was this thing? Not much detail from up here. But it was definitely solid. It looked about thirty feet in diameter. It wasn’t your classic saucer shape as Dave had half expected. It looked more like a turtle from up here.

Rick asked, “Glenn, what’s the outside air temp?”

“Just a second, Major.” Rick had forgotten that he had gone to the back of the plane. Glenn came forward, climbed back into his seat and checked a dial on his engineer’s panel. He didn’t take the time to reconnect his mike, but instead tapped Rick on the shoulder and made signals with his fingers showing a one followed by a zero and then a thumbs-up. This was interpreted to mean ten degrees above zero. Fairly warm even by Greenland summer standards.

Rick keyed the intercom, “Okay, gang, we’re going to set this thing up for a landing. Ice looks smooth, no crevasses and only small drifts. We will come in from the low side. Wind isn’t a factor. Carl, run the checklist. Glenn, watch the airspeed closely. I’m going to come in low and hot. No flaps. I want to be twenty knots over stall speed. I’m going to fly her onto the deck.”

Rick turned the plane back to the west. He went out about ten10 miles and made a shallow turn back towards the object. “Carl, call off the air speed. Glenn, call off the altitude from the radar altimeter.” Rick set up the plane in a shallow decent and throttled back slightly. He let the airspeed bleed off. Carl read off the airspeed, “190...180…Stall speed is 110 with this load and configuration…130.” Rick eased the nose down a little. Glenn called out the altitude, “1000 AGL…800...500…” Carl continued, “Airspeed steady at one three zero.” Rick responded, “Roger. Maintaining one three zero.” Glenn called out the altitude, “400 feet AGL.” Rick answered “Skis coming down now.” The million dollar skis were about to take a beating. They only dropped a few inches below the wheels so no additional drag was encountered. At 130 knots, this was about like a NASCAR driver about to rub the wall on turn four just before he crossed the finish line. Rick was aware of the fact that the terrain was gradually sloping up to meet them. All he had to do was to maintain straight and level, as well as air speed, and the skis would eventually come in contact with the ice at a very shallow angle. There should be very little friction and stress on the skis. The operative word was “should.” The pucker factor was very high now. However, Rick kept a loose one handed grip on the controls. Dave thought to himself, “Look, Mom, no hands.” But Rick was more concerned with airspeed and kept his right hand tight on the throttles.

Glenn called out, “200 feet AGL, 100 feet, 50… 25…10.” Just then Dave could feel the rear skis hit. The plane bounced a few feet and settled back down. The plane shook and then the nose dropped down. Rick pulled back slightly to keep pressure off the nose. He throttled back and let the plane slide to a stop. No need to reverse the prop pitch. He has plenty of room out here.

Once stopped, Rick said, “We should be about a half mile from the object. I’m going to taxi over to it.” He was now sorry that he let the Raven come to a complete stop; getting it moving again was like starting a freight train. He pushed the throttles forward and the plane began to move. As the plane neared the black object, they could see it was actually cobalt blue. Everyone’s jaw dropped when they saw what it was. Or, at least, what it appeared to be. If Dave didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was at the beach. Lying directly in front of the nose of the plane, one hundred yards away was the biggest nautilus shell that he had ever seen. It was huge. It was sitting upright. It was about thirty feet high and ten feet wide. How the hell did this thing get here? Better yet what was it?

Any hopes of flying it out were dashed. It wouldn’t fit on the aircraft. The C-130 cargo bay was only about 9 feet high and 40 feet long. It would be like sticking a square peg in a round hole.

Major Boop keyed his mike, “Bob and Glenn, go suit up. Dave, get your iron pants on. Carl, stay put and watch the bird.” The engines are never shut down while sitting on the icecap. All four were left running. They had plenty of fuel. They had another four hours worth and they were only an hour and a half out from Sonde.

Everyone suited up with their iron pants, parka, mukluks, gloves, and face masks. Bob opened the cargo bay doors and lowered the ramp. The group walked out the back and made a big sweeping walk back to the front of the plane, staying well clear of the spinning props. Carl could see the group out the cockpit window and gave a big thumbs-up.

Rick and Dave walked up to the shell and looked it over. Too late now, but Dave yelled in Ricks ear, “What if this thing is hot?” and made a gesture to cover his gonads. Rick shrugged it off and did what any typical Air Force pilot would do. He went up to the blue object and gave it a good kick. Dave said, “That’s a hell of a welcome to Earth. How do you know you didn’t give it a kick in the balls?” There were no markings, no moving parts, and no color other than the dark cobalt blue. Whatever it was, it was big, solid, and heavy. Rick sent Bob back for the tool chest. When he returned Rick grabbed a wrench and then gave the shell a hefty whack. It definitely sounded hollow and gave out a metallic ring. But he couldn’t dent it or even leave a mark on it.

Rick said, “Okay, gang, we’re here. It’s here. We don’t know what the hell it is. We’re not doing much good out here. I’m freezing my ass off. Let’s head back into the plane.” Once on board, Bob buttoned up the cargo doors and then went up to the galley to pour everyone a cup of coffee.

Rick asked Dave, “What do you think that thing is?”

“I’m not sure, Major. I can’t even tell if it’s extraterrestrial.”

Rick smiled and said “Bullshit, this thing wasn’t made here. It’s almost impossible to stall a C-130 at over 150 knots over stall speed. Whatever is out there wanted to get our attention. Well, they’ve got it. We’re going to drag this thing back to DYE-3. It’s only twenty miles. We’ve got a dozer. Does anybody know how to operate this thing?” Bob spoke up, “Yeah, I used to operate one similar to this on my folk’s farm. I can run it. Not sure we can rustle up enough chain and cable to rig up a tow line though.” Rick said, “Okay, you open the doors, fire that thing up and we’ll see what we can come up with.”

It was Dave’s turn to make his engineering talents known. “We don’t have to tow. We can push. Just use the blade to knock that thing over on its side and we can push it to DYE-3. Just when Dave thought everyone would bow to his brilliance, Bob busted his chops. “That’s a great idea, Captain. Too bad we don’t have enough diesel fuel in the D-7 dozer to get it off the plane, let alone push this thing twenty miles to DYE-3.”

“Damn,” Dave said, “How about towing it with the plane? We’ve got enough cable in the flight controls to scavenge if we need to.” It was Glenn’s chance to throw in his two cents. “Okay, we can use the web seating. We have about twenty feet of cable, plus the cargo netting. I think we can rig a harness to wrap around this thing. How much you figure this thing weighs?” Dave put his Physics 101 class to use. “Well, we can try pushing it with the dozer. If it moves we know it’s less than 20,000 pounds.” Rick spoke up. “Okay, sounds like a plan. We’re burning valuable JP-4 now. Let’s get it in motion. Bob, fire up the dozer. Go see if you can tilt that thing over. Then see if you can push it behind the plane so we can rig it for towing. While you’re doing that, we’ll strip the web seating, and lash up some chains to make a harness.”

The cargo doors opened again and Bob fired up the dozer. This was definitely against tech orders. But how often do you get to tow a UFO? Bob got the dozer moving and drove it down the ramp. He moved around to the front of the plane. The fuel gauge was bouncing on empty. Rick and Dave watched as he nudged the blade up to the shell and gave it a push. The shell moved a foot or two but did not fall over. Bob raised the blade as high as it would go and then gave it another shove. This time it teetered as he gunned the throttle. It fell over like a drunken sailor.

Dave, Rick and Glenn grabbed all the webbing, cargo netting, and chains that they could get their hands on. Bob got behind the shell and began pushing it. It did move. Now that it was on its side there was less contact with the ice and it slid much easier. The dozer wasn’t getting very good traction though.

However, it did move and Bob was doing fairly well pushing the shell around to the back of the plane. He got it lined up about twenty feet behind the plane. Just then the diesel sputtered a few times and then the engine quit. It was out of fuel. He leapt off the dozer and went to help the other guys with the harness and rigging. He then climbed back up the dozer and walked out on the blade to the top of the shell. Glenn tossed him a corner of the cargo net. He placed it over the top. Four other cargo nets were attached around the sides. The web seating was taken out and attached to the corners. Bob said the thing weighed about 15,000 pounds and that the webbing should hold. The webbing and netting was tied off and it was secured to pallet hooks. Everyone boarded the aircraft. Bob went over to the ramp control lever and swung the ramp up off the ice. Everything looked secure and was ready to rock and roll, or in this case, slip and slide. Rick grinned in satisfaction, “Guess we’re leaving the D-7 dozer for the shell. Hope we got the better trade.”