CHAPTER VI
The Air Force Hands Me a Riddle
Shortly after my
return from New York, I had a call from a TWA captain I'd known for some
time.
"I
suppose you read about that Air Force press conference?" he said. I
told him I'd been there, and he went on. "It's made the airline pilots
plenty sore. A lot of us thought the Air Force was on the level, asking
for saucer reports. They'll play hell getting them now.
"The
other night one of our ships was over Lake Michigan and a lighted disc
buzzed it. It looked like the ones those PAA pilots reported. This
captain was going to tell the Air Force and then he read what they said
at the Pentagon. He told his crew if they said anything about it he'd
deny the whole thing."
A few
days later I had a letter from an Eastern captain.
"A while
back," he said, "one of our crews sighted a disc shaped object that went
from horizon to horizon in six minutes. All the passengers saw it, too,
but the captain wouldn't report it. He'd wring my neck if I gave you his
name, even off the record."
In the
meantime I'd made my first attempt at a frank talk with the Air Force.
In asking for ATIC cases, during the past year, I'd worked with Major D.
E. Patterson, in
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Defense Department
public relations. I phoned him and explained what I had in mind.
"That
sounds like a fair deal," he said. "Why don't you talk with Chop, over
in the Air Force press branch? He can put it up to Intelligence."
While I
waited, he called the press branch on another phone, but Chop was away.
"I guess
he's at home, resting up," said Patterson. "He took it on the chin, the
last week or two."
"How
about my talking with an Air Force radar expert in the meantime? I'd
like to get a couple of things straight."
"I'll
see what I can do. By the way, that last request of yours, for ATIC
cases, was turned down."
"That
makes about the tenth time," I said. "But thanks, anyway, for trying."
An hour
later Patterson called back. To my surprise, he had gotten me the radar
interview. It was set for 1 o'clock.
"This
man's an Intelligence colonel," said Patterson. "Kay Hampton, up in
Colonel Boyd's office, will take you to him."
But a
hitch developed the minute I saw Kay Hampton.
"The
colonel said to make one thing clear," she told me "He'll explain all
about radar and temperature inversions, but he won't discuss flying
saucers."
"What's
the use of seeing him, then? He must have known that's what I wanted."
"I'm
sorry," she said, "but you can't even mention the saucers."
"Let it
go," I said. "I should have known there was a joker in it.
On the
way out, I stopped in at Colonel Boyd's office. Two other PIO's happened
to be in the room.
"I
wonder if you know how much harm this policy is doing," I said to Boyd.
Then I told him about the airline pilots.
"You
want those pilots to give you reports. General Samford said they'd like
to have top scientists help analyze
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the sightings, and
you want people to trust the Air Force. Then you make a fool out of
anybody who says he thinks the saucers are real."
The
PIO's looked at each other. Nobody said anything.
"I know
I've caused you people some trouble," I said. "But I told the Air
Force—it was General Sory Smith the first time—that I'd stop writing
about the saucers if they'd show me any reason for keeping still. I even
offered to go on active duty, so they could show me the proof. That
still goes."
"We're
not holding out a thing," said Colonel Boyd. "I'm sorry you think
so—you're the one person we'd like most to convince."
"It's a
queer way to go about it. I've asked for ATIC reports nearly a dozen
times, and I always get turned down. If there's nothing to the saucers,
why sit on the reports?"
"Well,
of course, that's not in my hands," said Colonel Boyd.
"I'm not
trying to get tough," I said. "But I think it's been badly handled. And
that press conference—maybe you sold the newspapers, but a lot of people
still think you're covering up.
"You
going to write an article on that?" said one of the PIO'S.
"That
depends—I'd rather not go on sniping at the Air Force. It seems to me an
off-the-record talk might pay off, if there's some angle I don't know.
Maybe I could even help, if I knew the whole picture."
"We're
honestly not holding out," said Colonel Boyd.
"OK,
Colonel," I said. "I'm sorry if I blew off steam. I know you don't set
the policy."
Within
an hour after I got home I had a call from Colonel Boyd's office,
asking me to come in next day and talk with Chop. I wasn't too excited;
it probably wouldn't lead to anything.
The
first person I saw at the Press Branch was Lieutenant
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Colonel Searles.
Back in '49, he had seemed seriously impressed by reports from competent
pilots, but he was now apparently an out-and-out skeptic. Whether he had
changed, or this was an official front, I still don't know, but in the
press branch he was known as "Death to the saucers" Searles.
Searles
introduced me to Chop, and the two of us talked for about three hours.
At first I had the feeling I was being weighed carefully—not just my
beliefs, but whether I could be trusted.
"You
honestly believe they're interplanetary?" Chop said finally. I told him
I couldn't see any other possible answer. When I repeated what I'd said
to Colonel Boyd, Chop listened without expression, then at the end he
shook his head.
"This
isn't an off-the-record talk. You don't have to keep still. I've been
instructed to help you, and you asked for ATIC sighting reports. Exactly
what do you want?"
The
sudden offer almost caught me off guard.
"Simultaneous radar and visual sightings—the toughest cases you've got,"
I said.
I
expected him to stall, but Chop only nodded.
"I know
they'll explain them as inversions," I said, "but I want to see how they
prove it. I might as well tell you I’ll do my damndest to knock it
down."
"We know
that. Any specific cases in mind?"
"What
about the Washington sightings?"
"They
won't be analyzed for some time."
Here we
go, I thought. The old runaround.
"What
about that Dayton case a few days ago? The AP said two F-86 pilots
chased a disc near Bellefontaine, Ohio. If they got the story right, the
pilots both said it wasn't a mirage or a reflection. Right after that,
the lid went on and reporters weren't allowed to talk to them."
"Yes, I
know about that," said Chop. "I'll ask for it and call you back."
A little
later I asked him how long he'd been on the
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saucer assignment.
He told me he'd seen most of the important cases when he was acting
press chief at Dayton. Here at the Pentagon he'd seen the Intelligence
reports as they came in, sat in on Intelligence conferences, and talked
with top investigators like Major Foumet.
"You
must have a pretty good idea of the answers," I said. "What do you think
is behind this saucer survey?"
"I can't
answer that," said Chop. "On this job I'm not allowed to express any
personal belief."
He lit a
cigarette, waited a moment, then went on, carefully measuring his
words.
"The Air
Force doesn't deny they may be interplanetary. But we have no concrete
evidence to support it."
"What do
you mean 'concrete?'"
"No
wreckage—no bodies—no material objects."
"What
about the pictures you've analyzed?"
Chop
told me later my question had jolted him. For a moment, he thought I had
somehow learned of the secret film. But his dead-pan expression didn't
give me a hint.
"You've
had some photographs," I said. "There have been ten or twelve in the
papers. Maybe some were faked, but two or three looked genuine."
"So far,
none of them has shown any details," said Chop. "No ATIC analysis has
proved anything definite."
Just
before I left, Chop took a copy of my book from a desk drawer. He ran
through it, picked out a few paragraphs.
"You
seem sure the saucers are friendly. If they are interplanetary—and I
said if—why all this long observation without any contact?"
"I don't
know, there could be several answers." I watched his face. "Of course,
if the Air Force thinks they're hostile, I can see why they've kept
quiet."
Chop
gave me a dry smile.
"You
said that-I didn't." He stood up. "OK, I’ll see what I can do on those
cases. It may take a little time."
A week
later he phoned me.
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"Come on
in," he said. "I've got three or four sightings cleared for you."
Still
skeptical, I drove in. The Air Force, I was positive, wouldn't be giving
me cases of any importance—certainly none that would upset General
Samford's statements. Probably they'd be watered-down reports that
didn't prove anything. But they'd be enough to block any claim that the
Air Force was holding out.
"These
may surprise you," Chop said dryly, when he gave me the sightings. I
looked at the first, an Intelligence report which had recently come in
from Oneida Air Force Base in Japan.
Just
before midnight, on August 5, 1952, a saucer carrying a bright white
light had slowly approached the base. Up in the control tower, Air Force
operators quickly focused binoculars on the mysterious light. As it came
closer, they could see a dark, circular shape behind the glow, four
times the light's diameter. A smaller, less brilliant light shone from
the round, dark undersurface of the strange machine.
By this
time tower men had flashed word to a Ground Control Intercept station.
For several minutes the saucer hovered near the tower, its dark shape
clearly visible behind the light. Then it suddenly turned away,
accelerating at high speed.
As GCI
picked up its track, a strange thing happened. The mysterious craft
divided into three units, as if two other saucers had been launched from
the first. While the amazed Air Force men watched, the three machines
raced off, keeping accurate intervals, at a clocked speed of 300 knots.
Calling
a nearby C-54 transport, the tower men tried to vector it in toward the
three saucers. But with its slower speed, the transport had no chance.
In seconds the strange machines disappeared from the area.
Incredulous, I looked at Chop.
"I can
publish this?"
95
He
nodded.
"But
this report proves the saucers are solid objects."
He gave
me his dead-pan look.
"Read
the next one," he said.
The
second Intelligence report was barely a day old. It was dated August 20,
and it came from Congaree Air Base, near Columbia, South Carolina.
On that
morning radar men at a nearby Air Defense Command post were watching
normal traffic when the blip of some unknown object suddenly appeared on
the scope.
When it
was first sighted, the saucer was 60 miles from the ADC post. Almost
instantly the men could see that it was moving at fantastic speed. In a
matter of seconds, as the sweep went around, a row of widely spaced dots
appeared on the glass. While the operators were still staring at the
track, it ran off the scope. Hurriedly, before the blips could fade,
they figured the object's speed. Then they looked at each other,
astonished.
The
unknown machine was making over 4,000 miles an hour.
One
operator hastily cut in his mike. Then he realized it was useless to
flash an alarm. The strange craft was moving at 70 miles a minute—nearly
ten times the top speed of any interceptor. Even if he flashed word
hundreds of miles ahead, jet pilots would see little more than a blur if
they got anywhere near the saucer.
In this
report Air Technical Intelligence had made no attempt to gloss over the
facts. The operators were experts, trained to recognize blips of solid
objects. The radar was working correctly.
Something had streaked through the South Carolina skies that
morning, but the ATIC frankly admitted it had no explanation.
"This is
cleared, too?" I said. "Even this ATIC statement?"
"That's
right," said Chop. "There's only one condition."
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Here it
comes, I thought.
"We want
you to emphasize the fact that our pilots aren't shooting at these
things. We've been catching hell from all over the country." Chop showed
me some telegrams and letters. "They even wire the President, 'In the
name of God, don't shoot at the saucers.' So anything you can do—"
"Sure,
I’ll include that," I said.
"I'll
get you a statement from General Ramey. Go ahead, read the others.
They're not quite so hot as those two, but they're important."
The
third Intelligence report, dated July 23, covered an F-94 chase over
Braintree, Massachusetts. Earlier, GCI had picked up a saucer circling
at high speed, about the time that a bluish-green light was sighted from
the ground. When the F-94 pilot was vectored in, he saw the machine's
light, then locked onto the saucer with his radar. For a few seconds he
tried to close in at full power. But the saucer swiftly pulled away and
disappeared from his scope.
In this
case, too, ATIC had found no explanation.
The next
case, also unexplained, had occurred on the night of July 29. It had
been only a few hours after the Air Force press conference.
At 9:30
p.m., Mountain Standard Time, a yellow-lighted saucer had abruptly
appeared over Los Alamos. It was the second one to be sighted that day
over the atomic energy base. When it was first seen, by an Air Force
Reserve colonel, the machine seemed to be hovering almost over the base.
As nearly as he could tell from the glowing light, its shape was round
or oval.
After a
minute the saucer streaked away, its color changing from yellow to
white. From the way the light swiftly shrank in size, the machine's
speed had been terrific. It disappeared within 15 seconds.
"Another
color-change report," I said. "I guess you've had a lot of them—showing
how these things change color when they speed up or slow down."
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"Yes,
it's nothing new." Chop eyed me a moment. "Any idea why they change?"
"I've
heard one explanation. It was worked out by a Canadian government
engineer; he happens to be in charge of one of their saucer projects.
His answer explains all the color changes and the method of propulsion.
Ever heard of it?"
"Maybe,"
said Chop. "Some of the Canadians came down to check things with Project
Bluebook. We've exchanged information."
Just
then his phone rang. While he was talking, I looked over the last
Intelligence report. This IR had come from an Air Defense Command unit
near Osceola, Wisconsin. It was dated July 28, 1952.
About
2:30 a.m., GCI radar had picked up several UFO's. As in the Washington
Airport sightings, the first tracked speeds contrasted strangely with
the later maneuvers. Most of the saucers were idling along at 60 m.p.h.
until jet interceptors took off. Shortly after this, one machine's
speed jumped to more than 600 miles an hour.
When the
nearest pilot reached 25,000 feet, he spied several rapidly moving
lights east of St. Paul, Minnesota. The saucers coincided with the track
which GCI had given him. At the same time they were also sighted by a
plane spotter of the Ground Observer Corps.
At
Osceola some one had tentatively suggested a meteor shower, obviously
without knowing of the tracked speeds. But an astronomer at the
Washington Naval Observatory later reported this was impossible. Even
the 600 mile-an-hour speed recorded would be entirely too slow for a
meteor, and the original reports of 60 made it ridiculous. The sighting
remained unsolved.
"There'll be some more IR's later," said Chop. "Well probably have that
Dayton report before you finish the article."
Trying
not to show what I felt, I thanked him and left. Getting these reports
had baffled me. It was less than a
98
month since General
Samford had branded the saucers as phenomena with no mass. The Oneida
report, describing a solid machine of some kind behind the light, was
official proof to the contrary. And the other cases were a start toward
wrecking the inversion answer.
Why had
Intelligence released them—to me, of all people? Chop must have had the
Director's permission; no one would dare release the reports against
General Samford's wishes. Yet anyone could see they would give an
entirely new slant on the press conference.
Next day
I was still puzzling over it when I had a call from True, in New
York. A short time back an Army physicist at Fort Belvoir had come out
with a "bell-jar" experiment which produced miniature "saucer" lights.
Though it had now been almost forgotten in Washington, John DuBarry, the
aviation editor of True, wanted me to check on it with a
scientist.
The
leading authority on the ionosphere was Dr. George Ray Wait, of Carnegie
Institute. When I talked with him, he quickly disposed of the Army
physicist's theory.
"I don't
know of any atmospheric conditions that would duplicate the 'bell-jar'
saucers," he told me. "You can do many things in a laboratory which you
can't duplicate in nature."
While we
were talking, he gave me a valuable guide in analyzing saucer reports.
"The question is,
are they navigated?" he said. "If the reports of reversals, sharp turns,
and descents are fully confirmed, then no natural phenomena, to my
knowledge, would explain such sightings."
When I
checked at the Pentagon, Chop told me that the Air Force also had
investigated the bell-jar theory.
"They
agreed with Dr. Wait—there's nothing to it," he said.
On July
29, I was sure; they would have welcomed this bell-jar story, to help
them reduce hysteria. It was plain
99
that something had
happened to cause this change, and especially this sudden cooperation
with me.
Once I
might have thought it part of a cover-up scheme linked with a secret
American weapon. However, that answer was out long ago. The only logical
solution was a new policy of gradually preparing the public. But why the
abrupt turnaround with the July crisis still fresh in the public mind?
Whatever
the answer, it could wait. I still had a job to do, disproving the
inversion angle.
For the
next two weeks I talked with Barnes, Ritchey, Copeland, and most of the
other Control Center men. Though they had cooled off, some were still
bitter about the Air Force inversion answer. For years they had been
guiding airliners through fog, snow, and rain without an accident. When
the weather turned sour, thousands of lives were in their hands. As
expert radar men, they were proud of their record—a record that depended
on their ability to analyze and track blips in a split second.
Then,
overnight, they had been, in effect, called fools-deceived by a simple
atmospheric condition they'd known for years.
"Every
man in here knows temperature-inversion effects," Barnes told me. "When
an inversion's big enough, it picks up all sorts of 'ground
clutter'—water tanks, buildings, shore lines, and so on.
"But
anybody here can recognize it. You'll see huge purplish blobs, but
nothing like those things we tracked. In the six years I've watched the
scopes, absolutely nothing—high-speed jets, storms, inversions, or
anything else —has ever caused blips that maneuvered like that. And
we've had identical weather many times."
We were
watching the main scope as Barnes talked, with Copeland and two or three
others standing nearby.
"The
only other time," interrupted Copeland, "was that night we saw the
'saucer' on Red Airway."
"That's
right," said Barnes. "I'd forgotten that—but it
100
wasn't any
inversion. That was something like these saucers we saw in July, except
that it didn't maneuver."
"What
happened?" I asked him.
"Jim and
I were on duty together," replied Barnes. 'That was before the Control
Center was built; we had our M.E.W. set operating for tests, over in the
terminal. All of a sudden this strange object came racing down Red
Airway—it passed to the west of the field. Since we weren't in regular
operation, we hadn't been paying close attention to the scope, and we
saw it at the last moment. It was going a lot faster than any jet, but
the blips faded out before we could measure the speed. I'd say, to be
conservative, it was well over 800 miles an hour—probably a
lot higher."
"Over
1,000 would be my guess," said Copeland.
Ritchey, Copeland,
Nugent, and all the other controllers were positive the July saucers
could not have been inversion effects. The technicians, too, backed up Bames.
"Beside
that," Chief Engineer J. L. McGivren told me, "there was no ground
clutter either time, except the big blotch we always have at the center
of the scope, where the bottom of the beam picks up the airport
buildings."
When I
checked at the Weather Bureau, I found the same answer. Vaughn D.
Rockne, the senior radar specialist, had never heard of such blips as Bames and his men tracked.
By now
the trail was getting hot. To nail down the answer, I checked with Dr.
John Hagin, the chief radio astronomer at the Naval Research Laboratory.
Hagin took the inversion theory apart in about 30 seconds.
"Even
with a heavy inversion," he said, "conditions would have to be very,
very unusual to cause effects like that. I'd say it was impossible, with
blips pinpointed by three radar stations and lights seen simultaneously
at the same points."
"How
much of an inversion is needed for ordinary effects?" I asked him.
101
"At the
very least, ten degrees Fahrenheit—to get really strong effects it would
have to be much larger. Even then, it couldn't explain the simultaneous
sightings."
As soon
as I could get to a phone, I called Chop.
"I've
got a request. It's the one that Intelligence turned down before—I want
an interview with an Air Force radar expert."
'Maybe
we can work it," said Chop.
"Wait a
second," I said. "I want them to select a radar officer who'll give me
the official opinion. I want to quote him. And I might as well tell you,
I think it'll kill the inversion story."
There
was a silence at the other end.
"Go
ahead, knock my ears down," I said.
"I was
just trying to think who'd be the right man," Chop said calmly. "Give me
a couple of hours."
That
afternoon he phoned me at my home.
"It's
all set. Your man's Major Lewis S. Norman, Jr. He's in the Aircraft
Control and Warning Branch, and he's made a special study of temperature
inversions. Also, he's an interceptor pilot."
I hung
up, puzzled. It was almost as if the Air Force wanted to throw the
Menzel theory overboard. But that didn't make sense. Maybe Major Norman
had an ace up his sleeve.
When I
went into his office, I was braced for a repetition of the press
conference arguments. I didn't get them. Major Norman, a quiet,
friendly, competent man, made no wild claims for the Menzel theory.
"Inversions probably explain some saucer sightings," he said, casually.
"How many, I don't know."
"Exactly
what conditions would it take to explain the Washington sightings?" I
asked him.
"Well,
first, you'd have to have turbulence in the inversion layer. That could
give an effect of high speed and sharp maneuvers."
"The
Weather Bureau men at the airport said there
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wasn't any
turbulence," I told him. "But assuming there had been, how much of a
temperature inversion would it take?"
"On the
Centigrade scale, between five and ten degrees. If you used the
Fahrenheit scale, between nine and eighteen degrees."
"Do you
know what the inversions were on those two nights?" I asked him.
"No, I
wasn't in on the investigation."
"The
first night it was just one degree Fahrenheit. The second time it was
barely two degrees."
If
Norman was surprised, he didn't give any sign.
"Are
those the official Weather Bureau figures?" he said.
"Yes, I
double-checked them, and I also saw the inversion graphs. Would you
still say inversions could be the answer?"
"No—they
couldn't possibly explain the Washington sightings."
This was
it. But it still seemed unbelievable that the Air Force would admit it.
"You
realize I'm going to quote you as the official Air Force spokesman?" I
asked Norman.
"Yes, I
know," he said quietly. "They gave me the whole picture."
That
evening I went over all that had happened, step by step, but I was more
baffled than ever. A month ago the Director of Air Force Intelligence
and his experts had done their best to explain the Washington cases as
inversion phenomena. Now, an Air Force spokesman, furnished me with the
help of Intelligence, had officially knocked that answer flat.
It was
true this did not completely upset the inversion theory. The Air Force
might insist that it explained other simultaneous sightings. But the
claim would certainly be weakened by Major Norman's admission.
There must be some
logical explanation for the Air Force action, even if I couldn't see it.
Whatever it was,
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there was no sense
in pushing Chop for the answer. I was getting the facts; that was what
counted.
Meantime, sighting reports were still coming in from many parts of the
country. But the press conference had had its intended effect. Radio
stations were putting psychiatrists on the air to debunk the saucers as
figments of imagination. Many papers now gagged up sighting reports,
making the witnesses sound like gullible morons. One of the most
sarcastic was the Republican Times, at Ottawa, Illinois. In an
editorial Managing Editor Herbert Hames told his readers:
"For
five years, we've shrugged our shoulders and resigned ourselves to
reading about deranged discs that flit from one end of the country to
the other . . . The most exhaustive investigations have failed to
uncover a solitary substantial clue to their existence. We're not
printing saucer stories any more. And we invite the other 1700 daily
newspapers to join in a fight against feeding pap to the public."
Some of
the public, however, had their own ideas. In all the letters I'd
received since July 29, less than 20 per cent believed the Air Force
statements. Many letters to newspapers showed the same disbelief as
this one in the Washington Star:
"The Air
Force states that the things are perfectly friendly heat inversions and
that they are positively not holding out on the public. I'm greatly
relieved. If I should happen to see a thingamajig in the sky, I'll just
say 'not so' three times, throw some salt over my left shoulder and go
on my way.
E. S. Walker."
The
apparent brush-off by the Air Force had one unexpected result. Several
groups of reputable civilians began private investigations of the
saucers. One was the Delaware Flying Saucer Investigative Associates,
which was organized by a National Guard general and included experienced
pilots and aeronautical engineers. Another investigation
104
was sponsored by
Ohio Northern University, at Ada, Ohio. Labeled "Project A," this saucer
research unit included the departments of mathematics, astronomy,
chemistry, physics, electrical and mechanical engineering, and
psychology.
"What do
you think of these private outfits?" I asked Chop, when he called me in
one day.
"We're
not against them," he said, "but there's one bad effect. It gives the
public the idea we're not taking the saucers seriously."
"After
that press conference you couldn't expect anything else."
Chop
looked unhappy.
"I know,
but we are working hard on it. Sightings are being analyzed more
carefully than ever—even some apparent hoaxes. The trouble is we've
learned as much as we can until the saucers move into a new phase."
Two
weeks before, newspapers had carried a new "natural phenomena" theory
by two Chicago engineers. The saucers, they said, were only pockets of
ionized air, caused by the recent A-bomb tests in Nevada.
Chop
smiled wearily when I mentioned it.
"I wish
to heaven it were right. We could stop scrambling all those jets, tell
the public this was it, and close the project. But ATIC had scientists
look into that long ago, though they knew it wasn't the answer—we had
sightings before the first A-bomb blast. No, it's just another wild idea
by people who don't know the evidence. If they'd seen Intelligence
reports like these, they'd know better."
He took
two new IRs from a folder.
"If you
think Major Norman told you something, read these. Funny thing, this
first one happened the very night of the press conference."
This UFO
encounter, the report showed, had occurred just ten minutes before the
"yellow saucer" sighting at Los Alamos. At 9:40 Central Standard Time, a
GCI station in Michigan was tracking three F-94s which were
105
making practice runs
on a B-25 bomber. Suddenly a trail of saucer blips appeared on the
radarscope. The unknown machine was making 635 m.p.h., flying a course
of 350 degrees.
Seconds
after the blips appeared, GCI called Captain Ned Baker, one of the F-94
pilots. Giving him the UFO's position, they ordered an interception.
Baker
put the jet into a steep climb and his radar operator, Lieutenant Guy
Sorenson, carefully watched the rear-pit scope. As the F-94 reached
20,000' feet, GCI vectored Baker into a left turn. A moment later
Sorenson picked up the saucer's blips and locked on. The UFO was four
miles away, flying at their altitude.
Calling
Baker on the intercom, Sorenson gave him the bearing. Peering into the
night, Baker saw the strange machine, its position marked by a flashing
light. As he watched, the light changed from red to green to white,
alternating at regular intervals. Opening up to full power, he tried to
close in.
Back at
Ground Control, fascinated radar men watched the chase on their scope.
They could tell the F-94 was at its maximum speed. But the saucer,
slightly increasing its speed, easily stayed ahead.
For 20
minutes Baker stubbornly kept on. By now they were over Sanilac County,
at a point some 20 miles north of Port Huron. The lights on the saucer
were still flashing red, green, and white and its blips were clear on
Sorenson's scope—exactly where GCI had them on its screen.
Finally
Baker gave up and turned back. Though he didn't know it, several
residents of Sanilac County had also seen the saucer. Every night for
the past week machines of this same type had been sighted over the
county, identified by their red, green, and white lights.
When I
finished the action account, I looked down at the ATIC conclusion. I
read it twice to be sure I was seeing correctly:
"The
temperature inversion theory will not explain
106
simultaneous visual
and radar sightings when observers on the ground and in planes see a UFO
at the same spot, when a plane's radar has locked on the object, and
ground radar stations have both the plane and the UFO on their scopes at
the same spot. Conclusion: Unknown."
I looked
up, caught Chop studying my face.
"Al" I
said, "what the devil goes on here? This absolutely contradicts—"
"I
know," he interrupted. "But if you think that's hot, read the other one.
You've seen the preliminary, but this is the final analysis."
It was
the Bellefontaine case, the saucer chase which the AP had briefly
mentioned before ATIC banged down the lid.
At 10:51
a.m., August 1, 1952, radar men at a GCI post had spotted a fast-moving
saucer. Apparently it was observing Wright-Patterson Field, for the
track showed it not far from the base, though at a high altitude. About
this same time the strange machine was seen from the ground by several
civilians near Bellefontaine. It appeared to be round, with a shiny,
metallic gleam.
When the
blips came on the scope, two F-86 jets were about ten miles from the
saucer, on a GCI intercept problem. The two pilots, Major James B.
Smith and Lieutenant Donald J. Hemer, were immediately vectored toward
the UFO. (Since the AP got their names, I have been allowed to use them
in this case.)
As Smith
and Hemer reached 30,000 feet, they saw a bright, round, glowing object
maneuvering above them. To make certain it was not a ground reflection,
both pilots changed course, circled, and climbed, to view it from
different angles. The saucer's appearance did not change. Positive it
was a solid object; both pilots switched on their gun-cameras and
climbed at full power.
At
40,000 feet the mysterious device was still above them. Pulling up at a
sharp angle, Major Smith tried to get a picture. But his F-86 stalled
and fell off. When
107
Hemer nosed up for a
camera shot, the same thing happened.
Then
Major Smith, climbing again to 40,000 feet, made a second attempt. This
time he was successful, and he clicked off several feet of film before
the plane stalled.
As he
began the camera run, Smith's radar gun sight had caught the saucer for
a moment. (Hemer's radar sight was "caged"—inoperative—so he saw no
radar blips.) From the range of his radar set, Major Smith knew the
unknown device must be between 12,000 and 20,000 feet above him to cause
such a weak blip.
To
confirm his estimate he quickly checked with his telescopic gun sight
and found it just covered the saucer. But before he could get a closer
look, the machine quickly accelerated, disappearing at a tremendous
speed. Later, using the radar and optical sight data, Smith carefully
calculated the UFO's size. Apparently, it had been one of the
medium-sized types. If it had been 12,000 feet above him, then it was
about 24 feet in diameter. If it was at 20,000, its diameter was not
less than 40 feet . . .
The
Intelligence report on this case, which had been cleared for me, also
included the ATIC analysis. To anyone who had been at the press
conference it would have been a revelation.
"The
ground radar squadron established two facts: Reaffirmation that the UFO
moved at 400 knots (480 land miles per hour) and indications that the
F-86s and the UFO appeared simultaneously on the GCI scope. It is
obvious that all eyes and antennas put a fix on the same object.
"The
object was obviously not a balloon, since the speed was too fast. (A
radiosonde balloon was released at 1500 Zebra [10 a.m. Central Time] and
moved off to the east. The object was sighted north-northwest of the
base.)
"The
object moved against the wind, its blip size that of a normal aircraft.
The object was not a known aircraft because the altitude was too high.
It was not astronomical, as the dual radar returns eliminate this."
108
Then, as
the statement continued, Air Technical Intelligence for the second time
kicked the Menzel theory in the teeth.
"The
electronic or visual mirage of meteorological phenomena is out of the
question, as the radar set was on high beam and both would not occur
simultaneously in the same place. The sighting occurred above the
weather. Conclusion: Unknown."
I put
down the report and looked at Chop.
"You
know, of course, what this does to the press conference story."
"They
didn't have all the answers then on temperature inversions. And
remember, General Samford didn't say positively it was the explanation."
"But
that's the impression he gave. Understand, I'm not criticizing the
general. I know he was caught in the middle, and he was doing what he
thought best for the country. What gets me is their releasing these
cases. It reverses everything Samford and James said."
"General
Samford himself decided it."
"Why?"
"You'd
have to ask him."
From
Chop's manner it seemed best to let it drop.
"Can you
say what the gun-camera pictures showed?" I asked.
"They
showed a round object. You can't tell anything else because it's
blurred—it was at least 12,000 feet away."
Later I
saw several of the blown-up pictures. As Chop said, they showed only a
blurred round shape. But that didn't lessen their importance. For the
first time a saucer had been photographed during simultaneous radar and
visual sightings, with the camera plane also locked on by radar. It was
absolute proof that this saucer was a solid object, a controlled,
disc-shaped machine.
The
article I had written, with Air Force help, was already finished when
the Michigan case and the Bellefontaine sighting analysis were given to
me at the Pentagon. The Oneida case, describing the disc shape behind
109
the saucer light,
also was left out because of a last-minute double-check on clearance.
When the final word came, True’s presses were already rolling.
As a
result these important revelations have remained, until now, unknown to
the general public.
Just
before the article went to press, Chop asked me to come in to the
Pentagon.
"I've
got an insert the Air Defense Command wants you to use," he said when I
saw him. For a moment I thought it might be some last-second joker, but
it proved to be only the statement from Major General Ramey:
"No
orders have been issued to the Air Defense Command, or by the Air
Defense Command, to its fighter units to fire on unidentified aerial
phenomena. The Air Force, in compliance with its mission of air defense
of the United States, must assume the responsibility for investigation
of any object or phenomena in the air over the United States. Fighter
units have been instructed to investigate any object observed or
established as existing by radar tracks, and to intercept any airborne
object identified as hostile or showing hostile interest. This should
not be interpreted to mean that Air Defense pilots have been instructed
to fire haphazardly on anything that flies."
"Anything else you want in the story?" I asked Chop.
"No," he
said. "All we ask is for you to try to see the Air Force problem and
give a fair picture." He paused, then went on in a casual tone, "If you
think of any other angles, when you finish this piece, come on back in.
Well give you whatever we can."
I went
out, still wondering. What had caused this about-face, the sudden
cooperation since July? It wasn't because of my talk with Colonel
Boyd—I'd said the same thing for two years before that.
There
must be some deep, underlying reason. But what it was remained a
mystery.
110
CHAPTER VII
Jigsaw Puzzle
Strange as it was, the Air Force rebuttal of the inversion theory
was not the only enigma I'd found. In the past two months there had
been several contradictory incidents.
The
first was the Air Force reaction to a new "little men" report,
started by Joseph Rohrer, a Pueblo radio executive. Ordinarily the
story might have been laughed off. But Rohrer was a respected
citizen, president of the Pike's Peak Broadcasting Company, and he
insisted he was telling the truth. His sober account, given in a
chamber of commerce talk, was headlined by the Pueblo Chieftan,
reprinted in other papers, and broadcast by several Western radio
stations.
According to Rohrer, seven flying discs had fallen into the
government's hands. Three of them, he said, had been forced down in
Montana. Most remarkable of all, one saucer crewman—a man about
three feet tall—had survived when his disc crashed. For two years he
had been kept alive in incubator-type quarters at an isolated spot
in California. At first, attempts to communicate with him had
failed. But gradually he had been educated by means of pictures, and
linguists had now taught him to read and write English.
111
From
Rohrer's description, the saucers consisted of giant rotating discs
with stationary cabins.
"I
have been in one saucer," he told the chamber of commerce men. "It
was 100 feet in diameter and 18 feet thick. The saucer was put
together in five sections, and sleeping quarters for the crew are
tubes with caps on the ends."
The
cabins, he added, were pressured with 30 per cent oxygen and 70 per
cent helium. (The oxygen-helium combination, in a different ratio,
is now being considered by our own space-travel planners.) For
propulsion the discs used electrostatic turbines, and the magnetic
fields created by the rotating rings gave them tremendous speeds.
Variations in the fields, at different speeds, explained the
various color changes so frequently reported.
Because of their high voltages, said Rohrer, the discs usually
avoided close approaches to cities and planes. But on one occasion,
in a section of Seattle, fuses were blown and electric appliances
were burned out when a disc momentarily flew too low.
The
government, Rohrer concluded, was keeping it secret because of
possible panic.
When
this report became public, some people tied it to the Aluminum Man
story of 1950: the capped sleeping tubes sounded like the "silvery
capsules" with little men, supposed to have fallen from a disc hit
by antiaircraft fire.
As
Chop had expected, Rohrer's story brought a new crop of letters
demanding the truth. He told me that ATIC knew nothing of the discs
Rohrer reported.
"Why
doesn't the Air Force publicly deny it?" I asked him.
"We'd rather not," said Chop.
"Why? Colonel Watson denied the Scully story, and this man's gone a
lot farther. He claims he's been inside a saucer. I don't see how
you can let it stand."
Chop
shook his head dubiously.
"It'll cause more publicity if we make a statement."
112
"Well, then make him retract the story without mentioning the Air
Force."
"How?" said Chop. "We can't order Rohrer to retract it."
"Have General Samford get him on the phone and throw a scare into
him. Put it to him point-blank—where did he see the saucer, what
date, who were the officers that showed it to him? The general could
tell him he'd have to retract it or the Air Force would blast him.
Even if Rohrer meant it just as a joke, a lot of people will believe
it, if you let it ride."
Chop
rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"It's an idea—about General Samford, I mean. I'll put it up to
Intelligence."
Next
day he told me it had been turned down.
"We'd have to go through channels—this way, it might offend the Area
commander."
"That sounds pretty flimsy to me," I said. "I don't know of any
regulation that keeps the Director of Intelligence from making a
phone call."
"Anyway, local Intelligence men would have to check on Rohrer's
story."
"If
you know it's bunk, why bother to check?"
"That's the routine."
"What about the people who wrote in? You going to tell them it was a
hoax?"
"No.
Well just say we haven't any knowledge of what Rohrer claims."
Shortly after this the story of a sensational encounter by a West
Palm Beach scoutmaster, hit papers all over the country. After the
Rohrer case, I expected the Air Force to ignore it. But Intelligence
surprised me.
The
saucer encounter took place in a woods near West Palm Beach, on the
night of August 19, 1952. About 9 o'clock that evening, Scoutmaster
D. S. Desvergers and three scouts were riding home from a meeting
when they saw strange lights in the woods. Leaving the boys in his
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car Desvergers
went to investigate, carrying a machete and a flashlight.
Two
minutes later one of the scouts saw a reddish-white ball of fire. It
came from about the height of the trees and seemed to slant down
toward the spot where Desvergers had last been seen. When the
scoutmaster failed to return, one boy ran to the nearest house and
phoned for the sheriff.
Just
as the sheriff arrived, Desvergers came out of the woods, apparently
badly frightened and on the verge of exhaustion. He had reached a
clearing, he said, when he realized something was hovering above
him. Pointing his flashlight upward, he saw a metallic disc-shaped
machine about 25 feet in diameter. An instant later the saucer's
turret opened. Then a fiery spray shot out at him, scorching his
arm and burning his hat. When he got to his feet after lying dazed
for a few minutes, the saucer was gone.
Many
people took Desvergers' story seriously, and with good reason. The
scoutmaster's arm was curiously reddened, his hat was burned, and
when the sheriff searched the clearing he found a small scorched
area. But later Desvergers refused to talk with reporters, holding
his story for a magazine sale, and some people, like me, began to
wonder.
However, there had been one other case where a saucer was said to
have burned an observer. Two boys at Amarillo, Texas, had reported
seeing a small disc land near them, its top section still spinning.
When one boy touched it, the rotating part speeded up, throwing off
a hot gas or spray. Then the disc took off with a whistling sound
and quickly disappeared.
To
back up this incredible story, the boy displayed some odd red spots
on his face and arms. Later I was told that Intelligence had made no
investigation; apparently they believed the story had been made up
to cover some childish prank which had caused the burns. It sounded
like a logical answer.
Remembering this, I expected the Desvergers case to
114
get the same
treatment. Instead, I found that Ruppelt had been ordered to fly to
Florida for an on-the-spot check. After quizzing Desvergers, Ruppelt
took the scoutmaster's cap back to Dayton for analysis.
"What's the low-down on that case?" I asked Chop a few days later.
No
final conclusion yet," he said. "Personally, I wouldn't waste time
on it."
But
even if there was nothing to the story, one fact stuck in my mind.
The Air Force had ordered a special investigation by Captain
Ruppelt, instead of a routine check by an Intelligence officer from
Miami. At least they had not believed such an encounter impossible.
While I was thinking this over, a new "space ship" report came in,
from the town of Pittsburgh, Kansas. There was only one witness, a
musician named Squires, who worked at station KOAM.
Just
about dawn, on August 27, Squires was driving into Pittsburgh when
he saw something hovering above an open field. When he got closer he
saw it was a machine composed of two huge discs, one above the
other. Between them was a round cabin with three or four curved
windows, through which he could see a bluish light. The discs, he
said later, were about 75 feet in diameter.
The
saucer, Squires reported, was hovering ten feet above the ground. He
got out of his car, cautiously approached the strange machine. As
he came nearer, he could dimly see movement inside the cabin. Though
he was not sure, he thought he saw a shadowy, humanlike figure. At
the same time he heard an odd, pulsating sound from some unknown
type of machinery.
Before he could get any closer, the blue-lighted ship suddenly
lifted. Taking off straight up, it swiftly climbed out of sight.
Since there were no other witnesses, the musician's story was
ridiculed by some papers. At the Pentagon I found three different
reactions. Though a check on Squires showed he had a reputation for
honesty, Lieutenant Colonel
115
Searles gave his
story the horselaugh. Chop took it more seriously, but he denied
that Project Bluebook was making a special investigation. In view of
this, I was surprised when an Intelligence officer gave me a tip on
the case.
"Don't write off the Pittsburgh sighting," he said. "If I were you,
I'd go out there and check on it personally. Also, I'd get all the
facts on that Pan American sighting near Norfolk. It's one of the
most impressive reports we have."
A
New York trip kept me from going to Kansas, but I put in a request
for the two case reports.
"I
can tell you right now about the Pittsburgh sighting," said Chop.
"The Project's listed it as unexplained. They got some soil samples
from the spot where the thing was hovering, so they could test for
radioactivity. But the samples were broken up when they came in, so
they couldn't make an accurate analysis."
While I was waiting for the Pan American report, I found myself
faced with another puzzle—the case of the "Sutton Monster."
Of
all the eerie saucer stories, this was the weirdest. There is good
evidence that this was merely a case of autosuggestion and
hysteria, but it has some peculiar angles.
The
action took place near Sutton, West Virginia, on the night of
September 12. Early that evening a glowing object was seen by
thousands of people as it flashed over the state. Among those who
saw it, near Sutton, were Mrs. Kathleen May, her three young boys,
and a 17-year-old National Guardsman, Gene Lemon. Though they
couldn't be sure, they thought they saw something land on a nearby
hill.
It
was dark when they climbed the slope, and Gene Lemon turned on his
flashlight. The first thing they noticed was an unpleasant,
suffocating odor. As they neared the spot where the object seemed to
have landed, two shining eyes were reflected in the light. Thinking
it was a raccoon on a limb, young Lemon caught it in the beam.
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The
light fell squarely on a huge figure, at least nine feet tall, with
a sweaty red face and protruding eyes about a foot apart. As the
light fell on it, the monster's body glowed a dull green, then with
an odd hissing sound it started toward them.
Terrified, Mrs. May and the boys fled down the hill. While Mrs. May
was phoning the sheriff, her mother noticed a queer oily substance
on the boys' faces. Soon after this, their throats began to swell.
Later it was suggested that the monster had sprayed the boys with
some kind of gas; but in the excitement Mrs. May could not be
certain.
When
the sheriff arrived, a fog was settling over the hillside. Twice he
tried to get his dogs to lead him to the spot where the monster had
been seen. Each time they ran away, howling, and he gave up until
morning.
During the night the Lemon boy became seriously ill, almost in
convulsions. His throat, like those of the May boys, was strangely
inflamed and swollen. Later, a doctor compared the effects with
those of mustard gas.
Just
after sunrise, according to a Sutton school-board member, a strange
machine took off from the hilltop. When the sheriff and his men
searched the area they found tracks on the ground, the grass mashed
flat, and bits of what looked like black plastic. There was no trace
of the fearful-looking creature Mrs. May and the boys had
described.
Such
was the Sutton Monster tale.
When
the story first appeared, it gave none of the evidence found on the
hilltop, and I put it down to hysteria. As a joke, I phoned Chop.
"How
many Intelligence officers are you rushing down to Sutton?"
"You, too?" he said sourly. "We're not even bothering to
investigate. Several astronomers said a meteor went over there.
Those people must have dreamed up the rest."
But
the Sutton story wasn't so easily downed. Radio commentators
repeated it all over the country. A newspaper
117
syndicate ran a
series of articles. Then Mrs. May and the Lemon boy appeared on "We,
the People" and retold their frightening experience. It was obvious
they believed the monster was real, and a dozen papers and magazines
sent staff writers to Sutton for new angles on the story.
"This could get out of hand," I told Chop. "Why doesn't the Air
Force squelch it?"
"We've already said the object was a meteor," he retorted.
"A
lot of people don't believe it. And the way this has built up, it's
bad. It plants the menace idea ten times more than Desvergers' story
did."
(About three months later, when the scoutmaster's story appeared in
the American Weekly Magazine, Desvergers said he had seen a
terrifying creature in the saucer's turret —so dreadful he would not
even describe it. But in September, when the Sutton case broke,
this was not widely known.)
"It'll die out," Chop insisted.
"But
people will remember it later, if something breaks. Why doesn't
Intelligence go down there and kill it? They sent Ed Ruppelt to
Florida, and that thing didn't have half the potential danger."
"We
didn't know the answer to that one. This time we do. All those
people saw was a meteor—they imagined the rest. We can't send
Intelligence officers out on every crazy report—Project Bluebook
hasn't the people or the funds."
But
that didn't stand up. Major Fournet and other investigators were
available in Washington; a plane from Bolling Field could get them
there in an hour. A local Intelligence officer could have been sent
from the nearest base, or the check-up could be made by the Air
Force Office of Special Investigation, which had men in West
Virginia.
Despite Chop's answer, the Air Force hands-off attitude seemed
peculiar to me. For the monster story was having a serious effect,
in addition to letters from worried
118
Americans. With
the Air Force apparently refusing to act, some civilian
investigating groups were now taking over at Sutton. One of these
was the Delaware organization, which made a careful check at the
scene.
"This monster story could very well be true," one of the Delaware
group told me. "We've gone over all the evidence, and we re
convinced those people aren't faking—they're absolutely convinced
they saw the thing. And from what we saw, something did land on that
hill."
Soon
after this, I discovered that the Air Force had not ignored the
Sutton report. To avoid public attention Intelligence had worked
through the West Virginia state police, securing all the details.
Later, from a source outside the Pentagon, I heard that Intelligence
had followed this up by sending two men in civilian clothes who
posed as magazine writers while interviewing witnesses. Even if this
was not true—and the Air Force denied it—their check through the
state police showed more interest than they had admitted.
There was only one reasonable answer, and I should have seen it
before. If the Air Force had sent investigators publicly in the hope
of killing the story, it might have backfired. Papers and magazines
would picture the Intelligence officers as making a serious
investigation. It might seem proof to some people that the Air Force
was soberly impressed by the report—or at least that giants from
space were considered a strong possibility.
When
the time came to admit that the saucers were real, the slightest
official hint of possible menace would be quickly remembered. From
that angle the Sutton story was dangerous, with its picture of a
fearsome creature intelligent enough to build and control space
ships. It was far better to brand the whole thing as a
hallucination— which Intelligence evidently believed was the answer.
It
was not until months later that I found my guess was right. In
January, 1953, I was told what Intelligence believed to be the basic
facts.
First, the glowing object seen by Mrs. May and the boys
119
actually was a
meteor; it merely appeared to be landing when it disappeared over
the hill. Second, the group did see two glowing eyes, probably those
of a large owl perched on a limb. Underbrush below may have given
the impression of a giant figure, and in their excitement they
imagined the rest. Third, the boys' illness was a physical effect
brought on by their fright. Fourth, the flattened grass and supposed
tracks were caused by the first villagers when they came to
investigate.
Civilian investigators who examined the hilltop refuse to accept
these answers, especially in view of the doctor's report on the
boys' inflamed throats. Whether or not the Air Force analysis is
correct, one point is certain—Intelligence carefully avoided a
public investigation in order to prevent hysteria.
But
for months no one at the Pentagon would admit it.
"We're simply not bothering with monster stories," Chop repeated,
when I asked him again in November. "We've got enough trouble with
confirmed sightings."
By
way of proof he gave me two Intelligence reports from ATIC.
The
first sighting had been on August 3, at Hamilton Air Force Base in
California. At 4:15 p.m., two huge silvery discs, flying at
different altitudes, had raced out of the east. As jet pilots on the
ground watched them, the higher machine dived to the other one's
level. Then the two saucers began to circle the base, maneuvering
like fighter planes in a dogfight.
The
pilot who saw them first, Lieutenant D. A. Swimley, had always
scoffed at the saucers. Still incredulous, he got a pair of
binoculars and trained them on the strange craft. He could plainly
see their round shapes, but the discs were too high for detailed
observations.
By
this time GCI radar had picked up the saucers' blips, and plane
spotters were phoning in reports. While interceptor pilots were
dashing for their F-86s, six more discs came into sight and joined
the others. As Swimley and other pilots watched from the ground, the
saucers took
120
up a
diamond-shaped formation, heading into the west. Before the jets
could reach their altitude, the machines had vanished.
When
an Intelligence officer questioned Swimley, he estimated the discs
to be 60 to 100 feet in diameter.
"And
don't tell me they were reflections," he added. "I know they were
solid objects."
The
second sighting had been made by Colonel Carl Sanderson, another jet
pilot who had also been a skeptic. In a coolly factual report he
told Intelligence officers he was now convinced the discs were real.
"On
the 24th of August," he said, "I was flying an F-84 at 35,000 feet,
en route to Turner Air Force Base, in Georgia. At 10:15, Mountain
Standard Time, I sighted two round silvery objects flying abreast
over Hermanas, New Mexico. One made a right turn, in front of my
F-84. Both objects disappeared at very high speed, then reappeared
over El Paso, Texas. I saw one climb straight up, two or three
thousand feet. Then the second one came across in front of me and
joined the other in close formation. In a few minutes they both
vanished. From their maneuvers and their terrific speed, I am
certain their flight performance was greater than any aircraft known
today."
In
both of these cases, and especially at Hamilton Field, there had
been ample time for pilots or ground men to try to signal the
saucers. But the reports made no mention of such an attempt.
At
the end of the July press conference, I had asked Colonel Bowers
about this. He told me the Air Force had never tried to communicate
with the saucers, and Ruppelt had given me the same answer.
Now,
after reading the two IRs, I brought it up again.
"Why
didn't somebody try to signal those discs?" I asked Chop.
"Probably didn't think of it," he said.
"Are
you sure the Air Force has never tried it?"
"Positive. Oh, some pilot may have blinked his lights
121
or tried a radio
contact—but there's no official plan for communication."
"Why
don't they work out a program? It would be easy to set up a simple
code system—the same one would work for radio and blinking lights.
All the airliner pilots could be in on it, too."
Chop
reached for a cigarette, took his time lighting it.
"We
can't set up any public scheme like that. People would take it as an
official admission."
"Of
what?" I said as he stopped.
"That the saucers are interplanetary."
"It's pretty clear from all these reports that Intelligence thinks
so."
"Even if the evidence did indicate it," Chop said carefully, "the
Air Force would never admit it until they had absolute proof and
knew all the answers."
"How
much do they know? They must have most of the picture—except maybe
the motive back of all this."
Chop
silently shook his head, and I let it drop.
Once
again I'd come up against the invisible wall. In talks with Air
Force officers I'd met the same resistance. Time and again I'd been
given proof that the saucers were real, that they were super
machines capable of speeds and maneuvers no earth-made craft could
attain. Beyond this, most of my questions had been neatly evaded.
Even
so, I'd come a long way since July. The first riddle had been
cleared up—I knew now why I was getting this close cooperation.
It
was a curious situation. The officers and civilian officials
involved in UFO policy decisions were divided, roughly, into three
main groups. The first, which I’ll call Group A, believed that
sighting reports should be made public to prepare the country for
the final solution—whatever it proved to be. Most of the men in
this group had seen all the evidence and were convinced the saucers
were machines superior to any known aircraft. The other two groups
believed in silence, but for different reasons. Those in the B group
also had seen the evidence, believed the
122
saucers were
real, but feared the effect of a public admission. Group C was made
up of hardheaded nonbelievers. Most of them had never troubled to
examine the ATIC evidence; the few who had, flatly refused to
believe it.
Since the first part of '52, Group A had urged that ATIC files be
opened to the press. At first the two "silence" groups stubbornly
resisted. But there was one argument that carried weight. The Soviet
might suddenly claim that the saucers were Russian weapons. With the
country ignorant of the facts, many Americans might believe the lie,
increasing the chance of nationwide stampedes if the Russians made
a sneak attack.
Reluctantly the "silence" men gave ground. The first result had been
the Life and Look articles, written with ATIC aid.
Then the July crisis arose, forcing Intelligence to debunk the
saucers. When the danger of a panic was over, Group A began to fight
again, pointing to the July hysteria as proof for their case.
At
this time, by sheer good luck, I had gone to the Pentagon and made
my offer. By then the Menzel theory had served its purpose; some
Intelligence officers felt it should not be allowed to stand as the
official answer. Believing that I would give a fair picture of the
Air Force problem, Intelligence had released the facts which wrecked
the inversion story.
Some
time after the article was written, an Intelligence officer gave me
a new slant on Project Sign and the early investigation.
"I've read your book," he said. "You were right about the policy of
explaining sightings, but you had the reasons all wrong. Back in
those days most Air Force people were convinced the saucers didn't
exist. It seemed just too fantastic. Oh, there were a few in
Project Sign who thought the saucers must be real, but the evidence
wasn't so definite then and the majority believed each sighting must
have a conventional explanation. So that was the guiding policy, to
find the most likely answer. Some of them, I’ll
123
admit, were
farfetched, but the policy was based on an honest belief."
"What about the space visitor’s suggestion?" I asked. "The one that
said spacemen might have seen our A-bomb explosions and were
investigating."
"That was only speculation. It would have been better if that hadn't
been released—and that goes for those 'explaining-away' reports you
quoted. You made a good case. No one could have come to any other
conclusion, after digging into the evidence as you did. But we
weren't trying to prepare the public because we just didn't know the
answers. And that's the God's honest truth."
After this talk, I asked for all the old ATIC reports and rechecked
the main cases. Though I wasn't completely convinced, I could see
this new slant might be true—the Air Force might not have been
hiding the answer, back in the early years.
But
I was positive they knew a lot more than they were telling now.
By
this time—it was mid-November—the Pan American-Norfolk report had
been cleared for me. I could see why Intelligence had been
impressed. This was one of the very few cases where pilots had flown
above the saucers. Seeing the discs at a low altitude, with the
earth as a background, the pilots had been able to make accurate
estimates of their size and speed.
On
that night, July 14, the weather had been CAVU— clear and visibility
unlimited. In the darkness of early evening the pilots could see the
distant lights of Norfolk and Newport News.
It
was 9:12 by the cockpit clock when Nash and Fortenberry saw the
strange reddish glow ahead. A split second later they could see the
six discs. Glowing an orange red, like hot metal, the saucers
approached at fantastic speed, a mile below the airliner. By
comparison with ground objects, 2,000 feet below them, the discs
appeared to be 100 feet in diameter.
The
six strange craft were in echelon formation, the
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leader at the
lowest point. Apparently sighting the DC-4, the first disc abruptly
slowed, its bright glow dimming noticeably. As it slowed down, the
next two discs wobbled for an instant. To the pilots it seemed they
almost overran the leader, as if his signal had come too quickly.
Then
in unison all six discs flipped up on edge. From that brief glimpse,
they seemed to be about 15 feet thick. Only the upper surfaces
glowed; the sides and the bottoms appeared to be dark.
With
a violent change of course—at least 150 degrees— the saucers
streaked away. Flipping back to their original flat position, they
again lined up in echelon, their glow brightening swiftly as if from
an increase in power.
A
second after this two other discs raced under the DC-4 and joined
the six ahead. In the two or three seconds it took to catch up,
these discs seemed to glow the brightest of all.
Suddenly all the saucers went dark. When their glow reappeared, the
pilots saw that all eight machines were now in line. Heading west,
the discs climbed to a high altitude and quickly vanished in the
night.
After radioing the Norfolk tower, Nash and Fortenberry estimated the
discs' speed with a Dalton Mark 7 computer. The distance covered,
from the first sighting to the point of disappearance, was about 50
miles. The strange machines had traveled this distance in not over
15 seconds, at a speed of 200 miles a minute.
It
was an unbelievable figure. Later, in talking with reporters, the
pilots warily gave the speed as "something over 1,000 miles an
hour." Even in their confidential reports to Intelligence, the two
men hesitated in telling their true estimate. But to their surprise
the Air Force men did not scoff, either at the incredible speed or
the discs' fantastic reversal in course.
From
the way the saucers abruptly lighted up when first sighted, the
pilots suggested they might have been hovering near Norfolk. Perhaps
they had been observing the city, the naval base, or the naval air
station. Or they
125
could have been
waiting to rendezvous with the two other discs.
Regardless of their purpose, both Nash and Fortenberry were
convinced the discs were intelligently controlled machines from
outer space. Whether they were under remote control, or guided by
creatures inside, neither man would hazard a guess. But both agreed
that no human being on earth could have stood the shock of the
discs' violent maneuvers.
In
the Intelligence report ATIC made no comment on the pilots' opinion.
As usual, in unsolved cases, it ended with a terse: "Conclusion:
Unknown."
Because of its precise details, the Norfolk sighting was later
included in the secret briefings at Washington. With all the
developments since July, I had forgotten about these briefings.
Then, early in December, I heard that Intelligence officers had
given a new report on the saucers to high Defense officials, among
them Admiral Cal Bolster.
Though we were old friends, I knew Cal couldn't reveal what he'd
been told secretly. But it gave me a new angle to try at the
Pentagon, so I went in and saw Chop.
"How
about putting some cards on the table?" I asked.
"Such as what?" he said.
"The
lowdown on the saucer briefings."
"What do you want to know?" he said warily.
"Are
they top-secret, secret, or confidential?"
"Let's just say they're classified."
"Who
gets them?"
"I
haven't any list. Secretary Finletter's was the only one announced."
"How
about the Director of Naval Research Admiral Bolster?"
"Maybe. I can't say."
"Look, Al," I said, "you and everybody else keep telling me you're
not holding out. I appreciate all that the Air Force has done for
me, but these secret briefings are the key to the whole deal. It's
obvious Intelligence knows something pretty hot—"
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"They don't have all the answers," Chop said flatly. "They simply
discuss recent sightings, like the ones you've got."
"For
two or three hours—busy people like Cal Bolster? They must cover a
lot more than that."
All
that drew was silence. I tried another tack. "Does anybody but the
military get these briefings?"
"Maybe a few top people in certain civilian agencies."
"How
about the President?"
"If
they did brief him, it would be through his Air Force aide."
"Well, have they?"
"Don, I can't answer that," Chop said doggedly. "You'd have to get
it straight from Intelligence."
"They must think there's some real danger, if it's bottled up that
tight."
"It's not that. If you were in on a briefing, you'd get just about
what we've been giving you."
"Then why not give me a transcript of a briefing?"
Chop
threw up his hands.
"We
can't do that. It would show certain secret Intelligence
procedures."
"OK,
Al, I give up. Hope you don't mind the third degree."
He
gave me a weary grin.
"No,
I'm used to it in this job."
For
the next day or two I tried to think of some new approach to the
problem. Temporarily, at least, I seemed to have come to a
standstill at the Pentagon, though they might tell me more later.
But
there was another source I hadn't tried recently— the engineer in
charge of the first Canadian saucer project, Mr. Wilbur B. Smith.
Since 1950, Smith had given me several valuable leads. The Canadian
situation had changed, I knew; security could have muzzled him. But
if not, I might get a clue that would lead to the final answer.
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