CHAPTER VIII
The Canadian Project
About
twice a year since the fall of 1950, Smith had flown to Washington on
official business. Each time, before he left, we had discussed the
saucers and exchanged sighting reports. In the hope that he might be
planning another visit, I wrote him at Ottawa. Then, while waiting for
his answer, I went over the information I had on the Canadian
investigation.
Two
years before this, when I first learned of the Canadian interest in
saucers, most Dominion officials and scientists had been openly
skeptical. But early in '52, after a series of unusual sightings, their
attitude had changed.
Though
most of these recent sightings had been classified, a few were released
to the public. Two of the published reports came from veteran airmen of
the Royal Canadian Air Force.
On the
night of January 1, 1952, an orange-red disc appeared over North Bay,
where the RCAF has a new jet base. For eight minutes, flying at a high
altitude, the machine circled, dived, and zigzagged over the field. From
its estimated height in the stratosphere, the saucer was one of the
largest ever sighted. Its maneuvers were made at supersonic speeds.
When the
report was published, RCAF Intelligence
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refused to comment.
Then a second saucer was reported, again over North Bay. Approaching
from the southwest, it stopped directly above the base. After hovering
for a moment, it swiftly reversed direction. Climbing at an angle of 30
degrees, it disappeared at tremendous speed.
Meantime, other disturbing reports had reached the RCAF. Until then,
many top officers, taking their cue from the Pentagon debunking, had
laughed off the sightings. But after the second North Bay case, a
high-level conference was held at Ottawa.
Four
days later RCAF Intelligence publicly admitted it was starting a serious
investigation. At the same time the Defense Research Board announced a
new project, now secret.
"We are
carefully studying the information," said Dr. O. M. Solandt, chairman of
the Board. "At the moment we are as mystified as anyone else."
Another
official statement was given out by Dr. J. C. Mackenzie, chairman of the
Atomic Energy Control Board and formerly president of the National
Research Council.
"It
seemed fantastic that there could be any such thing," said Dr.
Mackenzie. "At first the temptation was to say it was all nonsense, a
series of optical illusions. But there have been so many reports from
responsible observers that they cannot be ignored. It seems hardly
possible that all these reports could be due to optical illusions."
Dr.
Peter Millman, a famous Dominion astrophysicist, also admitted he was
baffled after studying the sighting reports.
"It is
no good just laughing at these reports. We can't discover any
conventional explanation which would cover the reported maneuvers of
these objects."
Just
four days after the new project was begun, a formation of orange-red
discs was sighted over Toronto, flying high above the city. Then on May
1 a lone saucer, moving at terrific speed, flashed over the Canadian
capital. In this sighting at Ottawa, the disc's speed was calculated
129
as 3,600 m.p.h. by
government investigators from "Project Magnet."
Unknown
to most of the public, this special project had been started three years
before, by geomagnetic engineers and scientists in the
Telecommunications Division, Department of Transport. Its originator,
the engineer in charge, was Wilbur B. Smith.
Probably
no one in Ottawa was better equipped for a saucer investigation than
Wilbur Smith. As the official in charge of broadcast monitoring, he
could direct his men to listen for any strange messages; as a
geomagnetic engineer, with a government laboratory at his disposal, he
could carry out research on certain propulsion theories; through the
official ionosphere observatories he could keep a radar check on saucers
flying at extremely high altitudes.
In
addition to this, Smith was an electronics expert, with several
inventions to his credit. One was a high-speed radio direction finder
used in World War II. Another was a new type of voltameter, and a third
was a regenerative noise filter. He was also an expert on electronic
analysis of graphic charts.
When I
met Smith, in 1950, he was in Washington to represent Canada at an
international conference on wavelength allocation. For two weeks,
between his committee meetings and at nights, we covered every angle of
the saucer problem. A tall, quiet-voiced man with close-cropped black
hair, Smith had the cool detachment of a typical scientist. In our first
talk he told me of the analyses he and his men had made. Then he gave me
his opinion.
"I'm
convinced they're real—that they're machines of some kind. We've weighed
three possibilities. One, they're interplanetary. Second, they're a
United States secret device. Third, they're Russian. The last two don't
stand up. From the weight of evidence I believe the saucers come from
outer space. And I think their appearance is what suddenly increased
your government's interest in space travel and an artificial satellite.
Judging from our
130
own operations, I'm
sure your government also is vitally concerned with learning the secret
of propulsion."
"What do
you think it is?" I asked him.
Smith
laid a pad on the table—we were lunching at a downtown hotel. Then he
sketched a rocket-shaped craft.
"First,
let's consider the parent ship. From the high altitude sightings, I
think it must be a type like this. For power it could use nuclear
fission, mass conversion of energy, or some other revolutionary source,
such as cosmic rays. But our experiments indicate that the true discs,
which are probably launched from large parent ships, utilize magnetic
fields of force. And it's possible that the parent ships also use this
same source of power."
It
wasn't the first time the electromagnetic field theory had been
suggested. Before Scully used the idea, in his story of the little men,
I'd checked it with two or three engineers. But when several well-known
scientists ridiculed the theory, I'd lost interest in it.
The
first hint of electromagnetic propulsion had come in '47, on the day of
Ken Arnold's now famous sighting. About that same hour, an Oregon
prospector later reported, several discs appeared over the Cascade
Mountains. As they circled overhead, his compass needle went wild.
His
claim drew a tart comment from Project Sign analysts.
"It is
difficult to take this seriously. It would imply fantastically large
magnetic fields."
There
had been other hints of discs rotating to utilize magnetic fields. One
report came from the Reverend Ross Vermilion, a former B-29 pilot. The
minister and other witnesses had described a rotating saucer which
hovered a few hundred feet over a Kansas highway. Also, I had found some
scientific support in the experiments of Dr. Fernand Roussel, a Canadian
physicist now living at Lasqueti Isle, British Columbia. In a privately
published treatise called "The Unifying Principle of Physical
Phenomena,"
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Dr. Roussel
explained his theory of universal electromagnetic fields, which he
believed space ships could tap in traveling between planets. (This
treatise, which is now out of print, has several points in common with
Einstein's unified field theory.)
Quoting
Doctor Roussel, I mentioned this propulsion theory in my 1950 book on
the saucers. But after the storm raised by Scully's electromagnetic
explanation, I'd stopped giving it serious thought.
Since
then, several scientists have backed the theory. One who publicly
advanced the idea was Dr. Franz Zwicky of the California Institute of
Technology. In 1951, writing in the Journal of the American Rocket
Society, Dr. Zwicky said that it may be possible to use the
electricity of the ionosphere. In this upper atmosphere ions are
stripped of some outer electrons by the ultraviolet rays of the sun.
This ionization frees molecules which carry large electric charges.
"If we
can tap this electric force," said Dr. Zwicky, "it may prove better than
atomic energy for propulsion."
Recently
the Carnegie Institute of Terrestrial Magnetism admitted new
discoveries about the ionosphere. Until two years ago this layer, which
begins about 50 miles up, was believed to be utterly still. Now,
radio-echo (radar) tracking shows there are high-speed "waves" which
reach speeds up to 540 miles an hour. Unsuspected downward velocities,
as high as 275 m.p.h., also have been discovered. Future ionosphere
research may give us the key to tremendously powerful magnetic forces
now unknown.
Other
reputable groups, including scientists of the British Interplanetary
Society, have suggested space-ship propulsion by means of external
fields of force. It is only the beginning, but it shows the changing
attitude toward this once-derided theory which a more advanced race may
long ago have put to practical use.
In 1950,
however, Wilbur B. Smith and his little group
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were the only
government scientists I knew who took the idea seriously.
"Certainly the theory's been ridiculed," Smith said when I mentioned
some scientists' reaction. "So were plans for the aeroplane, the
helicopter, jets, the A bomb—practically all our modern developments.
I'd have doubted it myself before our experiments."
At the
start the Canadian project was unofficial, though the research was done
in a government laboratory with official approval.
"If you
publish any of this," said Smith, "I want you to make that clear. We're
government engineers and scientists, but we are working on our own
time. We've gone back to the fundamentals of electromagnetism and
examined all the old laws. We know now it is possible to create current
by a collapse of the earth's magnetic field. Eventually, I think, we can
achieve enough current to power a flying disc. And we plan to build such
a disc."
"How
much of this can I use?" I said.
Smith
hesitated. "I'll give you the information, but it will have to be
cleared with my government."
After
his return to Ottawa, Smith rewrote my original draft and sent it to the
Canadian Embassy in Washington. The revised report was cleared for me by
Mr. Arnold Wright, Defense Research member of the Canadian Joint Staff,
after a check at the Pentagon. The following is a verbatim copy of the
most important statements.
"A group
of Canadian scientists has been working for some time on certain
problems connected with the earth's magnetic field. These investigations
appear to point the way to a new technology in magnetics, and if the
initial conclusions are correct, they offer a ready-made explanation for
many of the striking features which have been reported in connection
with the sightings of flying saucers.
"The
basic premise is that it is possible to produce a magnetic 'sink' [the
name arbitrarily chosen by Smith and his engineers] within the earth's
field; that is, a region into
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which the magnetic
flux will flow at a controlled rate, giving up some of its potential
energy in the process. Such a 'sink' would have many interesting
properties, such as the following:
"1. Electrical power could be obtained
from the collapse of the earth's magnetic field into the 'sink.'
"2. Powerful reaction forces could be
developed in a conducting ring surrounding the sink and offset from it,
sufficient to support a suitably designed ship and to propel it.
"3. If the rate of flow of magnetic flux
is modulated, the resulting magnetic disturbances could be used for
communication purposes.
"It is
curious to note that most of the descriptions of flying saucers are in
accordance with the design which would be necessary to exploit the
properties of a magnetic sink. For example, the saucers are described as
consisting of a large circular disc, with a small central cabin. In this
case, the sink could be located in the upper central part of the cabin.
The collapsing field in cutting through the surrounding metallic ring
would induce in it an electric current which would react with the
magnetic field which induced it, producing a force that would have a
substantial vertical component. Support and propulsion of the ship would
then be a combination of this resultant force, the airfoil action of the
disc, and the interaction between eddy currents induced in the disc by
its rotation and the main fields.
"Rotation of the disc may be either deliberate, for the induction of
eddy currents, or may be incidentally caused by the electron drag of the
very large current circulating around the disc. In any case, there is
good observational evidence that the disc appears to rotate.
"Since
the lift on the saucer will be proportionate to the product of the
earth's magnetic field and the field produced by the current induced in
the disc, it follows that when the saucer is accelerating upwards a
greater force is required, and hence a greater circulating current.
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"If the
circulating current is sufficiently large and the cooling of the disc is
inadequate, it may become red or even white hot, which is in line with
several reported observations. Also, under certain conditions of
operation, a very high voltage may be built up between the center and
the rim of the disc, which could result in a corona discharge through
the surrounding air, if the saucer were at a sufficiently high altitude.
Such a discharge would resemble the Northern Lights but would be very
much more intense. This also seems to be confirmed by observations.
"Navigation of such a flying saucer," the report went on, "would be a
very complex process indeed. In the first place, the earth's magnetic
field makes all sorts of angles with the horizontal, depending upon
geographical latitude and peculiar local conditions. Thus the direction
of the force which results from the interaction of the earth's field and
the field of the disc may be in almost any direction.
"Furthermore, the tilt of the saucer to get the reaction force in the
wanted direction most probably will result in aerodynamic forces in some
other direction. Navigation therefore will resolve into a determination
of the field direction, comparison with the direction in which it is
desired to move, and analysis of the aerodynamic forces which would
result from such a motion—and, finally, a suitable correction in the
initial tilt of the saucer and flow of magnetic flux.
"It is
doubtful if a human pilot could manage to do all this at the speed which
would be necessary to maneuver a saucer at the speeds and through the
intricate motions which have been observed. It is therefore highly
probable that the saucer control systems are semi- if not fully
automatic. There are many reports of saucers hovering in one spot for
some time. For a saucer designed to operate as described, this would
probably be its easiest maneuver. It would be necessary merely to adjust
the flux flow and the tilt until the resultant force exactly balanced
the
135
weight of the
saucer. There would be little or no aerodynamic problem in this case.
"There
is no indication that the accelerations to which a saucer crew would be
subjected would be any different from the accelerations experienced in
any other type of aircraft going through the same maneuvers. Those
authorities who have been consulted say that even Einstein's Unified
Field Theory does not indicate that gravity can be neutralized or the
inertia of matter overcome. Where saucers have been observed to execute
close turns and other maneuvers which would result in large
accelerations, it is most probable that such saucers are remotely
controlled and do not contain living matter as we know it."
During
our talks Smith had enlarged on several of the major points. One night,
while we were dining at the Roger Smith Hotel, I told him I was puzzled
by the conflicting reports of the saucers' lights.
"If the
reports are right," I said, "they're every color of the rainbow. And
pilots say they sometimes appear suddenly, or blink out like a light
bulb when it's switched off. It just doesn't make sense to me."
"I think
I can clear it up," said Smith. "Most of the effects are caused by the
disc's rotation, though sometimes a corona discharge is the cause. In
the first place, probably many discs aren't seen at all, especially at
night. If they're not heating up from rotation, and there's no corona
discharge, you wouldn't see one unless it was caught in a searchlight
beam or you saw its metal surface shining in the moonlight."
He
stopped as I held out my cigarette case.
"No,
thanks, I don't smoke." He waited until I had lit up, then went on. "Now
let's assume a rotating ring begins to speed up, so that it overheats
from its movement through the magnetic field. At first, out of the
darkness, you'd see a pale pink—if the speed-up was not too rapid. Then
the color would brighten to red, orange-red, through yellow to the glow
of white-hot metal. If you slowly heat any metal you'll see the same
changes."
136
"That's
right, I've noticed it," I said.
"Now if
the ring's rotation was very swiftly accelerated," Smith continued, "the
human eye couldn't catch the rapid changes. It would go from red to
white too quickly. The same holds true when the rotation is reduced. If
the slowing is gradual, you'll see the various stages as the saucer
turns yellow, orange, red, pink, and finally becomes dark. But if the
rotation were abruptly slowed or stopped, the cooling effect of the air,
especially at high speed, would be very swift. You could get the
impression that the light had actually been turned off."
"It
sounds logical enough," I agreed. "It explains all but the blue and
green combinations."
Smith
paused while the waiter put down our dessert orders.
"Those
colors come from the corona effect. Under certain atmospheric
conditions you'll get the Northern Light colors. At different heights a
certain shade would predominate. For instance, at relatively low
altitudes, any corona discharge would be very short in length and you'd
see more of a blue-white color. Somewhat higher, it would be green, or
bluish green. Higher still, you might see all the normal corona
colors—red, yellow, blue, and green."
"If the
ring were overheating, could you still see a corona discharge?"
Smith
nodded, then qualified the answer.
"Ordinarily a bright red or white glow would nullify it. But if the
rotation speed was only moderate, you might get a reddish color tinged
with blue. Higher up, you'd be more likely to see a red shade, from
heating, tinged with green or bluish green. It would most likely be a
rather hazy effect instead of precise colors. In the majority of cases,
however, you could expect just the red-orange-white range, and the
reports bear that out."
"This
certainly backs up the rotating disc answer," I told him. "It's the
first convincing explanation of all the night sightings."
"It
explains the daytime variations, too," said Smith.
137
"It's
fairly clear, from the reports, that the discs are made of some
silvery-colored metal. In sunshine they gleam like conventional
aircraft. But there are color changes in daytime, when the saucers
maneuver or suddenly speed up. Many of them have been described as
turning red or getting white-hot—also the reverse. However, in bright
sunlight it's harder to detect the changes—and to recognize the disc
shape, too."
"Come to
think of it," I said, "Project Sign mentioned that in its 1949 analysis.
I’ll bring the report next time we get together."
Our next
talk was at the Pan American Union, where the wave-length conferences
were being held. Smith had an hour to spare, and we found an empty room.
I had brought my copy of the final Project Sign report, which contained
one section entitled, "Confidential Analysis of Intelligence Reports."
Though it had been declassified, not many people knew the analysis
details.
Together, Smith and I went over the main points.
"Group
1. The most numerous reports indicate daytime observation of metallic
disc like objects, roughly in diameter ten times their thickness. Some
suggest the cross-section is asymmetrical and rather like a turtle
shell. Reports agree that the objects are capable of high acceleration
and velocity. They are often sighted in groups, sometimes in formation.
Sometimes they flutter.
"Group
2. Lights observed at night. These are also capable of high speed and
acceleration. They are less common in groups. They usually appear to be
sharply defined luminous objects.
"Group
3. Various kinds of rockets, in general like the V-2.
"Group
4. Various devices, probably cosmic-ray balloons.
"Group
5. Reports given little credence.
"In
general, there are few if any indications of noise or radio
interference. Nor are there many indications of any material effects or
physical damage attributed to the observed objects."
138
Smith
carefully reread the last sentence.
"Not
many indications," he said. "That could be taken to mean they do have a
few. I didn't think any disc had come that close."
"What do
you mean?" I said.
'There
is an area of possible danger." Smith reached for a pencil, sketched a
rotating disc, then roughly outlined a city beneath it. "With a disc 100
feet in diameter, for instance, there will be two fairly large fields of
magnetic force around it while it's in operation. If it were to fly low
over this city—let's say at 500 feet—eddy currents would be induced in
power lines and metal surfaces. It could blow fuses, perhaps even burn
out wires. The danger zone might even be larger; possibly it would
extend for a thousand feet. I believe it's the main reason discs have
avoided flying low over inhabited areas."
"How
close could a plane come without danger?"
"Well—"
Smith stopped, gave me a shrewd glance. "You're thinking about Mantell.
Judging from the report, he never got near enough for any such effect.
However, if a pilot did fly into a region where a magnetic field was
collapsing, it would produce eddy currents in his plane.
"At a
moderate distance it would merely throw off his direction finder and
compass. If he were fairly close, it could affect his ignition and set
up strong vibrations in his plane. It might even cause a fire. But the
plane would have to be well inside the danger zone."
"Could
the vibrations cause a plane to disintegrate?" I asked.
"Possibly," replied Smith. "But it would have to be extremely close with
a 100-foot disc. A larger one, rotating at high speed, would have a
greater danger zone, of course."
He
looked back at the Project report.
"I see
they recommended that the discs' flutter be analyzed. What ever came of
that?"
"Nothing
that I know of." I glanced at another section,
139
where Project
analysts had discussed the saucers' shape and color, and checked several
paragraphs for Smith:
"Color.
Observers universally report light-colored objects . . . Seventy per
cent said the objects were glittering, shiny, luminescent.
"Shape.
Over half were reported as round, disc-shaped, spherical or circular.
Very few [observers] saw any distinctive shape . . .
"Individuals who see objects in daylight either look at the reflection
of the sun on a shiny surface, or else directly at a light source of
high intensity. In the war, camouflage experts placed bright lights on
the leading edges of antisubmarine aircraft to conceal them from sub
lookouts. So if observers in daytime actually see lights or the
reflection of the sun on objects, it would account in large measure
for their not identifying them."
"That
also holds for the daytime difference in colors," said Smith. "On a
sunny day a disc could be bright red from rotation, but seen close to
the sun it would appear as just a brilliant object. Also, any corona
effect would be much dimmer in daylight. The farther from the sun, the
more of the true color you'd see.
"On a
cloudy day people have seen the actual color changes. At first a disc
which isn't heating up will look silvery—or gray, on a very dark day.
Then increased rotation will give it a reddish tint, and on through
orange to white. And of course the reverse, as rotation decreases."
"It all
adds up," I agreed. "But what about the rocket-shaped types?"
It was
getting close to Smith's next conference. He looked at his watch,
hesitated.
"Let's
cover that later. Call me tonight and we'll set a date."
Before
our next meeting I listed a few points that still puzzled me. When we
got together for dinner, Smith picked up the discussion exactly where
we'd left off.
"You
were asking about the rocket-shaped types. I think the large parent
ships have that general shape. There may
140
be a smaller
cigar-shaped type operating nearer the earth, but I'm not convinced. A
disc seen at various angles will give all the effects reported."
He took
out a half-dollar, poised it between his fingertips.
"Assume
this is a disc-shaped saucer. Narrow your eyes, so your vision blurs a
little and you don't see the sharp outlines. Now I'm holding it flat,
edgewise to you—you see it looks like a long, extremely narrow
cylinder." He tilted it slowly. "Now it's a narrow ellipse, the typical
'cigar shape.' As I tilt it a bit more, it looks more like a football,
then egg-shaped. And finally it becomes perfectly round."
He laid
down the coin.
"I
believe many, if not all, of the saucers described as egg-shaped, oval,
or cigar-shaped have simply been tilted discs, traveling at varying
angles because of the local magnetic fields. And that brings up another
point—the reportedly sudden disappearances. Take the daytime sightings
first. Suppose a disc seen as round or oval abruptly tilts so it's
edgewise to the observer. At best, all he could see would be a very
narrow cylinder-shape, little more than a line. Except at close range,
the human eye couldn't resolve it—the disc would seem to vanish.
"Abrupt
maneuvers may also explain some of the night disappearances. Some
witnesses describe discs as glowing on top, but dark on the lower side.
It may be that there is a stationary section under the rotating disc,
and only the moving ring heats up. There may be some other explanation.
But if the lower side remains dark, then any maneuver that turned the
bottom toward an observer would give the effect of a sudden blackout."
During
one of our talks Smith had sketched his idea of a flying saucer, showing
a rounded, turret-like central cabin. It was possible, he said, that the
turret might retract in flight, to reduce resistance. I got out the
sketch and looked it over as Smith finished his blackout explanation.
"With
all that heat," I said, "it's hardly possible the things could be
piloted—unless, of course, they're creatures
141
who can withstand
extreme heat as well as tie high gs."
"I
agree," said Smith. "If they were humanlike beings, they'd have to avoid
operations that would cause such heat and high g-forces. The cabin would
need to be heavily insulated. They might also have special cooling
systems, perhaps a non-conducting gas in hollow compartment walls. But I
think most if not all of the disc-type saucers are under
remote-control."
We had
already covered some of the reconnaissance angles. Smith agreed with me
that some of the discs undoubtedly carried television scanners and
cameras. Others, he thought, would be equipped with devices like our
tape recorders, to pick up broadcasts and code messages for later
analysis aboard the mother ship.
Though
he admitted it was pure speculation, Smith also had sketched his ideas
of how discs could be berthed on the larger craft. Each mother ship
could have small cup-shaped niches in its sides, into which the disc
turrets would fit, with the rest of the saucers lying flat against the
parent ship's side.
If the
turrets retracted, it would be even simpler for the discs to attach
themselves to the larger craft. They might be held in place
magnetically, or by some mechanical lock.
Another
angle which Smith had covered was the operating steps. To take off, he
said, the revolving section would be rotated until the resultant cutting
of magnetic fields caused sufficient upward thrust. Since less
resistance would be encountered in edgewise flight, this was obviously
the reason for the discs' tilting up at steep angles, during swift
climbs.
The
actual control was one point which puzzled me, and I asked Smith about
it now.
"Even if
they're remote-controlled from the mother ship," I said, "it must take
some kind of robot to calculate all the forces."
"No
doubt of it," Smith answered. "They probably use an automatic device
which constantly analyzes the magnetic
142
fields through which
a disc is traveling. This robot would be in the disc itself—even if it
were manned. I think it must be linked with the controls, so that it
instantly changes the disc position, and the speed of rotation if
necessary, to compensate for magnetic field variations. And the same
would apply for maneuvers. For turns, climbs, hovering, and other
maneuvers, the operator would have a series of push buttons—whether he
was aboard the disc or on the parent ship. When he pushed a button for a
turn, or to speed up, the robot would do the rest."
Another
thing I had wondered about was the oscillation or flitting motion so
frequently reported.
"They
seem to waver before making a turn or climbing," I said to Smith. "Some
pilots say they've seen the discs oscillate even in straight flight."
"That's
to be expected," he told me. "Let's say a master-control button was
pushed for a turn. There'd probably be a split-second delay while the
robot-analyzer checked the resultant forces needed, then it would move
the controls. This accounts for oscillation before any sudden change
such as a steep climb or a sharp turn.
"In
straight flight, oscillation would be caused by the disc's adjustment to
changing magnetic fields. In a formation, you'll sometimes see
individual saucers wobble in succession as they pass through different
fields."
He
looked at me quizzically as I glanced at my notes.
"I see
you still have some doubts about electromagnetic propulsion."
"No, I
think you're right. Some of the points are hard to grasp, that's all."
"When we
do get all the answers," Smith said soberly, "it will be a tremendous
thing—and we'd better get them before Russia does. Magnetically powered
discs would be terrible weapons. Their range would be unlimited, and
their speeds would be far beyond anything we've even dared hope for.
They'd make perfect guided missiles, and they could easily carry A-bomb
warheads—perhaps even the H bomb, when we get it."
143
"And
their being silent would make it even worse," I added. "You'd never hear
them until they hit."
"Well,
of course, that applies to even slower missiles," said Smith. "The
people in London never heard the V-2s before they struck."
"Incidentally," I said, "that was the last question on my list. I don't
understand why the saucers have never been heard, even at fairly low
altitudes."
"A few
people have reported hearing them," answered Smith. "But most sightings,
I think, have been at altitudes higher than witnesses thought—so high
that you wouldn't hear anything. In two or three cases, when discs
passed overhead at a moderately low altitude, people have said they
heard a swish. And of course if you were very near a saucer on the
ground, or if it was hovering close to the earth, you'd undoubtedly hear
a humming sound from the rotation. That is, unless other sounds—like a
train passing by—drowned it out."
This was
our last meeting before Smith left for Ottawa. It was two months after
this when he sent back the revised version of the article I'd written.
It had been intended for early publication, but was held up to include
details of the Canadian disc experiments. Later in '51, Smith told me
they had made laboratory tests with a rotating disc, but by that time
Project Magnet had been classified. I decided to wait a while longer,
hoping that the details, and pictures of the disc, would be released.
But Smith had been unable to clear them, and the article had remained
unpublished.
Now, as
I read over the material, in December of '52, Smith's earlier
explanations seemed almost uncanny in light of the recent sighting
reports.
For a
careful check I went through my entire file of sightings.
There
were several which described the red-green-yellow-blue combination
indicating a saucer's corona discharge at high altitudes. The most
outstanding case was at
144
Phoenix, where
hundreds of people had seen the so-called "jewel box" saucer.
In
sightings at lower altitudes, case after case bore out Smith's
explanations. During daytime periods, scores of metallic-looking discs
had been seen to change color during maneuvers. One typical report, in
1950, described an encounter near Lewisburg, West Virginia. Two round,
silvery devices had approached the city, then had swung into tight, fast
circles. As the maneuvers began, both discs turned orange-red. When they
straightened out, reducing speed, the orange hue quickly faded and the
discs resumed their normal silvery color.
In
detailed night reports, too, observers' descriptions backed up Smith's
analysis. One carefully reported encounter, which I had personally
investigated, was the dramatic incident near South Bend, on the night of
April 27, 1950. Because of this check-up, I was able to get the
passengers' stories as well as the crew's account.
At 8:25
p.m., a Trans World Airlines DC-3 was droning westward over Goshen,
Indiana. In the left-hand seat, handling the controls was Captain Robert
Adickes, a stocky ex-Navy pilot with ten years' service in TWA. Over on
his right was Robert F. Manning, also a four-stripe captain, who was
acting as first officer on this flight to Chicago.
The
DC-3, Flight 117, was cruising at 2,000 feet when a strange red light
below and behind the airliner suddenly caught Manning's eye. Moving
swiftly, it climbed up on the right, overtaking the plane.
Puzzled,
Manning watched it close in. This was no wingtip light—the red light was
too bright. The DC-3 was cruising at 175 m.p.h., but the mysterious
object overtook it rapidly, the light steadily growing in size. It was
now an orange-red color, like a round blob of hot metal sweeping
through the night sky. Craning his neck, Manning looked down on a
spherical shape which glowed brightly on top, its lower half in shadow.
"Look
over here," he said to Adickes. "What do you make of this?"
145
Adickes
stared down through the starboard window, then told Manning to crank it
open to make sure it was not some freak reflection. The saucer was still
visible, now almost at the airliner's level. Over the top, the pilots
could see scattered ground lights, cars moving on a highway. Adickes
hastily called Air Traffic Control, but ATC had no record of any craft
near their ship.
By this
time the saucer was parallel with the DC-3. As they watched, it slowed
down, keeping pace with the plane. To Adickes it looked like a huge red
wheel rolling down a road. He banked toward it, but the disc instantly
slid away, keeping the same distance. Again he tried, with the same
result.
Calling
the hostess, Gloria Hinshaw, Adickes told her to alert the passengers.
To make sure he had plenty of witnesses, he went back into the cabin,
watching the passengers' reaction. When he returned to the cockpit, he
tried once more to bank in for a closer look. When the disc again slid
away, he cut in sharply, at full throttle, for a direct chase.
Instantly the glowing disc dived, racing off to the north past South
Bend. Adickes estimated its speed at nearly 400 miles an hour. Since it
had been pacing the airliner at 175 m.p.h., this meant it had doubled
its speed in about three seconds. For a few minutes more the weird light
remained visible—a diminishing bright red spot. Then it faded into the
darkness.
Before
meeting the two pilots, I checked on them with TWA.
"Quiet .
. . conservative . . . serious . . . careful," were the reports on both
men. Nobody in TWA questioned that Adickes and Manning saw exactly what
they described.
Captain
Manning, the first one I saw, was an ex-Air Force pilot. He had flown
six years for TWA, and his flight time was over 6,000 hours.
When he
first saw the saucer, Manning said, it seemed a brighter color than when
it flew alongside. Apparently the reduction in power, as it slowed to
pace the DC-3,
146
decreased the
heating effect. He also agreed that the device had evaded attempts to
get near it.
"It was
like flying formation with another plane. The thing seemed to slide away
when we turned toward it."
"How
large do you think it was?" I asked.
"That's
hard to say, because we could only guess at its distance," said Manning.
"But it had to be fairly large. When I first saw it, the thing was near
the horizon, perhaps ten miles away. Even then it was big enough to
stand out."
He
quietly spiked the idea that the saucer had been a jet plane's tail
pipe.
"I've
seen jets at night. If you're directly behind one, you'll see a round
red spot. But this was huge in comparison. Beside, I saw it coming up
from behind us—a jet's exhaust would be invisible from that angle. You
wouldn't see much from the side, either."
Manning
wouldn't speculate as to what the machine was.
"All I
can say is that it definitely was there. And it was uncanny enough to
startle anyone first seeing it."
Captain
Adickes agreed with Manning on all the main points.
"Before
then, I wasn't convinced by the saucer reports. Now I know they do
exist. One thing, it wasn't cherry-red, as some papers said. It was
about the color of hot metal."
Beside
trying to close in on the saucer, Adickes also had attempted to get
above it.
"Each
time it veered away, as if it were controlled by repulse radar. And when
I went straight after it, the thing was off in a flash. Manning and I
estimated its diameter at 50 feet or more. When I tried to cut in toward
it, it streaked away at twice our speed, but even then it took several
minutes to fade out. So it had to be fairly big— maybe a lot larger than
50 feet."
As it
speeded up to escape, Adickes said, he caught an edge-on glimpse of the
saucer. It seemed to be about one tenth as thick as its diameter. Though
he couldn't be sure
147
of its distance,
while it was pacing the airliner, Adickes believed it was at least half
a mile away. It had not been close enough to affect his instruments or
radio.
Hostess
Gloria Hinshaw had seen the disc from both the cabin and the darkened
cockpit.
"It
looked like a big red wheel rolling along," she told me. "It was
certainly a strange-looking thing. If I hadn't seen it, I don't think
I'd have believed the pilots."
Later,
by long-distance calls, I interviewed 11 passengers. The first was S.
N. Miller, manager of a jewelry company in St. Paul. He had watched the
saucer, he said, for several minutes.
"The
thing was the color of a neon sign—just a big red disc. I used to laugh
at saucer stories—but not any more."
Among
other passengers who confirmed the sighting were C. H. Jenkins and D. C.
Bourland, engineers with the Boeing Aircraft Company, and E. J.
Fitzgerald, vice-president of a metal equipment corporation in Chicago.
Later several officials of the International Harvester Company also
admitted they had seen the glowing disc as it paced their plane.
Though
there were some variations in the passengers' reports, most of them were
minor differences—estimates of size, distance, and speed. Their combined
testimony left no doubt that some kind of controlled machine, a type
unknown to the pilots and the Boeing experts, had been flown near the
airliner for a careful observation.
As I
read the details again, I checked them against Smith's explanations. The
pattern fitted perfectly.
The more
recent cases, too, seemed to prove that the discs were magnetically
powered. One report, cleared to me by ATIC, described an unusual
sighting by four astronomers at Greenville, South Carolina. On the night
of May 13, 1952, the astronomers had seen four saucers flying in a
diamond-shaped formation. Glowing a reddish yellow, the machines passed
silently overhead, wobbling several times before they went out of sight.
All four saucers,
148
the astronomers
agreed, had an oval shape, like that of a disc flying on its side.
Several
other Intelligence reports, from Goose Bay Air Force Base, gave similar
evidence from pilots and ground men. The first was the sighting on June
19, 1952, when a glowing red disc approached the field at night. As
already described (in Chapter IV) the machine wobbled a moment, then
turned white and climbed out of sight at high speed.
On
November 26 an F-94 pilot chased another disc several miles from the
Labrador base. As it turned and climbed, the saucer's color changed from
bright red to white. On December 15 he saw a second disc and tracked it
on his radar. Again, he watched the color change from red to white, when
the saucer swiftly maneuvered. The color changes were also seen by a
T-33 jet pilot.
In the
Pan American-Norfolk case, every point seemed to fit Smith's answer—the
brief fading of the orange-red glow, as the discs slowed; the quick
flipping on edge before the turn; their brightening glow as they speeded
up. But the clincher, to me, was an incident at Camp Drum, on September
22, 1952.
For 30
minutes that night the duty officer and several soldiers watched a
round, orange-red object circle above the camp. At least three times
they heard what they later described as "the whine of a generator or
rotating discs." During its half-hour observation of the camp, the
strange machine hovered, accelerated for swift climbs, and descended
again. Part of the time it was apparently operating at a very low
altitude, for the humming sound was distinctly heard on the ground.
Though
it still wasn't absolute proof, it looked as if Smith had been right
from the start. If so, we now knew what the saucers were like, and how
they were operated.
But
where did they come from? What kind of beings controlled them?
And most
important of all:
Why
were they watching this planet?
149
CHAPTER IX
The Utah Pictures
It
was a week later when Smith answered my letter. He told me he
expected to be in Washington during the next two months, and he'd
have time for at least one talk.
"As
you know," he wrote, "my project is now classified. But I’ll be glad
to tell you what I can, within security limits."
In
the meantime, I decided, it might be a good idea to ask the Air
Force what they now thought of the magnetic theory. There was a
chance that they might have reversed their stand after all the
mounting evidence.
Since it was almost Christmas, I put off submitting the questions
until later. During the holidays I met an old friend in Washington,
a former service man whose contacts I'd often envied. Since I can't
use his right name, for reasons which will be obvious, I shall call
him Henry Brennard.
"I
hear you're back on the saucers," he said. "How's it feel to have
the Air Force helping you for a change?"
"It
was hard to believe at first. But they've really given me the
dope—at least on sightings."
I
told him about some of the Intelligence reports, and Brennard
nodded.
150
"I knew
it was getting hot. What have they decided to do about the Tremonton
pictures?"
"Tremonton? I never heard of them."
"Oh-oh,
I guess I talked out of turn. They must have a tighter lid on them than
I thought." Brennard hesitated. "Well, since I've spilled it, if you
promise not to use it without Air Force permission—"
"Don't
worry; I wouldn't use any Air Force case unless it was cleared."
"OK.
Well, these pictures were taken by a Navy warrant officer back in July.
They're movies, and they show several saucers maneuvering near
Tremonton, Utah—the Air Force calls them the Utah or 'U' pictures. The
ATIC lab in Dayton and Navy Photo-Intelligence have been secretly
analyzing them for months."
"How
much do they show?" I asked quickly. This could be the break I'd been
looking for.
'The
discs weren't close enough for much detail," he answered. "The film
shows a formation of round, bright objects going like a bat out of hell.
They're also maneuvering in the formation, and at the end one of the
saucers reverses its course and leaves the rest. But it's what the
analysis shows that counts. It proves the things were round machines of
some kind, making speeds and turns no plane on earth could duplicate.
"At
first some of the Air Force skeptics wouldn't believe it. Even though
they checked on this warrant officer and found he was OK, they still
said it must be a fake. So the lab men tried to duplicate the pictures.
They didn't have any luck, and the experts all agree—Navy and Air Force
both—that the film's genuine."
"What
does the analysis show?" I said. "I mean, beside proving they were
actual flying discs."
"Well,
first it tells the technical stuff, how they worked it out using the
resolving power of the lens—formula stuff. Then it gives the speeds. If
I got it right, the discs were
151
about seven miles
away, making around 1,000 miles an hour.
"And
maneuvering beside that?"
"That's
right. Some of them were whipping around in tight circles. The experts
figured no plane could possibly turn that fast—even if we had any in
production that would make a thousand miles an hour. The film's raised
ned at the Pentagon. I heard General Samford had it run for him three
times."
"This
explains a lot of things," I said. "It must be why they've changed their
policy about giving out Intelligence reports."
Next
morning I went in to the Pentagon and sprang it on Chop.
"Al," I
said, "how much has ATIC learned from analyzing the saucer movies?"
It was
the first time I'd seen him startled. But he covered up and gave me his
dead-pan look.
"What
movies? Oh, you mean those old Montana shots back in '50. They were
only—"
"I mean
the Tremonton, Utah, pictures," I said. "The ones ATIC and Navy
Photo-Intelligence have been analyzing."
He tried
the blank look a second longer, then gave up.
"Who
told you?" he said.
Without
giving him Brennard's name, I explained.
"I’ll
have to tell Intelligence about this," said Al. "Come back tomorrow and
well talk about it."
When I
saw him the next day he told me Intelligence wasn't too happy about the
leak.
"But
since you already know," he said, "well confirm it. But please keep it
under your hat."
"I won't
use it unless you clear it for me. You ought to know that by now."
"Fair
enough," Al said. Then he gave me a few more details on the Utah
pictures. They had been taken by Warrant Officer Delbert C. Newhouse,
during a trip he
152
and his wife were
making. At 11:10 a.m., on July 2, Newhouse and his wife were driving
along slowly, seven miles from Tremonton, when they saw a formation of
bright objects—round, brilliant spots standing out against the blue sky.
Newhouse
was familiar with aircraft—his station was the Aviation Supply Depot at
Oakland, where he was assigned as a Navy photographer. But he knew
these things weren't planes. They were round, unlike anything he had
ever seen, and obviously moving at supersonic speed.
Getting
out his Bell and Howell 16-mm. camera, Newhouse put on a telephoto lens
and shot 40 feet of film. In the last few moments he trained the camera
on one disc which had reversed its course, leaving the formation. By the
time he turned back, the others had disappeared.
After
developing the film, he sent it to Project Bluebook for evaluation.
Then, for three months, the pictures were studied by experts of the
Photo-Reconnaissance Laboratory at Dayton.
"Fraud
was completely ruled out," said Chop. "They tried every trick method to
duplicate the film, but it couldn't be done. They blew up separate
frames, and made all kinds of tests—well, you got the dope, your tip was
right."
"Al," I
said, "this is it. You've finally got proof the saucers are
interplanetary."
"The Air
Force isn't admitting that. Remember, the film's still secret. We're
waiting for the Navy report—it's due January 15. But we're pretty sure
they’ll confirm the ATIC lab analysis—in fact, they've already done so
informally. We just want it in writing."
"What
happens then?"
"It
isn't decided. Some Intelligence officers want to show the film to a
small group of the press." "Phew!" I said. "That'll really blow the lid
off."
"There's
a lot of opposition," Al warned me. "But if
153
there is a press
showing, well make it official, with a public statement."
"Saying
what?"
"That
there isn't any conventional answer—the things aren't planes, balloons,
or any other known object."
"You
can't stop there. The whole country will be on your neck."
Al shook
his head.
"We
can't say positively what the saucers are, because we don't have any
proof."
"No
proof? With this film, on top of all the sighting reports? What will it
take before the Air Force will admit they're interplanetary?"
"I'd say
we'd have to get one on the ground, see exactly what it was—and probably
know why it was here."
"But you
think people should see this film?"
"Yes, I
think the public should know about it."
"What
does General Samford think about showing it?"
"I can't
speak for him," Al said guardedly. "My personal opinion is that he won't
oppose it."
A little
later I asked him if the Air Force had any other movies of flying
saucers.
"The
only other movie," said Al, "was the Montana one. You know, the
picture
that was taken by a ball-park manager in 1950. It shows what looks
like
two round bright objects. Colonel Harold Watson—he was Intelligence
chief at Dayton then—said they were reflections from a water tower.
But ATIC hasn't any official conclusion, though they did analyze the
film. I
do know they got out a copy and compared it with the Utah pictures."
"I
noticed you said 'the only other movie.' Have you got any secret still
pictures?"
Al
shrugged.
"We have
some stills, yes, but they're not secret. And they don't show anything
important. Most of them show just a round or oval shape, too far off to
be identified."
"Wait a
minute," I said. "You have one picture, taken
154
in Newfoundland—ATIC
case 26. A saucer burned a big hole in a cloud, and Project Sign was
going to have a meteorologist calculate the amount of heat required to
do this. What did they find out?"
"Nothing
definite," Al answered. "And the picture didn't show the saucer—only the
hole in the cloud."
"How
about the new grid cameras? Last time I asked, you said they hadn't been
distributed yet. That was over three months ago."
Al
looked embarrassed, but before he could answer, the phone rang. When he
finished talking, he turned around with a sheepish grin.
"I know
it'll sound suspicious, but we've had more trouble with those cameras.
The grids weren't cemented on right, and they keep coming off."
I didn't
say anything. Al's face got a little red.
"Oh, all
right—I’ll admit it sounds like a stall."
"It's
OK, Al. I guess if the grid cameras had shown up something, it would be
secret anyway."
"Maybe
so. But I'm telling you the solemn truth. We haven't got a single grid
picture."
Though
he sounded sincere, I wasn't convinced. Even with my tip on the Utah
film he'd denied its existence at first. But there was no use pressing
him, so I switched to my questions on magnetically powered discs.
"Did
ATIC ever analyze the discs' flutter? It was recommended in the last
Project Sign report."
"Not
that I know of," said Al. "If they did, they haven't told me."
"Do they
have any new ideas on the magnetic-propulsion theory?"
He eyed
me ironically.
"Don't
tell me you're falling for Scully's story after all this time."
"No, but
the rotating disc answer isn't impossible just because he tied it to the
little men deal. I know his explanation was full of holes—or rather the
way Silas Newton
155
told it to him. Just
the same, I notice a few scientists have swung around—at least they
admit it's possible to tap electricity in the atmosphere."
"All
right, maybe it is the answer. But so far as I know it hasn't been
proved."
"Then
the Air Force hasn't built any test discs, like the Canadians?"
Al
fiddled with his cigarette fighter before he answered. "Circular
airfoils have been tested—you know that. There was the Navy XF5-U and-"
"I mean
rotating discs using electromagnetic fields."
"It's
possible. I couldn't say."
"What
does ATIC say about that Camp Drum report, where they heard what sounded
like rotating discs?"
"No
conclusions," said Al.
"Can you
get me the Intelligence report?"
"Not
now, anyway. They're still analyzing the case."
It was
the first time since July there had been any hint of a hold-up on
reports.
"What
about some 'mother ship' cases?" I said. It was a stab in the dark; I
wasn't sure they had even one confirmed report, unless it was the Oneida
sighting. And I didn't class that as a mother-ship case.
Al gave
me a sidelong look.
"Another
tip?" he said. "OK, I’ll see what I can do. It may take time—the
Project's shorthanded and behind in its work."
It could
be true, but I began to suspect a stall. Later on, I found out that my
radar article had caused trouble; some officers had objected to my
getting the ATIC reports.
While I
was waiting for word on Air Force cases, I read over several unofficial
reports of mother ships.
The
first came from Culver City, California. On July 23, 1952, several
aircraft-plant workers had sighted a bright, silvery ship flying
northwest over the city. One technician, who watched it through
binoculars, described it as elliptical-shaped and flying with a rocking
motion.
156
Apparently at a high altitude, the strange craft stopped and hovered. In
a few seconds the aircraft men saw two small discs launched from the
starboard side. For several minutes the discs circled over the area, in
a precise pattern. Then the "mother ship" took them aboard. Climbing
straight up, at tremendous speed, the cigar-shaped machine quickly
vanished.
The next
three incidents took place in Europe. On September 29, 1952, a large
cigar-shaped ship was sighted over Denmark. Flying beneath it were
several discs, all of them rotating at high speed. Both the parent ship
and the discs were reported from various parts of the country.
Two
weeks later, on October 10, another mother ship, also accompanied by
spinning discs, was seen over Germany, Norway, and Sweden. One
published report carried eyewitness accounts from 30 Swedish cities; at
least 7,000 people were said to have watched the mysterious formation.
Later that same day a single disc was seen over Copenhagen airport, by
Danish air force officers.
On
October 14 hundreds of Frenchmen at Lens and Oleron reported another
cigar-shaped ship with a convoy of discs. Many of the observers were
leading citizens, including several college professors at Oleron. The
story had one fantastic detail which has all the earmarks of hysteria.
According to a few Oleron citizens, one disc discharged hundreds of odd,
fiber like threads as it zigzagged over the city. Afterward, one man
insisted he had been caught like a fly in a spider web, and several
witnesses confirmed this eerie tale.
Except
for this, the Oleron-Lens sightings were identical with the other
mother ship reports. In addition, this case had radar confirmation.
Operators at the Mont de Marsan airdrome, reporting to official
investigators, said their scope had shown a large image unlike any known
aircraft.
Compared
with these European cases, the lone unofficial
157
American report
reads like science fiction, and not too good fiction at that.
The
narrator of this weird episode was one George Adamski, who had
previously broken into print with alleged pictures of flying saucers.
His story, which appeared in the Phoenix Gazette on November 24,
1952, was told tongue-in-cheek by staff writer Len Welch.
In the
Gazette account a friend of Adamski describes him as a professor,
formerly of Palomar Observatory. Actually, Adamski operates a
refreshment stand on the road up to Palomar, and his astronomical
experience seems to be confined to a small telescope mounted on the
roof.
According to Welch, who advised his readers to take a firm grip on their
chairs, Adamski and several friends sighted a large cigar-shaped ship
over the Arizona desert. Later, the story goes, Adamski left his
companions and took up a solitary watch some miles up the road. If
anything unusual happened, he was to wave his hat or make some other
signal.
During
his vigil Adamski was amazed to see a round device, some 20 feet in
diameter, descend near him. Climbing out of the saucer, a man from
space quietly stepped to the ground. The visitor was about 23 years old,
with a tanned, ruddy face, grayish-green eyes, and long sandy hair which
hung down his back and blew in the wind. He was wearing a brown
Eisenhower jacket, ski pants, and reddish-brown shoes, Adamski's friends
later told Welch.
The man
from space, it seems, spoke a little English, along with a gibberish
that sounded like Chinese. Answering Adamski's questions mainly by
nods, he said his saucer was interplanetary. It had come, he indicated,
from the mother ship they had seen, which was now waiting for them,
about 500 miles up.
When
Adamski asked why they were visiting the earth, the spaceman waved his
arms to describe A-bomb mushroom clouds. During this enlightening
conversion, Adamski saw a young boy—or else a "very beautiful woman with
158
shoulder-length
hair"—peeping from a porthole. Shortly after this, the spaceman called
attention to odd marks on the ground, made by the soles of his shoes.
Then he boarded the disc, which silently took off and soared away.
Examining the footprints, Adamski found some mysterious hieroglyphics
and designs impressed in the earth. By good fortune one of his friends
happened to have some plaster of Paris with him, and they carefully made
casts of the spaceman's message.
For good
measure, the Gazette had printed pictures of the casts, with the
caption: "A Message from Space?" But to date, the meaning of the
hieroglyphics remains unknown—unless, of course, Adamski knows the key
to the riddle . . .
It was
some time after New Year's when Chop phoned me about the reports I'd
requested.
"We've
cleared two cases for you. I think you'll find them interesting—they're
along the lines you mentioned."
By then
I'd heard about the objections to my getting official reports. But I
didn't ask any questions. It was plain that the protests hadn't altered
General Samford's decision.
The
first case from ATIC went back to the critical days in July. The
Intelligence report, I noticed, mentioned eight competent witnesses, one
an ex-Navy pilot, now an aircraft engineer at a plant in California.
At 6:35
p.m., on July 27, the eight men had seen a large silvery ship, flying at
terrific speed over Manhattan Beach. It was evidently fairly large—even
at a high altitude; it appeared to be the size of a dime held at arm's
length. The men heard no sound, and the ex-Navy pilot, watching through
binoculars, could see no exhaust trails.
Directly
over Manhattan Beach, the strange ship turned south. Then, to the
group's amazement, it separated into seven round objects. Swiftly, three
of the discs took up a V formation, the others following in pairs,
flying abreast.
"It
appeared as if a stack of coins had smoothly separated," the pilot told
an Intelligence officer. "The entire
159
operation was very
gracefully executed. The turns, too, were very smooth."
After
circling for a few minutes, the formation took up a north-northeast
heading and rapidly went out of sight. Later a careful Air Force check
showed there were no known aircraft in the vicinity. From the wording of
the report, I could tell the interrogating officer took the sighting
seriously; he had emphasized that the pilot's background made him an
unusually well-qualified observer.
In
releasing the case, ATIC had given no hint of what it believed the
answer. As usual in sightings with no conventional explanation, it
ended the report with a noncommittal, "No conclusion."
Before
going on to the second case, I tried to figure out the meaning of this
peculiar sighting. It was certainly not a mother ship operation. And in
spite of the accurate observations, it was possible the discs had not
actually been attached to each other. They might have been flying in a
vertical column, so close together that they appeared as one unit. But
this explanation must have occurred to the pilot, the interrogating
officer, and the Project analysts. And it looked as if ATIC had accepted
the report at face value.
That
raised technical questions I couldn't begin to answer. The discs might
have been attached to each other magnetically until the break-up.
Possibly they had all rotated as one. Or there might be some device that
kept them slightly separated, so that each disc could rotate
independently.
The
reason for such a system was easier to guess. A remote-control operator,
on a mother ship higher up, would find it far simpler to guide seven
discs as one unit, than if they were flying separately. Until it was
necessary to split them up, for different missions, this would be the
most sensible way to control them.
While I
was puzzling over the technical problems, I suddenly recalled the Oneida
sighting. This Manhattan
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Beach report put a
new light on the Japan case. When the Air Force men at Oneida first
sighted that saucer, it had appeared as a round, dark object visible
behind a glowing light. Later it had split up into three units which
kept accurate intervals as they raced away.
With the
Oneida case to back it up, the "stack of coins" report took on more
reality. Each of the incidents tended to confirm the other. I could see
now why ATIC hadn't questioned the Manhattan Beach sighting. Also, they
might have other parallel cases that conclusively proved this "stacking
up" operation.
The
second case which Chop had just cleared was even more dramatic. This
strange sighting occurred over the Gulf of Mexico, as a B-29 bomber was
returning to its base in Texas. It was just before dawn on December 6,
1952—less than 48 hours after Lieutenant Earl Fogle's near-collision at
Laredo, Texas.
Approaching the end of a night practice flight to Florida, the B-29 was
cruising in bright moonlight, at 18,000 feet. So far it had been a
routine mission.
At 5:24
a.m. the big bomber, piloted by Captain John Harter, was 190 miles from
Galveston and about 100 miles south of the Louisiana coast. A minute
before, Harter had called the radar officer, Lieutenant Sid Coleman, and
asked him to turn on the set, so he could check the coastline on the
auxiliary scope in the cockpit.
At 5:25,
back in the ship, Coleman was watching the main radarscope to see if the
coast showed up. Suddenly the blip of some unknown object appeared at
one edge of the screen. When the sweep made its next revolution, Coleman
jumped.
In that
brief moment the unknown craft had gone 13 miles.
A third
blip leaped onto the scope as the oncoming object streaked toward the
B-29. For an instant it seemed they would meet head-on. Then Coleman saw
their paths
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were diverging. He
snatched up his stop-watch, yelled for the flight engineer.
"Bailey!
Help me track this thing!"
Before
the blips faded, Coleman and the staff sergeant swiftly computed the
unknown's speed.
It was
5,240 miles an hour.
The two
men gaped at each other, then Coleman grabbed his intercom mike and
called the pilot.
"Captain—check your scope! We just clocked an unknown at over 5,000."
"That's
impossible," snapped Harter. "Recalibrate the set."
As
Coleman hurriedly went to work, Master Sergeant Bailey bent over the
scope.
"There's
another one—two of them," he exclaimed.
A second
later Lieutenant Cassidy, the navigator, cut in on the intercom.
"I've
got 'em on my scope, too," he said tautly.
By the
time Coleman finished recalibrating, the blips of four UFOs were racing
across his screen. Abruptly, Harter's crisp voice came through the
intercom.
"I've
got four unknowns at 12 o'clock [dead ahead]. What do you show?"
"They're
on all three scopes," said Coleman. "I've recalibrated—it's no
malfunction."
Up in
the cockpit, Harter incredulously watched the swift-moving blips cross
his glass. As one approached on the right, he called out a hasty alert.
"Unknown
at 3 o'clock!"
Back in
the B-29, Bailey sprang to the right waist blister and peered out into
the night. Astonished, he saw a blue-lit object streak from front to
rear. Moving so fast it was only a blue-white blur; the saucer vanished
under the bomber's wing.
The
strange machine had hardly disappeared when another group of blips came
onto all three scopes. Like the other machines, the new group was making
over 5,000
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miles an hour. To
make it worse, they were all coming from almost dead ahead. Though their
course still diverged enough to miss the bomber by miles, the slightest
change might put the crew in instant peril. At those terrific speeds
they wouldn't have a prayer and every man aboard knew it.
Six
minutes after the first sighting, there was a sudden lull. As the scopes
cleared, Coleman drew a long breath. Apparently the nightmare was over.
A minute
passed. The tense airmen were slowly beginning to relax when a third
group of blips flashed onto the scopes. Coleman seized his stop-watch
again, swiftly called off the times and distances. Bailey figured the
speeds, grimly nodded.
"Same as
before," he muttered.
The
radar officer bent over the screen. Two of the UFO's were rocketing by
on the right.
"Unknowns at four o'clock!" he bawled into the mike.
Staff
Sergeant Ferris beat Bailey to the waist blister. Open-mouthed, he
watched two machines streak by—mere blurs of blue-white light.
Up in
the cockpit, Harter's eyes were glued to the auxiliary scope. Forty
miles away, five of the saucers were racing behind the bomber, cutting
across its course.
Suddenly
the saucers swerved, headed straight for the B-29. Harter froze. At
their terrific speed they would close the gap in three seconds.
But
before he could move the controls, an incredible thing happened.
Abruptly the onrushing UFO's slowed to the bomber's speed. For ten
seconds they kept pace behind it, while the pilot held his breath.
Then,
swiftly picking up speed, the unknown machines pulled off to one side.
At the same moment Harter caught sight of a huge blip—a half-inch spot
on the scope. Amazed, he saw the most fantastic thing of all.
Still
moving at over 5,000 miles an hour, the smaller craft merged with the
large machine. Instantly, the huge
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blip began to
accelerate. Moving so fast that Harter sat stunned, it flashed across
his scope and was gone.
A few
moments later Coleman's awed voice came through the intercom.
"Captain, did you see that?"
"Yes—I
saw it," said Harter.
"We
clocked it," said Coleman. "You won't believe this —it was making over
9,000 miles an hour!"
"I
believe it, all right," Harter said grimly. "That's just what I
figured."
For the
rest of the way he kept the crew on alert, but no more saucers appeared.
The
meaning of what they had seen was inescapable. The discs had been
launched from a huge mother ship for some type of reconnaissance
mission. Probably it had covered parts of the United States, but at the
discs' tremendous speed they could have been operating anywhere over
the globe.
For a
rendezvous, whoever guided the discs had chosen this point over the Gulf
of Mexico. After the B-29 was sighted, one group of discs had been
diverted for a brief observation or tracking. Then, flying at 5,000
m.p.h., they had been taken aboard the mother ship. And in a matter of
seconds the huge machine had almost doubled its speed.
It was
almost unbelievable. But the radar set had been working perfectly, and
the visual confirmation, as Bailey and Ferris saw the machines flash by,
was final, absolute proof. Three separate times during the operation
saucers had been seen exactly where the three radarscopes showed them.
Captain
Harter had radioed ahead, and Intelligence officers were waiting when
they landed. Over and over the airmen were interrogated, separately and
together. But nothing could shake their story, and statements in the
report showed their firm conviction.
Captain
Harter: "One group of blips was noted, after the set was calibrated, to
arc about and swing in behind
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us at about 30
miles, and maintain speed and distance for approximately ten seconds . .
. Contact was broken off at 0535, after a group of the blips merged into
a one-half-inch arc and proceeded across the scope and off it at a
computed speed of over 9,000 m.p.h."
Lieutenant Coleman: "I noticed one UFO approach our aircraft at a
terrific rate of speed. I timed it as best I could with a stop-watch
over a known distance and the flight engineer computed the speed at
5,240 m.p.h. I alerted the entire crew to look for the objects visually,
and flashes of light were noted. The closest the objects came was
approximately 20 miles. I saw about 20 objects in all . . . I
recalibrated the set and there was no change.
"The
objects were small and possibly round, with the exception of one very
large return shaped as follows, one-half-inch curved arc. I also noticed
a large return come up to within 40 miles of our tail from behind and
then disappear. To the best of my knowledge, I believe that this object
was real and moved at an extremely high speed and was not a set
malfunction or optical illusion."
Master
Sergeant Bailey: "The radar operator clocked the object [the first one
seen] and I computed the air speed of the object to average 5,240 m.p.h.
Twice during the period, the radar operator reported an object to be
passing at 3 o'clock. Upon looking out the window, I saw a blue-white
streak travel front to rear and disappear under the wing."
Staff
Sergeant Ferris: "After the radar operator reported objects approaching
at 4 o'clock, I immediately looked in that position and saw two flashes
of a blue-white nature for approximately three seconds."
As was
to be expected, neither Bailey nor Ferris could make out the shape of
the saucers. At their great speeds they were naturally only a blur.
Of all
the official reports I'd seen, this was the most astonishing. That it
had been released to me seemed to mean only one thing. Clearly,
Intelligence—or at least
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Group A—wanted the
public to see this conclusive proof that the saucers were interplanetary
machines.
Step by
step they had shown me convincing evidence adding up to this answer. It
had been like a revolving stage, each scene revealing some new, dramatic
phase.
First,
the simultaneous radar and visual sightings, which proved the saucers,
were not temperature inversions or optical illusions. Then the Oneida
case, official proof of solid objects behind the mysterious lights.
After this, case after case with pilots' statements that the saucers
were controlled machines, with speeds and maneuvers beyond the power of
any earth-made aircraft. Fourth, the Utah pictures, which they had fully
confirmed when they could easily have denied their existence. And now
this mother-ship report, tying it all together into the space-ship
answer.
Thinking
it over, I remembered a discussion at the Pentagon several months
before. It had been set off by Robert S. Allen's column, "Inside
Washington."
"The Air
Force has a breathtaking report on 'flying saucers,' " Allen had
claimed. "The study, prepared by noted scientists and Air Force experts,
expresses the belief that some of the mysterious flying objects are
genuine and that they originate from 'sources outside this planet.' That
is, these devices are interplanetary aircraft of some kind. . .
"The
sensational study is the work of the Air Technical Intelligence Center,
Dayton, Ohio. A number of top scientists are devoting their full time to
analyzing reports on flying objects . . . Air Force authorities are
considering publishing certain portions of the report. Chiefly deterring
them is fear the sensational nature of the findings may cause undue
public alarm. These findings were described by a high Air Force official
as 'fantastic but true.'"
By the
time I saw Allen's column, I knew there was a group in the Air Force
that wanted to make the facts public. It was possible that one of this
group had given Allen a tip.
In
answering queries from the public, the Air Force
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PIO's denied Allen's
story. Lieutenant Colonel Searles, I found, brushed it off as a mere
rumor Allen had evidently picked up. Since his job was apparently to
kill the saucer stories, I wasn't too much impressed. But Chop's denial
had a genuine ring.
"It's on
the level," he insisted. "There is absolutely no secret report saying
the saucers are interplanetary."
Now,
recalling the way he'd worded it, I realized it could have been only
technically true. The report might have top secret. It might not have
been in report form. There were several ways Chop could have slid around
the facts by carefully wording his statement.
After
seeing the B-29 report I was tempted to ask him again, but I decided
against it. If they wanted me to know, they'd tell me. Trying to push
them could upset everything.
It was
now the middle of January, and the Navy's Photo-Interpretation analysis
of the Utah pictures was expected any day. After that the Air Force
would decide about the press showing.
Before I
learned of the Utah film, I'd planned a long feature, or several
articles, for True. But the editor, Ken Purdy, had told me to
wait.
"From
the way they're opening up," he said, "they may give you an official
admission that the saucers are interplanetary."
A few
days before I saw the B-29 report, I'd been given permission to tell
Purdy and aviation editor John DuBarry about the Utah pictures, provided
they wouldn't use the story without clearance. Both Purdy and DuBarry
agreed that it was too late for an article. Before they could get it on
the stands, the Utah picture details might be headlined from coast to
coast. And that was almost certain to break the whole thing wide open.
Of
course, if the public showing were turned down, I could still use all
the material that Intelligence had released. But one thing bothered me.
Even with all these
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cases, I had no
proof of where the saucers came from, what kind of beings controlled
them, or why they were here, though I knew several possible answers.
Perhaps Intelligence knew the truth, but all I could do was to weigh
the various answers and decide which was most probable.
There
was one step I hadn't tried lately that might yield some clues, a system
I call the "reversing technique." Whoever controlled the saucers, they
had solved all the tremendous problems of space travel. In comparison we
were only on the threshold, but we'd come a long way in the last few
years. Some of our space-travel planners had listed the complicated
steps for exploration of our solar system and even beyond. And our
motives for such exploration, of course, were known.
By
reversing all this, I could at least get a picture of what the saucer
beings had overcome, and probably how they had gone about exploring the
earth.
It might
even give some hint to the kind of creatures we'd face, when contact
finally came.
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