Phenomena

Saxa Vord radar picked it up, flying southwest approaching the Icelandic Gap, a sensitive area on the Cold War map. An unidentified contact moving steadily, a blip of green on a luminous screen, course and speed suggested Badgers or Bears predators of the Reds that oft probed the hunters trap. The operator flashed the QRF, scrambling fully armed jets, just another of the many routine intercepts. From Scottish and Icelandic shores, Lightings and Phantoms roared along runways, their fiery tails rising like comets into the cold black sky. The hunt was on.

The plotters vectored the fighters onto the target, but as they closed, the target turned 30 degrees due south over the North Sea climbing to 44,000 feet, then was gone. For the next four hours a game of cat and mouse ensued, as the target reappeared again at various heights and speed refusing to be pursued. Plotters sat aghast as the unknown contact danced on the screen so fast. From Menwith Hill to Cheyenne Mountain nervous men in uniform were barking orders and shouting. SAC in Omaha had ordered bombers into air, the order for that had to come from elsewhere.

The target eventually stopped and maintained position just off the Danish coast. Hovering at 18,000feet, like some ancient Nordic ghost, nothing in our aerial arsenal was capable of such a feat. The military conjectured it may be something new the Soviet’s were trying to prove, so a single fighter was vectored in for it greet. In the operations room all eyes watched as the fighter closed. The operator’s earphones suddenly crackled to life and the pilot’s voice was exposed…

“CGI this is India 45, I have a visual…I repeat…I a have visual over…”

“Roger India 45, we confirm your contact over…”

The operator’s Commanding Officer leaned over and switched to loud speaker, the pilot’s voice echoed around the operations room.

“CGI…I have the target at my 3’0clock

approximately 1500 meters away at 18,000 feet over…”

“Roger India 45, can you identify contact over”

“My God!…It’s like nothing I’ve seen before it’s…so bright …it’s hard to distinguish…it’s pulsing red, blue, yellow, lights…as one, as if it’s all merged…over”

“Roger India 45, can you see any shape or size over?”

“Roger, CGI…it seems to be a conical shape…I estimate to be 150meters long…maybe larger, it’s hard to tell…it seems to be fluctuating…wait…there’s something coming out of it…what the?...it’s released an orb some of kind, about the size of a football…it looks like glass…over”

“Roger India 45, maintain speed and position…over”

“Hang on CGI…It’s starting to move off…Wow!

CGI…it’s now on the horizon…no wait…it’s turning towards me…oh my…what the? …”

The aircraft had begun to shake violently, as compass and dials went into a confused spin. The pilot’s heart raced and his breathing became erratic, as he struggled for control.

 “CGI I’ve lost instruments…I repeat, have lost instruments…over”

“Oh my god…it’s coming straight at me…I’m taking evasive action…”

Everyone stared at the operator’s screen in disbelief as they watched the two contacts merge. Suddenly, a high pitched whine shot through speakers of the operations room, briefly causing intense neural pain, sending everyone to the floor covering their ears. As suddenly as it started, the noise stopped. It seemed like hours but only a minute had passed. The operator recovered his composure and looked at his screen. Where there had been two returns, there was now just one, which flashed once and that too was gone.

“India 45, come in over…

India 45, are you receiving over? …

India 45…India 45?…”

The hair on the operator’s neck began to hackle as he turned to look at his Commanding Officer; there was no reply on his earphones, just a static crackle.

P Williams©2009