“Roger that, we’re about ten miles out, showing 1,800 feet AGL, and two zero zero knots. Ease her over to the left. Now pinging one mile off the left side of the lake.” Rick cranked in a shallow left turn and then leveled the wings. Then Glenn clicked in, “ETA three minutes.”
“Roger that Glenn.” Everyone’s eyes peered straight ahead like laser beams. Carl broke the silence, “Something pinging this far out is surely visible. ETA one minute.” The lake loomed large on the right side of the cockpit windows. Off to the left a black speck was a sharp contrast to the bright white ice. Boop called it, “Black object on the ice, twelve o’clock, 2 miles.”
“Tallyho, object,” Carl said. Dave still didn’t see it. It was probably below his field of vision sitting in the jump seat.
Boop said, “Okay, gang, I’m going to descend to 1,000 feet AGL and set up a standard left turn orbit. Glenn, get your camera out.” Glenn had brought a video camera. Rick set the turn, and trimmed up the plane. “Okay, I’ve got it in sight. Keep us away from the lake on the right side.” Glenn unbuckled his harness and went back into the cargo bay. He was going to video through the cabin door window. It was easier than leaning across Dave and Rick.
Dave looked out over Rick’s shoulder and could indeed see the black object now. What the heck was this thing? Not much detail from up here. But it was definitely solid. It looked about thirty feet in diameter. It wasn’t your classic saucer shape as Dave had half expected. It looked more like a turtle from up here.
Rick asked, “Glenn, what’s the outside air temp?”
“Just a second, Major.” Rick had forgotten that he had gone to the back of the plane. Glenn came forward, climbed back into his seat and checked a dial on his engineer’s panel. He didn’t take the time to reconnect his mike, but instead tapped Rick on the shoulder and made signals with his fingers showing a one followed by a zero and then a thumbs-up. This was interpreted to mean ten degrees above zero. Fairly warm even by Greenland summer standards.
Rick keyed the intercom, “Okay, gang, we’re going to set this thing up for a landing. Ice looks smooth, no crevasses and only small drifts. We will come in from the low side. Wind isn’t a factor. Carl, run the checklist. Glenn, watch the airspeed closely. I’m going to come in low and hot. No flaps. I want to be twenty knots over stall speed. I’m going to fly her onto the deck.”
Rick turned the plane back to the west. He went out about ten10 miles and made a shallow turn back towards the object. “Carl, call off the air speed. Glenn, call off the altitude from the radar altimeter.” Rick set up the plane in a shallow decent and throttled back slightly. He let the airspeed bleed off. Carl read off the airspeed, “190...180…Stall speed is 110 with this load and configuration…130.” Rick eased the nose down a little. Glenn called out the altitude, “1000 AGL…800...500…” Carl continued, “Airspeed steady at one three zero.” Rick responded, “Roger. Maintaining one three zero.” Glenn called out the altitude, “400 feet AGL.” Rick answered “Skis coming down now.” The million dollar skis were about to take a beating. They only dropped a few inches below the wheels so no additional drag was encountered. At 130 knots, this was about like a NASCAR driver about to rub the wall on turn four just before he crossed the finish line. Rick was aware of the fact that the terrain was gradually sloping up to meet them. All he had to do was to maintain straight and level, as well as air speed, and the skis would eventually come in contact with the ice at a very shallow angle. There should be very little friction and stress on the skis. The operative word was “should.” The pucker factor was very high now. However, Rick kept a loose one handed grip on the controls. Dave thought to himself, “Look, Mom, no hands.” But Rick was more concerned with airspeed and kept his right hand tight on the throttles.
Glenn called out, “200 feet AGL, 100 feet, 50… 25…10.” Just then Dave could feel the rear skis hit. The plane bounced a few feet and settled back down. The plane shook and then the nose dropped down. Rick pulled back slightly to keep pressure off the nose. He throttled back and let the plane slide to a stop. No need to reverse the prop pitch. He has plenty of room out here.
Once stopped, Rick said, “We should be about a half mile from the object. I’m going to taxi over to it.” He was now sorry that he let the Raven come to a complete stop; getting it moving again was like starting a freight train. He pushed the throttles forward and the plane began to move. As the plane neared the black object, they could see it was actually cobalt blue. Everyone’s jaw dropped when they saw what it was. Or, at least, what it appeared to be. If Dave didn’t know any better, he’d swear he was at the beach. Lying directly in front of the nose of the plane, one hundred yards away was the biggest nautilus shell that he had ever seen. It was huge. It was sitting upright. It was about thirty feet high and ten feet wide. How the hell did this thing get here? Better yet what was it?
Any hopes of flying it out were dashed. It wouldn’t fit on the aircraft. The C-130 cargo bay was only about 9 feet high and 40 feet long. It would be like sticking a square peg in a round hole.
Major Boop keyed his mike, “Bob and Glenn, go suit up. Dave, get your iron pants on. Carl, stay put and watch the bird.” The engines are never shut down while sitting on the icecap. All four were left running. They had plenty of fuel. They had another four hours worth and they were only an hour and a half out from Sonde.
Everyone suited up with their iron pants, parka, mukluks, gloves, and face masks. Bob opened the cargo bay doors and lowered the ramp. The group walked out the back and made a big sweeping walk back to the front of the plane, staying well clear of the spinning props. Carl could see the group out the cockpit window and gave a big thumbs-up.
Rick and Dave walked up to the shell and looked it over. Too late now, but Dave yelled in Ricks ear, “What if this thing is hot?” and made a gesture to cover his gonads. Rick shrugged it off and did what any typical Air Force pilot would do. He went up to the blue object and gave it a good kick. Dave said, “That’s a hell of a welcome to Earth. How do you know you didn’t give it a kick in the balls?” There were no markings, no moving parts, and no color other than the dark cobalt blue. Whatever it was, it was big, solid, and heavy. Rick sent Bob back for the tool chest. When he returned Rick grabbed a wrench and then gave the shell a hefty whack. It definitely sounded hollow and gave out a metallic ring. But he couldn’t dent it or even leave a mark on it.
Rick said, “Okay, gang, we’re here. It’s here. We don’t know what the hell it is. We’re not doing much good out here. I’m freezing my ass off. Let’s head back into the plane.” Once on board, Bob buttoned up the cargo doors and then went up to the galley to pour everyone a cup of coffee.
Rick asked Dave, “What do you think that thing is?”
“I’m not sure, Major. I can’t even tell if it’s extraterrestrial.”
Rick smiled and said “Bullshit, this thing wasn’t made here. It’s almost impossible to stall a C-130 at over 150 knots over stall speed. Whatever is out there wanted to get our attention. Well, they’ve got it. We’re going to drag this thing back to DYE-3. It’s only twenty miles. We’ve got a dozer. Does anybody know how to operate this thing?” Bob spoke up, “Yeah, I used to operate one similar to this on my folk’s farm. I can run it. Not sure we can rustle up enough chain and cable to rig up a tow line though.” Rick said, “Okay, you open the doors, fire that thing up and we’ll see what we can come up with.”
It was Dave’s turn to make his engineering talents known. “We don’t have to tow. We can push. Just use the blade to knock that thing over on its side and we can push it to DYE-3. Just when Dave thought everyone would bow to his brilliance, Bob busted his chops.
