finished the after-landing checks.
Ground support personnel, casting nervous looks at the assembled security police vehicles, hooked up the ground power unit. With the GPU connected and powering the aircraft, he received a thumbs-up from an airman that looked ready to bolt. Jake acknowledged the clearance and killed the fighter's engines. To his surprise, the airman did bolt.
As Jake's canopy rose, a security police squad, weapons drawn, stormed the plane. Jake was looking down the muzzles of eight M-16 automatic rifles.
"What the hell is this?" he shouted over the whine of the ground power unit's turbine exhaust.
"Out of the plane, sir!" screamed a large sergeant. The noncommissioned officer was pointing his Beretta nine-millimeter pistol at Jake's head.
Overwhelmed by the night's events, Jake stared incredulously at the armed squad. Shaking his head in resigned capitulation, he unbuckled his safety harness and unplugged his helmet. Climbing from the cockpit, he started backing down the boarding ladder. Halfway to the ground, he was ripped from the metal steps and thrown face-down onto the ramp. He could feel several muzzles pressed into his back.
"What the fuck!" Jake yelled. His breath lifted a small dust cloud from the tarmac, its asphalt surface warm against his face.
"Don't fucking move, Captain."
He continued to struggle. "I haven't done anything. This is bullshit!"
The cold steel muzzle of a large caliber pistol pressed against the back of his neck.
Jake stopped struggling.
The sergeant, now calm and inches from his ear, said, "Captain, I have my orders, and they don't come from any higher, and they don't get any more serious than this. I assure you, this is not bullshit ."
The muzzle lifted from his neck.
"Now, are we done here?"
Panting, Jake nodded.
In less than five seconds, the sergeant cuffed him and dragged him to his feet. "Thank you, sir." Grabbing Jake's left elbow, he led him to a security police cruiser. The sergeant opened the door, stuffed him in the back, and slammed it.
Jake stared out in confused disbelief. "What the hell did we stumble into, Vic?"
CHAPTER TWO
Exhausted eyes stared back from the interrogation-room's one-way mirror.
"Damn it, Captain, what were you doing in that area?" The voice echoed off the tiled floors and walls. With only a four-legged rectangular table and two metal chairs occupying its center, the room offered little sound absorption.
Turning from his reflection, Jake locked eyes with the major. For what felt like the hundredth time, he said, "Sir, as I've been telling you for the last twelve hours, Range Control assigned us that training area."
For the hundredth time, the major stared back, unblinking and unbelieving.
Knuckles rasped against the room's single door.
With a disgusted sigh, the major shook his head and turned toward it. "Come!"
The door creaked open. A nervous Air Force airman stuck his head into the room.
Major Tinsdale glared at him. "Damn it! I left clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed."
"Sorry, sir. You have a call from a General Tannehill. I tried to tell him you were busy—"
"No, no, no, I'll take it," the major said standing, all annoyance evaporating. "Just sit there, Captain, I'll be back." Grabbing his notepad, he strode angrily from the room.
The airman nodded at Captain Giard and followed the major out.
Hearing the door lock, Jake turned back to his image in the mirror. A steady dripping sound emanated from a floor drain at the room's center. The ticking second hand of an old government issue wall-clock, hanging over the door, added its maddening rhythm to the staccato dripping noise.
Studying his weary face in the one-way interrogation room mirror, Jake tried to make sense of the situation. It was obvious they knew the two of them had encountered the ship. However, every time he tried to bring it up, the major redirected him. Tinsdale kept returning to the subject of airspace and timelines. It's as if he
Ground support personnel, casting nervous looks at the assembled security police vehicles, hooked up the ground power unit. With the GPU connected and powering the aircraft, he received a thumbs-up from an airman that looked ready to bolt. Jake acknowledged the clearance and killed the fighter's engines. To his surprise, the airman did bolt.
As Jake's canopy rose, a security police squad, weapons drawn, stormed the plane. Jake was looking down the muzzles of eight M-16 automatic rifles.
"What the hell is this?" he shouted over the whine of the ground power unit's turbine exhaust.
"Out of the plane, sir!" screamed a large sergeant. The noncommissioned officer was pointing his Beretta nine-millimeter pistol at Jake's head.
Overwhelmed by the night's events, Jake stared incredulously at the armed squad. Shaking his head in resigned capitulation, he unbuckled his safety harness and unplugged his helmet. Climbing from the cockpit, he started backing down the boarding ladder. Halfway to the ground, he was ripped from the metal steps and thrown face-down onto the ramp. He could feel several muzzles pressed into his back.
"What the fuck!" Jake yelled. His breath lifted a small dust cloud from the tarmac, its asphalt surface warm against his face.
"Don't fucking move, Captain."
He continued to struggle. "I haven't done anything. This is bullshit!"
The cold steel muzzle of a large caliber pistol pressed against the back of his neck.
Jake stopped struggling.
The sergeant, now calm and inches from his ear, said, "Captain, I have my orders, and they don't come from any higher, and they don't get any more serious than this. I assure you, this is not bullshit ."
The muzzle lifted from his neck.
"Now, are we done here?"
Panting, Jake nodded.
In less than five seconds, the sergeant cuffed him and dragged him to his feet. "Thank you, sir." Grabbing Jake's left elbow, he led him to a security police cruiser. The sergeant opened the door, stuffed him in the back, and slammed it.
Jake stared out in confused disbelief. "What the hell did we stumble into, Vic?"
CHAPTER TWO
Exhausted eyes stared back from the interrogation-room's one-way mirror.
"Damn it, Captain, what were you doing in that area?" The voice echoed off the tiled floors and walls. With only a four-legged rectangular table and two metal chairs occupying its center, the room offered little sound absorption.
Turning from his reflection, Jake locked eyes with the major. For what felt like the hundredth time, he said, "Sir, as I've been telling you for the last twelve hours, Range Control assigned us that training area."
For the hundredth time, the major stared back, unblinking and unbelieving.
Knuckles rasped against the room's single door.
With a disgusted sigh, the major shook his head and turned toward it. "Come!"
The door creaked open. A nervous Air Force airman stuck his head into the room.
Major Tinsdale glared at him. "Damn it! I left clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed."
"Sorry, sir. You have a call from a General Tannehill. I tried to tell him you were busy—"
"No, no, no, I'll take it," the major said standing, all annoyance evaporating. "Just sit there, Captain, I'll be back." Grabbing his notepad, he strode angrily from the room.
The airman nodded at Captain Giard and followed the major out.
Hearing the door lock, Jake turned back to his image in the mirror. A steady dripping sound emanated from a floor drain at the room's center. The ticking second hand of an old government issue wall-clock, hanging over the door, added its maddening rhythm to the staccato dripping noise.
Studying his weary face in the one-way interrogation room mirror, Jake tried to make sense of the situation. It was obvious they knew the two of them had encountered the ship. However, every time he tried to bring it up, the major redirected him. Tinsdale kept returning to the subject of airspace and timelines. It's as if he
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