Excerpt for Chasing Disclosure by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Critical Acclaim

For Eric Wojciechowski’s

CHASING DISCLOSURE



“On target in its representation of the UFO community, where terms such as "fact" and "therapy" often become dangerously open to preferred interpretation, sometimes with deeply harmful results. Much as the case with nonfiction UFO research, the reader will find a trail of ambiguous clues and mysterious individuals with multiple agendas, some of whom may be misleading themselves as much as those around them - or maybe not. Wojciechowski's story is ultimately a rather unique form of written performance art in which we are challenged to consider how lines between fiction and nonfiction tangle and blur.”


  • Jack Brewer, author of “The Greys Have Been Framed: Exploitation in the UFO Community”. Blog: ufotrail.blogspot.com



Ancient civilizations, comparative mythology, out-of-place artifacts, transhumanism, artificial intelligence, and of course, the dark, enigmatic 'triangles' of modern UFO lore that are said to stalk the night skies like silent, slow-moving sentinels; Wojciechowski brilliantly weaves them all together into an intense story with Chasing Disclosure that is sure to capture the imagination. For anyone that has ever speculated about the origins of life on Earth, or the source that may ultimately prove to exist behind intelligence we encounter from beyond the stars, this novel will feed that curiosity… and surely, it will also inspire new thought about a range of perplexing phenomena which may exist on the boundaries between science, and the uncanny.”


  • Micah Hanks, host of the Gralien Report and Middle Theory podcasts, author of “The Ghost Rockets” and “The UFO Singularity” among other books and essays.









“For those who wonder what all the high strangeness in our world might mean, here is some speculative fiction that will keep them turning the pages."


  • Tyler Kokjohn, PhD, professor of Microbiology at Midwestern University. Also publishes and contributes to articles critiquing “alien abductions”. Blog: syntheticgeneticshakespeares.wordpress.com



Wojciechowski’s story reads almost like a film noir thriller: a cynical but likable protagonist who goes against mainstream UFOlogy, but is nonetheless caught up in a mystery that we’ve all pondered. Exciting, engaging, and most importantly, unique, “Chasing Disclosure” is told at a brisk clip and with enough mystery to keep even the most well-read audience guessing.”


  • Clinton May, Cognitive Computing Subject Matter Expert for the United States Department of Defense.

Chasing

Disclosure





ERIC WOJCIECHOWSKI

Copyright © 2017 Eric Wojciechowski



Cover by Marc Ducrow

www.MarcDucrowArt.co.uk



All rights reserved.




ISBN: 9781370969494


DEDICATION



To the memory of my father. Because if he did not have the interest in these sort of things, I would not have the interest in these sort of things.


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



First and foremost, I need to thank my wife, Melissa, for all the encouragement and being my first reader and top cheerleader. And I’d like to personally thank Jack Brewer, Dorion Cable, Shannon Costea (Roejen), Sean Donovan, Micah Hanks, Tyler Kokjohn, Clinton May and the Project Archivist community on Facebook for kicking this subject around with me while I was writing/researching this topic.


Finally, I want to thank the many people in the UFO community who never make this subject matter boring, especially the creative, anonymous people who never get credit and spend so much time on UFO videos and/or stories, releasing them for public consumption and generating debate and controversy for what seems like forever.






“…I think when somebody writes books in my style and in my sense, who are not scientific books… It’s a kind of popular books but it’s not science fiction. Though all the facts do exist... Then an author is allowed to use effects. So some little things like this are really not important because they do not touch the facts. They are simply stimulating the reader and one is allowed to do this.”


– Erich von Däniken, NOVA/Horizon documentary The Case of The Ancient Astronauts 1977





Everything in this book is true except for the parts I made up...


CONTENTS


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty- Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty- Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

About the Author








1



An overextended layover in Newark turned a few hours of playing catch up with my army buds into an impromptu meeting in all seriousness. Seeing guys I hadn't seen since we flew the artifacts out of the desert, conversation turned from old times to the possibility the country was at war when everyone's phone, tablet and laptop lit up with the news. The event displayed over large televisions strewn throughout the airport terminal.

Avion Air flight 17A went down in a field in Missouri. And the only people alive or conscious when the emergency personnel arrived were both pilots and a seven-year-old girl clutching a teddy bear, dressed in striped pajamas.

I was sure right then, I found one.

These are some things I confirmed from her.





2


Summer 2014



The 747 reached thirty-six-thousand-feet in altitude and leveled off. Cruising over the Arizona desert, heading east, the Captain clicked on the microphone and announced the news.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to welcome you all aboard Avion Air flight 17A. We're now cruising along at about five-hundred-and-fifty-miles per hour at thirty-six-thousand-feet. Reports from Detroit say the weather is clear blue skies just like we left behind in Phoenix. Only difference is that we'll be landing in slightly cooler temperatures, about eighty-degrees at our destination.”

The microphone clicked off for a second. Then the Captain clicked back in. “The cabin crew will be around soon with beverages and snacks. So again, on behalf of myself and our entire crew, I'd like to thank you for choosing Avion Air airlines. So sit back, relax and enjoy the rest of the flight.”

Jackie looked out the window, at the brown and red landscape of hills below. And out further in the distance, at the flat plains of desert going on to the horizon. It looked like pictures of Mars she'd seen in her science class programming. Only Mars looked redder in its sky than over Arizona. Arizona's sky was bright blue and met the horizon in a thin, black line that seemed artificially created to keep the ground and it separated.

Jackie squeezed her little teddy bear she'd been clutching since take off. This was her second flight, the first was two weeks prior when she and her mother left Detroit to come to Phoenix to wrap up her grandmother's estate. Jackie loosened her grip on her bear, put her left hand to the window and said a quiet goodbye to her grandmother.

The window was cool, she got a bit more courageous and pushed. And then pushed harder but the window didn't budge. She returned to clutching her bear, wrapping her arms in a cross over it, pressed against her chest. She took a deep breath and turned to her mother. “Who was just talking, momma?”

“What's that honey?”

Amy was already into a book, cracking the cover shortly before takeoff. Oblivious to her daughter's question, she was deep into the story, trying to numb her mother's death.

Jackie said, “Mom, who was talking?”

Amy broke from the story, looked in front of her, down the aisle. She turned and looked down the aisle behind them, then at the people sitting across the aisle. “I don't hear anyone talking to us.”

Jackie said, “No, over the airplane air. He said we're at thirty-six-thousand-feet.”

“Oh, yeah honey, that was the pilot.”

“Oh.”

Jackie returned her attention out the window, to the ground thousands of feet below. “We don't seem to be going five-hundred-miles per hour.”

“What's that?”

“Look, mom.” Jackie pointed out her window with her right hand, clutching her bear with her left arm. “We're not moving too fast. The ground is going by really slow.”

“Well, it's because we're so high up. The higher you go, the slower it seems you're going.”

Jackie missed this the first time. The flight from Detroit to Phoenix was late evening and too dark to see anything more than lights on the ground below. And for most of it, she slept. Her mother told her it was the cheapest flight they could afford.

“Momma, how much higher would we have to go to get to the moon?”

Amy didn't hear her.

Jackie tried to find the moon out her window, no luck. She tried to see the sun. Her best guess was it was in front of the plane.

“Mom, how close are we to the sun?”

Amy didn't hear her.

Jackie unclutched her grip from her bear. She put the bear's face up to the window. “See? See how little the ground looks?”

She wiggled the bear's head back and forth, giving it full view of the scenery. “Do you see the moon, Snoozy?”

Her bear was in a red and white, vertically striped pajama shirt. No pants, a Donald Duck type get up. Upon its head was a sleeping stocking, also in red and white stripes.

Jackie said to Snoozy, “You don't see the moon? I don't see the moon either.”

She wiggled Snoozy's head back and forth to confirm that he did not see the moon.

Jackie said to Snoozy, “Do you think if we went too high we'd run into the sun?”

Snoozy wiggled his head up and down, confirming.

“Well then let's hope our pilot is real smart and knows how to stay away from getting us all burned up by the sun.”

Snoozy wiggled his head up and down.

Amy said, “Stay put honey. I'm going to the bathroom.”

“Okay, mom.”

Amy unbuckled her belt, stood up and fixed her shirt. She placed her book on her seat, waited for a fellow passenger to clear the aisle then headed towards the bathrooms at the back of the plane.

Jackie peered over her seat, watched her mother until she was out of sight, through the bathroom door. “Well Snoozy, it's just you and I right here for a bit. What do you wanna do?”

Snoozy lifted his arms, unsure.

“Yeah, I don't know either.” She returned her attention out her window, the blue sky, the brown and red desert below. “I hope this isn't a long flight like the first one.”

The flight attendants were putting carts in order with cans of soda and little bottles of alcohol. Small cookies, pretzels and peanuts were options as well. Jackie watched them, counted them. She said to Snoozy, “There's two boy attendants and one girl attendant.” She held Snoozy up to see over the seat. “You can be a boy or a girl attendant.”

She wondered if she could be a flight attendant. She'd probably miss her mom.

The lady across the aisle noticed her. “What is your bear's name?”

Jackie wasn't sure if she should say anything. That lesson about strangers was big with her mother. But Jackie thought the woman couldn't possibly do anything in a crowded plane, right?

“His name is Snoozy. And he's a lazy bear. He doesn't talk much but he sleeps all day.”

The lady said, “Oh? I see. He's still in his jammies.”

“Yeah, I got a few sets of jammies but these red and white ones are his favorite.”

“Oh really? Why does he like those?”

“Well when mom got him for me for Christmas, he was wearing them. So I figured like when you're going to meet someone important for the first time, you wear your best outfit.”

The lady smiled, clasped her hands together acknowledging adorable Jackie.

Jackie said, “When my mom was going to find a job, she would put on her best clothes. And she still wears her best clothes when she’s at work.”

“Well, it sounds like you have important parents in your life.”

“My mom’s in my life. I don’t know my dad. I mean, my mom says I have one but he’s never come to see me.”

The lady said, “Oh, I see.” And she returned to her business with, “Well, enjoy the flight.”

Jackie looked back over her seat, thought, where is mom? Jackie pet Snoozy’s head, adjusted his stocking cap, “Do you think mom's going number one or number two?”

Snoozy didn't say anything. He shrugged his shoulders.

Jackie wrapped her arms around her very lazy bear, hugged him tight. She looked out her window and wondered if there were people down below. It didn't look inhabited. It was like a less-than- red Mars and she knew from her teacher that no one lived on Mars. Mars wasn't a place people could survive. She wondered if people survived in the desert. She didn't see anyone.

“You okay, honey?”

Amy returned, picked the book up that was holding her place and sat down in her seat. She flipped her hair, pulled it back behind her head and adjusted herself into comfort.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I think the pop is coming.”

Amy noticed the flight attendant moving the cart through the aisle. “Oh, yeah, good, I'm thirsty.”

“Momma, can I get a pop?”

“I guess so. Ginger ale, okay?”

“But I want a Coke.”

“Jacks, no. No caffeine. Canada Dry or nothing.”

Jackie leaned her head against the window. “Fine.”

She closed her eyes, pictured her grandmother in her living room. She pictured how a day ago it was so empty. So much had been removed, the furniture, the television. Only a few pieces of her grandmother were left for the new owners to use. If they wanted it.

And then she fell asleep. Before her ginger ale arrived.


The Captain answered the incoming radio transmission, “Kansas City Radio, Avion Air 17A, Go ahead.”

The radio returned with, “Avion 17A, Kansas City Radio, be advised. Whiteman Airforce Base has two A-10 Thunderbolts in your area.”

The Captain’s eyes me those of the co-pilot, puzzled. The flight attendant behind them paused from pouring the coffee. The Captain returned to the radio. “Roger, Kansas City.”

The cockpit was silent. The flight attendant broke the silence with the sound of pouring coffee. “Two sugars, right?”

The co-pilot said, “Yes, two, thanks for remembering.”

The flight attendant fished out two packets of sugar, handed them to the co-pilot. One small cloud caught her attention out the cockpit windows while she scanned the skies for other aircraft.

The co-pilot said to the captain, “What do you think that's all about?”

The Captain scanned the skies around him. “Beats me. Probably a training exercise or something.”

The co-pilot observed the cloud formations below them. “Aren't the A-10s at Whiteman combat ready?”

The Captain said, “Not sure. I think you're right about that, though.”

“Well why wouldn't they have told us sooner and maybe diverted our flight?”

“Good point. This area is a little too populated for a training exercise.”

The co-pilot said, “Don't these guys set up fake tanks and jeeps in the desert and bomb the shit out of them?”

“Who knows? Maybe they're headed out west for that very reason.”

The radio came back on. “Avion 17A, Kansas City Radio. Descend to twenty-thousand-feet and maintain.”

The Captain turned to his co-pilot. “Guess we are being diverted.” The Captain returned to the radio. “Roger, Kansas City. Descending to twenty-thousand-feet.”

The 747 was above a thick layer of white cloud cover. Descent would take them into it and as the Captain estimated, stay submerged in it. The crew would have to rely on the plane's computer for navigation and guidance.

The Captain prepared the flight to descend.

The flight attendant pulled her condiments and supplies together. “I better strap myself in.” And she exited the cockpit, securing the door behind her.


A light from over Amy's head caught her attention. Above her flashed the fasten seat belt sign. She saw a flight attendant at the front of the plane take a seat outside the cockpit. A second flight attendant took to the PA system.

He said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. Ground has instructed us to descend to twenty-thousand-feet for a period of time. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. Refreshments will continue after the Captain gives clearance. Thank you.”

After the announcement, he took up a seat next to the other flight attendant, fastened himself in.

Amy flew enough times to learn a valuable lesson: There was no need to panic at every deviation of the flight or orders to fasten the seat belt. She learned a long time ago to pay attention to the flight attendants. If they didn't seem nervous, she didn't have to be nervous.

Two attendants were in their seats outside the cockpit. Others were in the back securing carts and other items. A third came down the aisle and took the seat next to the main door, diagonal to the other two outside the cockpit.

Amy looked out her window to see the cloud cover below getting closer. The plane bounced through some turbulence on its descent. A harder bounce, a second one followed knocking Jackie's head against the window she leaned against.

“Ouch.” she said, waking up and holding the left side of her face.

Amy reached over, felt around her daughter's body to ensure the seat belt was still securing her in. It was.

“What's wrong, mom?”

“Captain wants to make sure our seat belts are on.”

“How come?”

“I don't know. We gotta fly lower for a while.”

The fuselage shook as the plane made its descent. It was mild turbulence but enough to scare Jackie.

“We're not falling, are we?”

“No, just going a little bit lower, that's all.”

Amy checked on the flight attendants fastened at the front of the plane. Still smiling, one even slapped the lap of another, as if a joke were being shared. Amy reminded herself if the flight attendants were calm, then this was normal.

The inside of the fuselage darkened. The lights were on but it was as if night time was fast approaching. Out the window, Amy saw they were not yet in the cloud cover and wondered if a darker one was above them. But as far as she could see around her, the sky was still blue.

Amy saw a shadow cast itself on the 747's wing. It expanded, darkening more and more of the plane. Amy figured, yes, surely a cloud was overhead. One must have come between their plane and the sun. The only problem was they just came down from a clear sky. The only cloud cover was below them, maybe another few minutes away on their way down. Besides, the shadow had a perfect edge, straight. A cloud would be uneven.

More definition of the shadow’s shape was casting further below, in the clouds they were about to penetrate. The 747 projected its own image on the cloud cover and beside it, was the shadow of a perfect triangle, perhaps three times the size of their plane.

Amy put her hand over her mouth just as another passenger on her side of the plane let out a, “What the fuck is that?”

The 747 bounced, ejecting Amy's book from her hands, tossing it into the aisle. Jackie grabbed Snoozy and her seat's arm rest, turning her fingers purple.

The shadow of the triangle merged with the one of the 747, dwarfed it. Amy did a quick calculation. The position of the sun, the direction of their flight, the triangle was right above them.

The 747s once smooth flight turned into an experience akin to driving down an unkempt dirt road.

Jackie said, “Momma, are we okay?”

Amy's attention was locked out the window. The shadows appeared as if they were about to collide. The triangle was swallowing that of the 747. The cabin darkened.

Jackie said, “Mom, look, two more planes out there.”

In the distance, Amy saw two aircraft approaching.

Another passenger noticed too. He said, “I think we're getting a military escort.”

Another passenger said, “Are we hijacked?”

Jackie said, “Mom, what is hijacked?”

The change in behavior of the flight attendants concerned Amy. Down the aisle, the attendants were no longer smiling, no longer joking or talking. They were trying to get a look out of the windows on the left side of the plane.

Other passengers were risking injury, unbuckling themselves and pushing their way to the nearest window. A flight attendant in the back noticed, got on the PA and reminded them to stay seated.

The 747 entered the clouds and the shadows swirled, faded away. The last thing Amy saw before her window was fogged were two military jets coming in their direction at an incredible speed.

Those inside the fuselage were now blind from what was going on outside. The turbulence slowed, passengers strained to see out windows.

Jackie said, “Momma, I can't see out the window.”

“That's okay, the pilots can.”

“How do they see out the windows like this?”

Amy said, “They let their computers see for them, I think. I'm not sure, but they know what they're doing.”

Amy wondered to herself if she really knew what she was talking about. As far as Jackie had to know right now, she was fine. This is just clouds. Planes fly through clouds all the time. Planes change flight paths all the time. Planes change altitude, all the time.

The white noise of the engines rested the cabin, settled some of the passengers back into their seats. Amy tuned into the high pitch of the engine whistle outside, normally ignored and lost after the first few minutes of flight. Amy listened for any hiccup, any interruption in the low roar outside. Nothing.

Jackie said, “Momma, I'm scared.”

Amy leaned into her daughter. “Okay, do what I do, do you see the flight attendants.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, as long as they're looking like everything is okay, then everything is okay.”

Jackie scanned ahead of her, saw the attendants not looking okay at all. One, despite his own orders earlier to fasten seat belts, was standing up and looking out the window. The two others were strapped back into their seats and holding on to the arm rests.

“Mom, they don't look like they're having a good time.”

Amy's attention was drawn to the wing of the plane. The wing tip safety light was flickering as normal. It was visible from time to time depending on the thickness of the clouds. But what was troubling, was that it seemed to be getting brighter while the fuselage and outside darkened.

The normal roar and whistle of the jet engines was joined by another sound from the outside. This one was higher in pitch, louder. It was sort of like a clothes dryer running in the basement and a high pitched whine. The shadow was back and casting over them.

Amy whispered under her breath, oh god, what is out there?

The plane broke below the cloud cover, still descending. Further below, the passengers could see the ground. The houses and roads were still too small to make out any activity.

The Captain clicked into the cabin, “Ladies and gentlemen, please keep your seat belts fastened. Ground tells us...”

A carry-on bag fell from the storage above and slammed into Amy's head. Baggage containers were flying open, spilling their contents. The flight attendant who didn't obey his own command was thrown first to the ceiling of the fuselage then back to the floor.

The plane shook like a baby rattle. Jackie dropped Snoozy and leaned forward in a panic to retrieve him. Amy wiped her forehead, checking for blood.

Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling and wagged around everyone's face. Yellow cups were dangling by clear plastic tethering, like jelly fish springing on prey.

No instructions came. Amy did not hear what everyone knows from the movies. Nothing came over the PA on what to do with them. Nothing regarding putting yours on before assisting others.

Amy teared up, felt the pit of her stomach launch upwards. Another passenger yelled something about the plane falling out of the sky.

But the plane was not falling. Outside her window, Amy and Jackie both saw what they thought to be long mechanical appendages coming from above the 747, like robotic arms on an automobile assembly line. Only these were more flexible, less cut at defined angles.

Numerous tentacle-like arms were coming from above. Amy quick counted three or four on her side, people on the other side of the plane were screaming about the same thing happening on theirs.

Jackie said, “Momma, it's a big, big spider.”

Long mechanical spider legs wrapped themselves around the plane. They tightened against the fuselage, causing it to bulk inward.

The 747 initially dropped far below the cloud cover in what Amy surmised was an attempt by the Captain to make a fast descent. But now the plane was ascending, rising back into the cloud cover.

The jet engines screamed outside. It was like picking up a remote control car when the wheels were still spinning. With nothing for it to push against, the engines wound out faster. Something else was now in control.

Amy grabbed for the oxygen mask but was jolted too fast to get a grip on it. Jackie managed to get Snoozy back into her lap and push her face into the back of his neck.

Amy felt her stomach now go the other way, like when an elevator makes a quick trip to the top. Vertigo set in. Her eyes blurred. And then the cloud cover engulfed the airliner again.

The window fogged over in gray and white. Flashes of light blinked at Amy's face from the outside. Lightning? The wing tip? She shook her head, fighting off the vertigo. She caught the face of her daughter, wide eyed and staring at her. She could hear Jackie calling her name but couldn't answer. Her head was shaking, focus becoming impossible.


The Captain yelled into the radio, “Kansas City, we have lost cabin pressure. Repeat, we have lost cabin pressure.”

The co-pilot was scrambling for his oxygen mask in the console next to him. The Captain had already secured his.

Kansas City said, “Avion 17A, we have lost radar contact.”

The Captain said, “Kansas, we are ascending rapidly. Instrumentation is all over the place. I cannot tell you our exact location.”

The Captain struggled with the controls. He attempted to force the 747 to descend but it continued to climb. The engines gave no sign of responding to the Captain's attempts at accelerating or decelerating.

A huge object was above them. Its nose, for what the Captain took for a nose, cast out far in front of the cockpit. A solid structure forming an acute angle, maybe ninety degrees. Without the rest of the object in view, he could not tell. But it was solid and flat black. No reflection or shine to it despite a bright, blue and now, cloudless sky.

The Captain estimated on the size. If the triangle out in front was projecting as far out as it did, based on aerodynamics, the entire craft must be several times larger than the 747.

The Captain said, “Kansas, do you have anything on radar?”

The co-pilot secured his oxygen mask. He was deep breathing, eyes locked on the black triangular structure above them. “Good god.”

Kansas said, “We have two on radar in your last known location and something...”

“Something what?”

Kansas said, “Avion, our radar must be malfunctioning.”

“Why?”

“Avion, other than the two normal returns we're sure are the A-10s from Whiteman Airforce, the radar return from your last known location is showing...”

“Showing what?”

“Avion, it's showing an abnormal return. The object on our screen is too big.”

The Captain said, “Too big? How big?”

“Avion, we're estimating aircraft carrier size.”

A crack formed on the window in the cockpit. The Captain and co-pilot saw their instrumentation reading that breaches were forming in the fuselage.

And then the 747 leveled off, the plane responded to the Captain's controls. The Captain observed the black object moving away, up and to the right of the plane. To his left, the Captain observed two A-10s headed towards their location.

The Captain radioed, “Kansas, we seem to have regained control. Descending below ten-thousand feet. Lost cabin pressure. Fuselage breached.”

The Captain pushed the 747 into a steep descent. In minutes, the plane would be at an altitude where passengers wouldn't be in need of their oxygen masks so much. But the fuselage, the breach. That posed the worst problem.

The co-pilot said, “Oh my god, look at it.”

Out the right side of the cockpit window the object was there. A large black triangle with big, round lights at each tip and one large one in the center. Several mechanical, yet flexible looking arms were retracting into the belly of it. And then it was gone, speeding away from the 747.

The Captain said, “We don't have time to sightsee. We have to get this thing to the ground. Now.”

The plane rumbled, shook. The cockpit window formed another crack, linking up to the existing one. The A-10s flew close and over the 747 in pursuit of the triangular craft.

The co-pilot took one last look to his right to see the triangle spin about thirty-degrees and shoot up straight out of sight. The A-10s passed through what used to be its airspace and engaged in a maneuver to follow it.

The Captain said, “Kansas, we need anything that's open right below us. This will not be a proper landing in any sense.”

The 747 dropped to ten-thousand-feet and continued to go lower.

The Captain said, “Kansas, any highway, any field. Fuselage has been breached.”

Kansas said, “Avion, engine report if you can.”

The Captain checked the gages, “Engines operational, no problems noted that I can see. Plane shaking and difficult to control. Must land before we break apart in midair.”

The co-pilot said, “Captain, I believe we're on our own to find a place to land.”

Visual showed plenty of fields in the area. The trick was getting into one with enough room to slide to a safe stop. The roads below were less of a choice due to vehicles.

Kansas radio said, “Avion, Butler Airport has been alerted to our situation. Their only traffic right now is a skydive trainer currently being diverted for your arrival.”

The Captain had the 747 in a steep descent, headed towards the first open field he could find. “Kansas, where is Butler to our location?”

“Avion, Butler is just east and to the north of you. It's along the I-49, running north and south.”

The Captain scanned outside his cockpit windows. Now, there were three cracks, all linking up. He said to the co-pilot, “Punch Butler into the GPS.”

The co-pilot searched both navigation systems, found it. “Butler is pinging us just to our north.”

The Captain reviewed the instrument panel. “We're not going to have the luxury of landing this thing daintily or even with Butler's permission.”

The co-pilot agreed, hoped the cockpit window held.

The Captain radioed, “Kansas, what frequency is Butler on?”

A moment later, Kansas radioed back. The Captain radioed Butler, “Butler, Avion 17A, we're of the understanding you're aware of our situation. We don't have the ability to be nice about this, we have no option, we have to have the way.”

Butler radioed back, “Avion, the runway is clear. The only problem is that our asphalt is just over a thousand feet.”

The Captain and co-pilot ran the numbers, doing the math. The co-pilot said “I think that’s…I think it means…”

The Captain radioed, “Uh Butler, that's about a seventh of what we need.”

Butler said, “Come in from the south and there's plenty of flat plains to slide through. Come in from the north and it's the same but you risk hitting structures on your right if you slide that way.”

The Captain said, “Butler, we're already coming in from the south. You're on visual now. Approximately eight-thousand-feet 'til we reach you. Prepare for crash landing.”

The Captain could see the runway to his right, he pulled the plane to line it up.

The 747 was shaking, no longer feeling smooth and aerodynamic. Cracks in a busted fuselage were dragging it down, putting more resistance on the plane. The wings gave off an illusion of flapping, or maybe they were, ever so slightly, at risk of being torn off.

Firetrucks ran down the I-49 highway, followed by several police vehicles.

The co-pilot said, “Jesus Christ, I'm not even sure how to explain this.”

The Captain lowered the landing gear, hoping it came down. He pondered the thought of going in on the belly, sliding through open fields might be smoother that way. But it risked smashing the engines to the ground, surely causing a fire, maybe explosion. Wheels down was preferred.

The Captain radioed, “Butler, we'll see you in a minute.”

Butler said, “Good luck, Avion.”

The Captain pulled up to keep the nose as high as possible before touch down, to force drag on the plane and slow the speed. The risk was that the fuselage would break apart. But the Captain calculated it was going to break up anyways, more likely once it hit the ground.

The wheels squawked on the runway, the 747 bounced. Gravity pulled it back down and the wheels squawked again then held. The Captain and co-pilot hit the brakes. The tires smoked. The runway was going to be out from under them in no time, putting the 747 into open fields of farmland.

The 747 ran out of asphalt. It churned up dust and sand, tearing into the field. Cornstalks were smashed and flattened. As far as the captain and co-pilot could see, there was nothing to collide into. There was nothing else to do but grip the brake, let the resistance of the ground take over and hope they'd stop before the 747 broke apart.





3


Summer 2014



AWAKE THROUGH IT ALL – Seven Year Old on the Final Flight of Avion Air 17A


by Darna Wilk, KNC

August 24, 2014


Four days ago, Avion Air flight 17A left the Phoenix airport, bound for Detroit. It did not make it. Somewhere over Kansas, the fuselage cracked in several places. Cabin pressure dropped causing just about everyone on board to lose consciousness. Some were not so lucky. Some died from the extreme cold and lack of oxygen before Avion Air could reach below the 8,000 foot safe point.


Why few had the time to get to their oxygen masks remains a mystery. But even those who did, all but three were unconscious or dead by the time emergency personnel reached the scene.


Both pilots were awake and able to talk to rescue workers, assist with getting fellow passengers up and around. But there was one other. A seven-year-old girl that, for the sake of privacy of the juvenile, we have chosen to not release her name.


She is reported to be the only passenger that was conscious and awake throughout the entire flight without protective gear, from the time the plane snapped and began to collapse like a can of soda to the rough landing off the runway at Butler Airport. Why she was able to tolerate such extreme conditions has baffled doctors and the experts.


Seven-years-old.

Female.


These were the only two pieces of information I had to start with to identify her. The problem is that getting a passenger manifest isn’t a Google search away. Only the airline and the government have access to it. And that’s only if you’re an airline employee with a reason to access it or a government official gaining access through a court order. Or, if you're an author of books about UFOs and have built a rapport with numerous pilots.

When Avion Air 17A went down, my latest book, Chasing Disclosure was listed number seventy-two in Amazon's Books > Religion & Spirituality > Occult > Paranormal > UFOs; number seventy-three in Amazon's Books > Religion & Spirituality > Occult > Paranormal > Unexplained Mysteries; and number three-hundred-forty-five in Amazon's Books > Religion & Spirituality > Occult > Paranormal > Astronomy & Space Science. Its overall best seller's ranking was 49,215. It was released three weeks prior to the plane crash.

Disclosure is the term we in the UFO community use to describe the time those in the know, government agencies or otherwise, will publicly admit they have known all along the origins of these alien craft. More often than not, when someone in this community uses disclosure, they are usually under the assumption that UFOs are extra-terrestrial space craft visiting Earth and one day those in the know will tell us.

Some say this announcement is around the corner, some people have been played with by disinformation agents and promised they would be part of the revelation, leading only to their own discredit. Some say it will never happen. My book was of the latter.

Days after the crash, my agent called, he said, “Richard, you're not going to believe this. Have you seen your sales stats?”

“Not since last week.”

“You should take a look.”

I said, “Why don't you just tell me.”

Through the phone, I could hear Dale clicking away at his keyboard.

“Well let's just say I've had a few inquiries this morning about selling the overseas rights.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Oh, and a request for translated editions in Greek and Polish.”

“Now that is interesting.”

Dale said, “I hate to say it like this but that Avion Air crash really pushed the sales here.”

Several news clippings about it covered my coffee table. The most interesting aspect was the girl. “Dale, I'm attending the Milwaukee UFO conference next weekend. Think I should bring it up?”

“What? The book sale numbers?”

“No, the...uh, plane crash.”

Dale tapped away on his keyboard. I could hear him mouthing out the words he was preparing. Sounded like a reply about a request regarding my book.

Dale then said to me, “I'd try to wiggle it in if I were you.”

Details of Avion Air flight 17A were that it went down with no signs of engine trouble, no signs of wing deficiencies or malfunctioning. It was still under investigation by the FBI and other agencies. But what we all knew was that it came out of the sky looking like a pop can that had been toyed with, squeezed. The running hypothesis was that the fuselage cracked at cruising level, leading to explosive decompression. However, the only other case of this happening was the 1988 case of Aloha Airlines Flight 243. But that only ripped the top of the plane off and everyone but one, a flight attendant who was ejected after it happened, survived. Unlike Avion Air 17A, where several died and Avion came down like a crumpled bottle. The hypothesis that Avion Air dropped out of the sky due to an overlooked crack that got too big didn't make sense.

I said, “Dale, I got information that two military jets were in the area when the plane went down.”

He said, “You did? I don't recall reading about that.”

I said, “As far as I'm aware, it wasn't in any news reports. That came to me in an email from, you know, the same sources that like to send me things.”

If you're a writer, investigator or otherwise a known name in this field, people send you things all the time. Like people who are certain they're part alien and can prove it if only I'll drive out to some secret location to meet with them. Most of it can be dismissed with the delete-key after the first sentence.

“Yeah, well it's possible. I mean if a plane was suspected hijacked or requested help or something, maybe jets were scrambled.”

“You don't think that's got something to do with it, do you?”

Dale said, “How so?”

“What if this is a military caused accident? Maybe jets on an exercise made a mistake or something.”

“Don't know. No idea. But if you do, I think you could talk about it at the conference.”

My presentation to the Milwaukee UFO conference was billed as a review of the evidence that flying saucers or otherwise were man-made. I'd already debunked the extra-terrestrial hypothesis in earlier presentations. Now it was time to see if there was an earthly origin for these flying wondrous machines.

I said, “Well, Dale, I don't see how anything about that plane crash fits into what I have to say.”

Dale's clicking keyboard stopped. “Maybe not. But it's hot right now and I'm sure it's coinciding with your book sales. So, ya know, it wouldn't hurt to at least mention it.”

If something flies across the sky and you don't know what it is, by definition, that's a UFO. End of story. What UFO enthusiasts are mainly interested in is whether or not any of them are of intelligent control, either extra-terrestrial or secret technology from secret human societies.

To me, Disclosure will never happen because there is nothing to disclose. Despite what you've heard of cover ups, everyone is just as confused as the next person about what is going on.

The truth is, most of what you read about UFOs is garbage. It's nonsense. It's no truer than claims of ESP or telepathy or ghosts. My book called bunk on the whole subject. I do this because while I do think we have a genuine mystery here, unlike several of my colleagues, I am willing to admit we have nothing conclusive to date. All we have is a mystery. Whether or not there's anything real and tangible remains elusive.

However, what led me into this field, well, we’ll get to that. It’s what got me started down this road and still in need of an explanation I’m searching for.

I haven’t even told Dale about it.

I said, “Let me think about it.”

Dale, still talking out whatever it was he was typing said to me, “Think about what?”

“Think about including Avion Air in my presentation.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. This is crazy busy over here.”

It’s been three quarters of a century since 1947 when Kenneth Arnold saw nine objects flying over Mount Rainer in the State of Washington. And when he reported on them, he described their flight pattern as if saucers were skipping over water. The term “flying saucer” was born right there. But when Arnold drew what he saw, it looked more like a half-moon with a bit pinched up in the middle of the crescent. It was shaped more like the letter W. But ever since then, because of his description of the flight, people have been reporting seeing a mistake for the past seventy-years.

Dale said, “I think the military jets in the area means something was going on and we haven’t been told the entire story.”

“That's only if we can confirm military jets were really in the area. But even if they were, the jets could easily have come after the distress calls. Ever since September Eleventh and all.”

Dale stopped clicking his keyboard. He sighed into the phone. “All true. All true.”

It’s probably a good estimate that millions or maybe billions of people have seen things in the sky they cannot identify. This shouldn’t be surprising. How many people are experts on things that fly? How many people bother to look up? Especially these days when I see most people looking down and into cell phones.

I said, “Dale, I think I’m going to make a few calls about those military planes. See if I can find out what kind of aircraft they were.”

Dale said, “I don’t know.”

“Well, the nearest air base in that area is Whiteman.”

Dale said, “Yeah, I’d start with that.”

The most amazing thing about the UFO field is that no two stories of encounters are ever the same. Think about that. How many people can report encountering a deer in the wild? Or catching their first fish? The stories are very similar. But with UFOs the dimensions of weirdness are so extreme that a term has developed around them called High Strangeness.

The shear absurdity of so many sightings suggests we’re dealing with the strange realm of human psychology and we’re finding out it is very creative. Whatever people are seeing in the skies, the human mind is being very artistic about it. We’re also finding out the human being is a terrible eye-witness. Most cases of UFO reports turn out to be birds, insects, satellites coming out of orbit, rocket launches, meteors, planets, military aircraft yet declassified to the public. And that’s not a complete list. Misidentifications are so prevalent, even by those trained and employed working the skies, that it led one air traffic controller in my home town of Detroit to say, “Do you know how many times we have cleared Venus to land?” And in World War Two, the USS Houston fired more than two-hundred-fifty rounds at Venus, thinking it incoming enemy aircraft.

I and the flying-saucer-true-believer accept that ninety percent of all UFO reports are conventional, normal objects after close examination. Where we disagree is the other ten percent.

I said, “What about the survivors? Has anyone gotten to them, conducted interviews?”

Dale said, “Not that I’m aware of.”

I wondered particularly about the young girl. The paper said only she and the two pilots were conscious by the time the emergency crews arrived.

I said, “Dale, I need more information on that girl, too.”

Dale said, “Why is she relevant?”

“If she was awake the whole time, she might be able to give up the whole story. Or enough to piece things together. The pilots aren't going to talk. They're mouths are surely shut up by corporate lawyers right now and forever pending lawsuits and everything else that's going to come down.”

Dale said, “If I were you I’d start calling up the guys you know in the airline business to get what you need.”

“I was thinking just that.”

Over the decades, ever since Kenneth Arnold made the first discovery of what has been termed the modern age of UFOs, we’ve put up more cameras, more spy satellites, more telescopes. We’ve basically covered every inch of the sky and we have yet to find conclusive proof of any flying saucer or otherwise. The only thing we ever really have, are the reports, the eye-witness accounts. And anecdotal information is no proof at all. Without anything more, it’s just a good story. But I wanted this seven-year-old girl’s story.

The lack of anything conclusive despite the extensive monitoring of the skies leads the saucer-believers to speculate on cloaking technology being deployed. Or that they work on physics we haven’t figured out yet. Or talk of them working the same way ghosts come into our world. Please. You can’t explain one mystery with another. Two unknowns don’t make reality. What the true believer is doing is making special pleadings instead of admitting there simply is no evidence.

I said, “However, I doubt I’ll get anything conclusive by next weekend.”

Dale said, “It could be nothing. Avion Air could be a fluke. Could be chasing nothing.”

“Could be. Well, the Internet has lit up with everything from UFOs to conspiracies that the government shot it down.”

“Of course, that’s the Internet’s job.”

We both laughed. I said, “Okay Dale, look I’m going to get going.”

Dale said, “Don’t forget to look at the book sales. You’ll be very pleased. And Richard…”

“Yes?”

“This is a good time to start working on a follow up. Gotta strike while the iron is hot.”

“Sure thing.”

Despite what the believer says about the subject not being taken seriously, the fact is, any and every scientist would love to discover there really are flying saucers visiting Earth. The lack of evidence is why they’ve moved on. And there is no evidence at all that there’s a grand conspiracy of academics to suppress evidence of anything extraordinary going on in the skies.

Also, I’m fairly certain that there’s none going on at a government level either. Governments are just as confused about what’s going on as the rest of us. But their interest is not scientific anyhow. It’s whether or not anything in the skies demonstrates a national security threat. That’s the only thing they’ve ever been concerned about. And in 1969, after several decades of their own research and the final report of the Condon Committee which argued there was nothing to it, the government officially closed its doors on the subject.

Numerous scientific and government investigations have been held over the subject of UFOs and they’ve almost always resulted in the same conclusion: There is nothing scientifically beneficial to continue the study of UFOs and whatever remains of what people are seeing in the skies they cannot identify is, at least, not a security threat to the world.

Despite all my reservations and skepticism, despite my books and articles and presentations calling bunk on the entire subject, privately, I want to believe. But that's why I remain the most cautious, holding out for the extraordinary evidence to account for the extraordinary claim.

Like Francis Collins, a genius in genetics who retains his belief in a god he cannot prove, that he does not bother to use the same rules of evidence he uses in his field of genetics, my belief that we really do have visitors is more than a gut feeling. It’s one with at least more evidence than Collins brings to the table for his views.

More than anything, my time in the Middle East left a mark that has yet to be satisfied and it’s what keeps me in the game. But besides some things I learned about the subject during my stint in the army years ago, there is one more thing I haven't told Dale about.

There are thirty-seven-million-plus acres of land in my home State of Michigan. Just over nineteen million of it is forestland and almost as much land as there is water. If you want to get rid of a body, just keep driving North of Saginaw, get off at any exit north of there although I know the area best at the exit on Alger, exit two-zero-two. That's where, to date, I've left two bodies.


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