Time Storm
A U.F.O. story
Written by Deborah Rorabaugh
Copyright: June 3, 1997
Country of first publication, United States of America
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.Part 1
Tamara Paulson frowned at the tracings on her radar screen. Commander Straker noticed and stepped over to her station.
"Something wrong, Lieutenant?" he asked.
"I'm not sure, sir," she said, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face. "We're tracking that experimental stealth bomber out of RAF Alconbury, the one you wanted to keep an eye on?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I'm tracking it fine, but there seems to be a storm front approaching it."
"Storms aren't all that unusual, Lieutenant," Straker reminded her.
"This one is," Paulson said. "It's only showing up on one radar channel and then it's only on every other sweep."
"It's not a glitch in the system?"
"No sir," Paulson said. "I asked Major Graham to look into it. It's external to us. Another weird thing about it, though, I can't get a satellite direct visual on it, but it shows up on the photos as a smudge."
"What do the computers think about it?" Straker asked. SHADO had one of the most sophisticated computer systems in the world.
"That's another weird thing, sir. The computers don't want to think about it. I keep getting back that our input is invalid."
"The computers don't like the storm?" Straker asked, half in jest.
She shook her head and gave a little shrug.
He sighed. SHADO's main computers had long ago outgrown his ability to understand them as a system. He could handle the programs that served his own network station, even do some minor trouble shooting. But, when the main system started acting up, it was time to call in the experts.
"Well, keep an eye on the storm and on the stealth, Lieutenant," Straker ordered. "Let me know if it looks like they might impact our operations."
"Yes, sir."
"Red alert, red alert. Have U.F.O. on positive track," Space Intruder Detector's synthesized voice announced. "Four zero three, One three two, Blue."
The operatives in SHADO's central command post knew the Moonbase interceptors were already on their way to search out and destroy the enemy craft. After a few moments, SID announced: "Destruct negative."
"It's through, Commander," Ford said.
"What's the projected termination?" Straker asked.
Ford checked a readout in front of him. "Grid reference Green 12 B, Southern England."
"Alert all ground stations and alert Sky 1 for intercept," Straker ordered.
Ford passed the instructions on. An alert siren sounded throughout the underground complex of SHADO headquarters.
After a few minutes, Ford reported: "Sky 1 has launched and is on an intercept course with the Ufo. IP in five minutes."
"Sir," Paulson called. "The Ufo is on an intercept course with the stealth."
"Get onto Alconbury and warn them," Straker ordered.
Paulson picked up the telephone receiver from her station and keyed in the combination that would link SHADO operations to Alconbury Royal Air Force base's flight operations. After a few moments, she shook her head.
"Sir, I'm not getting through."
"What's wrong?" Straker demanded.
"There's just static on the line," she explained. "Maybe the storm has knocked out the phone system."
"Keep trying to get somebody over there, on radio if necessary," Straker ordered. He turned to Ford. "Tell Carlin to step on it. Warn him there's a Boeing B 3 in the area and it appears to be the target."
"Yes, sir," Ford acknowledged.
"Commander," Paulson said from her station. "That storm line is getting heavier. It almost looks like it's following the plane."
Straker went over to her station. The storm was a solid line across her screen. The stealth was a faint blip. It was making erratic course changes, as though it were being buffeted by the wind, or maybe it was trying to elude something. Beyond the storm line, the screen was clear. The U.F.O. appeared on the screen as it dropped into range. Suddenly, the alien began making erratic course changes as well. It increased speed.
"What's it doing?" Straker wondered aloud.
"The Ufo has increased speed to mach five," Lieutenant Johnson reported.
"That's crazy," Straker commented. "It can't possibly land at that speed."
As they watched, the U.F.O. pulled past the stealth. The radar image of the storm jumped and disappeared. The two aircraft vanished with it.
"They're gone," Johnson said.
"Nonsense," Straker said. "We must have an equipment problem."
Johnson ran a quick check on her console. "Negative, sir. The equipment checks out. They must have crashed."
The speaker at Ford's station sputtered on.
"Sky one to SHADO control," Peter Carlin called. "Request fix and attack coordinates on the Ufo."
Straker hurried over to Ford's station. "Captain, we have reason to believe both the Ufo and the stealth went down very near you due to the weather."
"Weather, sir?" Carlin asked. "What weather?"
"We've been tracking heavy weather in that area," Straker said.
"Sir, you might want to check the weather radar system," Carlin suggested. "I have unlimited visibility. There's not even any wind."
"Thank you, Captain," Straker said. "Just the same, do a search pattern over the area in case they did go down."
"Yes, sir," Carlin acknowledged.
"What's wrong?" Colonel Virginia Lake asked. She was coming in for her midnight to eight duty shift.
"I want a check on all radar systems, especially the weather system, including the interface to the main computers," Straker ordered.
"What happened?" Lake asked.
"We just lost track of a Ufo and that new bomber out of Alconbury. The radar showed a severe storm front in the area," Straker explained.
"There was nothing on the radio about a storm," Lake said. "What does the weather forecast say?"
"Clear, dry, with only minor winds for the next week," Straker said.
"Could it be an alien trick?" she asked.
"You tell me," Straker said as he stalked off to his office.
Within half an hour, Captain Carlin reported his findings. "No sign of the Ufo or the bomber. I recommend waiting till sunup before beginning another search. One odd thing though, the power's out for about a mile around Alconbury Air Base and I'm picking up some weird magnetic readings from the ground."
"Thank you, Captain," Straker acknowledged. He came out of his office and walked over to where Lake was talking to Major Louis Graham, SHADO's electronics master.
"Well?" Straker asked. Lake shook her head.
"The radar systems are functioning perfectly, and the main computers check out as well," Lake said.
"So, what happened?" Straker demanded.
"We have no idea, sir," Graham said.
"We have the most sophisticated tracking system in the world, and you have no idea what it was picking up?" Straker nearly sputtered in his disbelief.
"That's correct, sir," Graham said. "According to the radar, we were tracking an extremely dense air effect that resembled a storm front. The effect was at least a mile wide and was extremely ionized. It appears to have knocked out all the power and communications in the area." Graham paused.
"Go on," Straker urged.
"The effect has most of the earmarks of a powerful EM pulse," Graham said. "However, EM pulses have single point origination. They're one shot deals, associated with nuclear explosions."
"I know that, Major. I've worked with nukes," Straker said.
"Commander, there's no sign of an explosion, no excessive radiation, nothing," Lake said.
"So, we have an idea what it isn't," Straker translated. "But what is it, besides something the main computers didn't want to believe?"
"Sir, computers can only give output based on what has been inputted," Lake said.
"And the input makes no sense to the computers?" Straker asked.
Lake nodded.
"Commander, do you remember when the Nimitz disappeared two years ago last July?" Graham asked.
"Yes," Straker said slowly. "She was out of communication for about seventy two hours. All the reports said a severe electrical storm blew out her communications. We looked into it on the possibility of alien interference. We didn't find any."
Graham nodded. "Very true, sir. We didn't find any evidence the aliens were involved. But, the crew's report to the Navy was pretty bizarre. And, the readings they were getting from their radar systems and computers were very similar to what we saw tonight. All evidence of an EM pulse, but no initiating nuclear event."
"So maybe it was the same thing?"
"Maybe, sir," Graham admitted.
"So, it's something we can deal with if it happens again," Straker insisted.
Graham shook his head. "Commander, my brother was stationed at Pearl two years ago. When the Nimitz came back to port, there were some very weird rumors floating around about what had happened to her."
Straker sighed and waited for Graham to continue. After a moment, Graham went on.
"The biggest rumor, the one that had the Navy brass all upset, was that the storm had sent the Nimitz back into time and she brought back high altitude recon photos of Pearl Harbor from the day before the Japanese attack," Graham said.
"Nineteen forty one?" Straker asked.
Graham nodded.
"Is that possible?"
"Who knows?" Graham said. "All I'm saying, sir, is that if this is a similar phenomenon, and all the information we have suggests it may be, we may never find that U.F.O., or the bomber."
"If it is related, could the aliens be controlling it?" Lake asked.
"Anything's possible. But, considering the alien was heading away from the effect at better than mach five at ground level, I have my doubts, Colonel," Straker said.
"Commander," Paulson called. "I've finally gotten through to Alconbury. They lost all power and communications during the storm, just came back on line."
"What about their plane?" Straker asked.
Paulson relayed the question, then listened a moment. "They lost all contact with the plane during the black out. The last communication from the pilot was that they were trying to outrun the storm, but it was catching up with them." Her voice dropped. "At mach four."
Straker nodded. "Tell them a civilian plane went down in the same area. We'll coordinate our search with theirs."
"Yes, sir," Paulson said. She passed the information along, then hung up the phone.
Straker turned to Lake. "Tell Captain Aarons to get the mobiles ready to search at first light."
"And our cover?" she asked.
"The usual, the U.N. air safety unit suspects terrorists are involved in the incident," Straker said. "You never know when you might find a bomb."
Lake nodded acknowledgment of her instructions, then paused. "Commander, no natural atmospheric phenomenon can travel faster than sound."
"If Louie's right, then that storm wasn't exactly an atmospheric phenomenon, was it?" Straker reminded her. He looked around. Ford had stood SHADO operations down to a radar alert, in case the Ufo wasn't destroyed. Things were quiet once more. The storm was a mystery that could wait. He checked his watch. Nearly one in the morning.
"I think I'll head home," Straker said. "Call me if the Ufo shows up, or if that storm makes a return appearance."
Lieutenant Mark Bradley was waiting in the lobby of Harlington Straker Studio's main office building, north of London. The offices served as one of the entrances to SHADO Headquarters, eighty feet below.
Straker stepped out of the executive offices.
"Good evening, Mark," Straker greeted the black Moonbase astronaut.
"Evening, sir," Bradley said.
"Isn't it a little late for you to be wandering around here?" Straker asked. The office building was normally locked up at eight. Even the cleaning crews had gone home.
"I finished my post mission tests a little late," Bradley explained in his softly accented voice. "I was waiting for Lew to swing by and pick me up, but something must have come up."
"Well, I can't have you wandering around the lobby all night," Straker said. "Why don't I run you home?"
"I wouldn't want to impose, sir," Bradley said.
"It's no bother," Straker assured him. "It's almost on the way."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."
"You're on leave?" Straker asked as the bronze Euroford Omen pulled onto the A 1 northbound. There was surprisingly little traffic, even for this time of the morning.
"Actually, I'm supposed to be at the health research center at eight to start my two weeks of torture." Bradley laughed.
Straker chuckled. "When you get out there, remind Colonel Freeman that slaves have to be sold."
"Sir?"
Straker glanced at him and shook his head. "Never mind. It's a very old, and very bad, joke. Alec threatened to quit if I sent him out to the research center to recuperate from what the aliens did to him. That was a week ago and he's still fuming. Claims they're trying to kill him with health food."
"They're not, are they?" Bradley asked.
"The food's not that bad," Straker said. "They haven't lost a victim yet."
Bradley grinned. "I'm glad to hear that. By the way, how's Colonel Komack doing?"
"Fine," Straker answered. "She's in San Francisco for the week, getting John Gray settled into her old job. She's been trying to talk me into flying over for Thanksgiving, getting the families together."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about the idea, sir," Bradley observed.
"I'm not," Straker admitted. "I've never liked that sort of thing, having to be nice to people you don't like just because you're related to them. I hate the holidays, especially."
"A lot of people get depressed around the holidays," Bradley pointed out.
"Oh, it's not that," Straker said. "I'm the black sheep of the family, always causing trouble. They don't approve. My father, especially."
"What about your mother?"
"She died a long time ago."
The storm reappeared on Paulson's radar scope a heavy green line of ionization and water vapor.
"Colonel Lake," Paulson called. "It's back."
Lake peered at the screen. "You're sure it's the same?"
"It's moved ten degrees east, but it's the same type of signal," Paulson said.
"Location?" Lake asked.
"About twelve miles north of here, near the A 1," Paulson answered. "It's moving north."
"Keep me posted on its movements," Lake ordered. She picked up the telephone on the wall beside Paulson's station and punched in a combination.
The car phone buzzed and Straker picked it up. "Straker."
"Commander, the storm's back. Area G 3, heading north along the A 1," Lake said over the phone. Straker glanced in the rear view mirror. A quarter of a mile back, the roadway was gone, replaced by a curtain of roiling black clouds lit up by phosphorescent green lightning. Wind began to whisper around the car. The silver crescent of the first quarter moon vanished behind the clouds.
"We're right in front of it, Colonel," Straker told her. The wind grew louder and stronger. The Omen began to buck. Straker handed the receiver to Bradley. "Stay on the line," he ordered as he concentrated on keeping the car on the road.
The storm grew closer, the lightning brighter. There was something familiar about the color of the lightning, the eerie green. Something Straker couldn't put his finger on. He'd seen that color of light before, but he couldn't remember when or where.
The Omen began to buck harder, like a plane in heavy turbulence. It was all Straker could do to keep the car on the road. Rain began to slash onto the windshield, blurring everything.
The storm was on them. Gale force winds shoved at the car. There was a piercing wail as if the universe itself was crying out in agony. Straker hit the brakes and the car skidded onto the paved shoulder.
The sound drove through his ears, his brain. He covered his ears, but the keening wail was too knife sharp, driving itself past his eyes. It was louder even than the thunder that rolled all around them.
Then, the bronze Omen fell up. A leaf caught in a dust devil; Dorothy's house in the Kansas tornado. The car groaned and twisted and fell back onto the pavement, bottoming on the shocks.
The knife sharp scream stopped. The thunder stopped. The lightning stopped. The slashing rain stopped.
The Omen was sitting sideways across the roadway. The headlights were still on, the engine still running. Straker pulled the car around to the gravel shoulder and stopped. The headlights picked out a road sign: Roswell, 37 miles.
"The phone's dead," Bradley said.
The phone in Lake's hand was dead. She glanced at Paulson's radar screen. It was clear.
"Just like last time, sir," Paulson said.
Lake nodded and hung up the receiver. "Get Captain Carlin to overfly the area. See if he can locate the transponder in the commander's car."
"Yes, sir," Paulson said, keying in the code that would connect her station to Sky One and Peter Carlin.
Bradley checked the communications console between the front seats. All the readings were normal. It made no sense that he couldn't contact SHADO headquarters, but when he tried, all he got was static.
He looked over at this commanding officer. Straker's knuckles were white as he clenched the steering wheel. He was staring at the road sign.
"Sir, are you all right?" Bradley asked, suddenly worried. Straker looked gray in the dim light from the dome lamp.
"Mark, what does that sign say?" Straker asked. His voice sounded strange, as though he were under tremendous strain.
"Roswell, 37 miles," Bradley read aloud. "Why, sir? What's wrong?" There was something odd about the sign, the way it looked, but the astronaut couldn't quite figure out what it was. He didn't know of a town named Roswell anywhere in southern England, but he was away most of the time. Things changed so quickly, sometimes he couldn't keep up.
Suddenly, there was the familiar whirr of an alien ship. A golden, glowing U.F.O. careened past. It was so close to the ground, Bradley could almost see the ground effect of its anti gravity plates.
Seconds later, a sonic boom cracked overhead. The dark, bat wing shape of a B 3 bomber dove past. Its engines roared as it tried to gain altitude.
Straker put the Omen in gear and sped off after the plane.
"You don't think we're going to catch it, do you, sir?" Bradley asked in bewilderment.
Straker didn't take his eyes off the road. "Turn on the radio, will you?"
Bradley did so. The channel setting was for a London classical station on the FM band. The radio hissed with static. Bradley started tuning the radio, trying to get a signal. There was nothing.
"Try AM," Straker instructed. Bradley switched the setting and started tuning the receiver again. Finally, the radio picked up a scratchy signal.
". . . as we end this stormy Fourth of July. Expect even hotter temperatures over the weekend," the announcer was saying. He had an American accent. "This is radio station KOB, Albuquerque, and at the tone it'll be eleven o'clock." The tone chimed.
"The Fourth of July? Albuquerque? I don't understand, sir," Bradley said.
Straker didn't answer. He slowed the car slightly, as if looking for something, a side road, a sign. He caught sight of something and turned the car off the main road, still following the path of the stealth. The U.F.O. had vanished.
The road was little more than a foot path. The Omen creaked and jolted, but Straker didn't slow down.
Bradley saw rocks and dry brush to either side of the car. That made no sense at all. Where, anywhere near London, could you drive for twenty miles along the dirt track lined with only brush and rocks? There were no lights, except for flashes of lightning to the south and the full moon, bright overhead. There were no houses anywhere, no signs of people.
Straker finally slowed the car and brought it to a stop a short distance from two other cars parked beside the dirt track. Straker sat for a long moment, staring at the two cars. The astronaut took a closer look at the cars in the headlights. They were old, but they looked like they were in perfect condition.
One was a 42 Buick. The other was a cherry red 47 Lincoln. Except for road film, it looked like it had just been driven off the showroom floor.
"It can't be," Straker muttered to himself. Suddenly, he backed the bronze Omen away from the two cars and turned it around. He pulled off the track short distance away, parking the Omen behind a large rocky outcropping.
"Sir, what's going on?" Bradley asked. "Where are we?"
Straker was rigid in the driver's seat. He shook his head, barely moving. After a moment, he moved his hands away from the steering wheel and Bradley saw that his hands were shaking.