Many of the characters within this story, and the universe they inhabit, are the intellectual property of Jason Katims Productions.
Roswell: Re-Imagined
Written by Horatio Jaxx
Chapter 63: Thursday Night
It was five after seven in the evening when General Pittman and Ryan returned to the Command-and-Control Center in a rush. General Pittman wasted no time and paid no attention to anyone attempting to salute him while making his way to the control stations for the Predator Drones. Ryan stayed a step behind him. When they got to the stations their full attentions went to the large screen that everyone else was looking at. General Pittman moved in ahead of the other onlookers. An officer who was busy studying the screen recognized him as he brushed by. He quickly acknowledged him with a quickly spoken.
"General," he acknowledged from behind a sharp salute.
General Pittman ignored the officer and the others who followed his lead with salutes. His attention was fixed on the screen and the multiple human heat signatures on display there.
"Report," General Pittman promptly ordered the sensor operator with a quick look.
"We count fourteen heat signatures, General," the sensor operator reported back. "I think we've found your civilians."
"Give me a visual image," General Pittman ordered without turning his attention away from the screen.
A second later the monitor switched to a visual image of the same location. The people in the image were barely noticeable as dark specks.
"Enlarge," General Pittman commanded as he strained to make out the images.
A second later the images of the fourteen humans nearly filled the screen. Because of the movement of the Predator Drone and the close-up image, the sensor operator had trouble keeping the figures centered in the screen. After a few seconds he managed to hold the camera on most of the figures he was aiming for. A hint of excitement spread across the General's face when he got a good look at them.
"We got them," General Pittman announced with an excited look towards Ryan.
Ryan paid no attention to the General's assertion. His attention was fixed on the video of the Roswell Fourteen. There was something about their manner that he found odd. A second after General Pittman had spoken; the sensor operator annunciated the same inclination.
"What are they doing?"
"They're just standing there," Ryan returned with a curious inflection.
General Pittman had paid no attention to that before, but the interest of the others forced him to take another look. After giving some attention to the behavior of the Roswell Fourteen, he noticed that they did seem to be standing as still as statues, staring into the space in front of them. He was still fixated on their peculiar demeanor when the camera suddenly flew off the target and appeared to be spinning about.
"I've lost flight control," the Predator Pilot announced as he struggled to right the craft.
The image from the Predator's nose camera showed the craft spiraling towards the ground. "What's happening?" General Pittman commanded.
"I've lost control of the Predator," the pilot reported as he continued to try and right the craft.
"It's going down," the sensor operator reported an instant behind.
After the better portion of a minute the video feed stopped suddenly. In its place was nothing but static.
The instant that happened, General Pittman began roaring out commands gruffly to everyone present.
"Get another drone in that area now. Find them. And direct all search patrols to that area. I want those kids back on my screen within the hour."
Without any hesitation, everyone went to work implementing General Pittman's orders. The General paced anxiously about the Command Center, waiting for news that the Roswell Fourteen had been reacquired. Ryan stood by quietly, waiting to be of use to the General. He was not anxiously anticipating a second sighting. His thoughts were preoccupied with the strange behavior of the Roswell Fourteen and the coincidence of the drone going down. He had no evidence to connect the two events, but he could not help but notice that the Roswell Fourteen had been beneficiaries of some improbable coincidences. His rumination on that came to an end forty minutes later when a new sensor operator yelled out, "we've got them."
General Pittman rushed over to the Predator flight control station that made the call. He quickly noticed the heat signatures of the Roswell Fourteen on the large screen. They were in a line and on the move at a hurried pace. The General then checked a lower monitor to see where they were on a map of the area. He then turned his attention to a Lieutenant Colonel Babcock to his left and barked out an order.
"Direct all of your Security Forces to that location, now."
The Lieutenant Colonel responded to the order with a quick, "yes sir," and then turned about to implement it. General Pittman then turned his attention back to the large monitor and the images of the Roswell Fourteen running across the desert. After a few seconds of study, he casually gave an order to the pilot without turning away from the screen.
"Keep circling them."
Almost instantly, Ryan countermanded this order with a shout.
"No, stay behind them, zigzag if you have to, but stay out of their line of sight."
Everyone there turned their attentions towards Ryan with shocked expressions on their faces. Most notable among these was General Pittman. He examined Ryan curiously for all of three seconds and then turned to the pilot with new instructions.
"Do as the Major say."
The pilot of the Predator Drone complied with the instruction without difficulty. He made long zigzagging turns behind the fourteen civilians racing across the desert in front of him. Over the next twenty-five minutes General Pittman, Ryan and everyone else there watched the Roswell Fourteen run. At the end of that time, the sun had fallen beneath the horizon. The heat signatures of the fourteen teenagers stood out even better because of it. They started getting reports from six Air Force Pave Hawk Helicopters that were closing in on their location. All there, except for the drone pilot and sensor operator, watched in silence as events unfolded. The end of the operation appeared to be minutes away. It was another ten minutes into the chase when the Roswell Fourteen appeared to be trapped against the rock face of a large outcrop. The search lamps of two helicopters had them illuminated and forty-armed Air Force Airmen were on the ground and closing in on their location. Between the movements of the helicopters hovering above them and the heat and light of their search lamps, the onlookers in Command and Control had a poor view of what was happening with the Roswell Fourteen. Their primary source of information was radio reports from the field. And when they all thought that they were two or three minutes away from the end of this operation, an unexpected radio report came in.
"Holloman, this is Captain Brewer in Search Patrol One. Do you copy, over?"
Lieutenant Colonel Babcock was coordinating the activity between General Pittman's Command and Control Center and his Security Forces in the field. He was holding the microphone when the call came in.
"Roger, Search Patrol One. This is Holloman, we copy, over," Lieutenant Colonel Babcock answered back through the microphone.
"Holloman, the targets are gone," Captain Brewer reported through the two-way radio speakers.
Lieutenant Colonel Babcock was momentarily confused by that report. He paused for a second to consider it before concluding that the targets were simply on the move. He activated his microphone a second later and responded to Captain Brewer's report.
"Search Patrol One, this is Holloman. Where are the targets now, over?"
Lieutenant Colonel Babcock released the button to the microphone and waited calmly for the report. To his surprise, that was taking longer than he expected. He glanced over at General Pittman who was listening to everything that was happening with near to a scowl on his face. After more than ten seconds of silence, Lieutenant Colonel Babcock lost patience with the wait and was about to activate his microphone when Captain Brewer responded to his query.
"Holloman, they're gone. The targets are gone. We have lost sight of the targets."
Lieutenant Colonel Babcock looked to General Pittman with a confused expression. At that instant he did not know what he should say or do. He was expecting to get some direction from him, but before he could request it General Pittman snatched the microphone from his hand.
"Search Patrol One, this is General William Pittman," he growled into the microphone. "I want you to reacquire the targets. I want you to scour every inch of that area until you do. They're on foot. They can't be far. Find them! That's an order! Do you copy, over?"
"Roger that, sir," came the reply through the speakers. "We are continuing the search, over."
General Pittman returned the microphone to Lt. Colonel Babcock after that and settled in for a wait. He and all there, apart from Ryan, were anticipating that the fourteen civilians would be found shortly. They waited and watched the video feed from the drone. As each minute passed, they became more confused by the loss of these fourteen individuals. It made no sense to them that they were not somewhere on their sensors. Despite that, they were expecting the ground force to find them eventually.
With each passing minute, Ryan became more convinced that the Roswell Fourteen had gotten away. It had been his suspicion for some time that there was something in or near Roswell that was holding them here. And his instinct was telling him that this place was where it was at. The last of his belief that they were going to catch these teenagers disappeared when they disappeared off the sensor screen. Now he watched and listened with the hope that they would reveal why they chose to come here. Nearly fifteen minutes into that vigil they gave him just that.
"What's that?" Lt. Colonel Babcock questioned with a point towards one of the smaller monitors.
The large monitor was displaying an infrared picture. The smaller monitor that Lt. Colonel Babcock was pointing to was displaying a normal video feed. General Pittman walked over to better see what he was looking at. He too noticed something strange within the image on the screen, but he could not make out what he was seeing. After a few seconds of examining it, he ordered the sensor operator to put it up on the large screen. A few seconds later, Captain Brewer radioed in from the field.
"Holloman, this is Search Patrol One. Do you copy, over?"
"Roger, Search Patrol One. This is Holloman, we copy, over," Lt. Colonel Babcock answered back through the microphone as he continued to squint at the image that was now on the large screen in front of him.
Everyone in Command and Control, including General Pittman, was giving Captain Brewer only a portion of their attention. The unusual display of lights that the camera on the Predator Drone was capturing had the bulk of their attentions.
"Holloman, we have an unidentified flying object here. I repeat. An unidentified flying object has just … risen out of the ground, over," Captain Brewer tentatively reported through the speakers of the two-way radio.
All there in the Command-and-Control Center who heard that report were shocked by it. But no one thought to respond to it. The claim by Captain Brewer that he was seeing a UFO gave new weight to what they were seeing. Everyone inched a little closer as they strained their eyes to make out the image on the screen. As the light display grew larger and more detailed, so did the astonishment of all who were looking at it. The object appeared to be mostly transparent and was also luminescent in dozens of small spots and thin lines along its surface and within its interior. It held its position above the desert for more than a minute, and then it began to move. The sight of this had everyone inside Command and Control transfixed for a short time as they watched it pass across the top of the desert. Everyone was amazed to the extent that no one thought to try and track it until after it had disappeared completely from sight. The sensor operator quickly went to work at trying to acquire a radar fix on the object. Less than a minute into that effort Captain Brewer radioed in.
"Holloman, be advised, the UFO is moving on a line for Holloman. I repeat the last known course of the UFO is on a line for your location, over."
A second after hearing this General Pittman raced over to a landline, snatched the handset off the hook and dialed for the base operator.
"This is General William Pittman. Connect me with your base commander, now."
All eyes were on General Pittman as he waited impatiently for a connection with his face contorted into a grim expression. Several seconds later the connection was made.
"Listen," General Pittman spoke sharply into the phone to interrupt the greeting he was getting. "You need to put the base on yellow alert, now."
General Pittman listened to the response from the base commander and then responded to what he heard in a gruff tone of voice.
"You don't have time for explanations. Your air space is about to be penetrated. Base security may be compromised as well. This is not an exercise, General."
To emphasize the strength of his claim, General Pittman roared his next remark into the phone.
"Yellow flag, yellow flag," And then he hung up.