UFO – Edge of Armageddon
Chapter 22
Ford pulled the last sheet from the typewriter and started to read the manuscript; the foreign keyboard layout had taken its toll; His normal touch-typing had been replaced by 'look and peck'. Each sheet had its share of letter substitutions but with care, Ford could make sense of it all. He finally took a swig of the coffee that Emcan had left for him, several hours before, swallowed and grimaced; it was stone cold and hideously strong and bitter. He stood up from the desk and went to find something more palatable to drink, in an atmosphere with a higher percentage of oxygen than nicotine.
The limousine pulled up at a military checkpoint. Brilliant arc lamps bathed the area in a blue-white glow. The driving snow formed haloes around each lamp. It was evident, with the international situation, the Soviets were taking no chances that an imperialist assassin might make an attempt on the life of their leader.
During the long drive, the combination of the passengers' body heat and the car's antiquated heater, had managed to raise the temperature to just above zero. The temperature plummeted as the driver wound down his window at the checkpoint. Through the open window, Straker could make out the grim faces of the troops. He was momentarily dazzled as the sentry swept his torch around the interior of the vehicle. In response to sentry's Russian, Komarov, replied and presented his papers. Straker and Garvey took this as their cue to produce their own passports. Tucked inside Straker's passport was a small piece of folded paper that Henderson had given him. The sentry unfolded it and stopped short. His eyes widened as he read the contents. Quickly, the re-folded the letter and marched off to the lieutenant who was observing events from the blockhouse. After a few moments conversation, during which the officer examined the documents, the sentry saluted and quickly marched back to the waiting limousine. There, he handed back the documents.
Signalling to raise the barrier, the guard stepped smartly back before snapping off a salute that lasted long after the taillights of the limousine had disappeared into the distance.
"Would someone tell me what all that was about?" asked Garvey.
"It seems to be this letter" replied Straker, passing it over.
The sheet, headed by an impressive official crest, carried a few lines of neat cursive Russian. Garvey read it twice before looking up. "Do you know what this says, Colonel?"
"No. General Henderson gave it to me before I left London. He told me it would help at times like this."
"I'll read it to you." Replied Garvey " 'From: the Office of the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. To: whom it may concern. The bearer of this document has been summoned to this office to discuss matters of the gravest importance to the safety and security of the people of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He is under my direct protection and is to be given every co-operation. Signed Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev, General Secretary, Communist Party of the Soviet Union'" Garvey looked up, carefully re-folded the letter and handed it back to Straker. "Well, Colonel, if that isn't a 'get out of jail free' card, I don't know what is!"
Eventually, the two men ran out of things to chat about and it was time for Pugh to take leave of his commanding officer for the last time.
"I'll see you down to the gate" said Coleman, grabbling his cap.
Ford had found Emcan out on the balcony, enjoying a quiet cigarette. "Report's finished." Ford informed him. "Can you organize a phone link to London?"
"Certainly my friend." Replied Emcan.
Pugh stopped. "This isn't the way to the Main Gate".
"Sorry, Didn't I tell you? I've just got to pay a little visit"
Pugh shrugged. The way they were going would bring them to the main gate, eventually.
Turnbull was in the late afternoon conference working up the schedule for the evening's news broadcast, when Hooper stuck his head round the door. "Sorry to interrupt but I thought you'd like to know that Keith's phoning in a report from Ankara about the Earthquake. I've stuck a recorder on the line."
"Any pictures?"
"Sorry."
"Ok, Hooper, have a listen to the final recording and let me know if there's anything useful. We can use a phono-comp if necessary, otherwise we can send it over to the Radio news team"
"Will do."
If the recording proved to be usable, Hooper would need to arrange for a suitable still from the picture library. Suitably captioned, the picture would be shown whilst the recording was played back in the news bulletin
The Colonel seemed to be taking a circuitous route towards the main gate. Pugh knew the camp like the back of his hand and after they had passed the Armoury for the second time, knew something was amiss. At last, they reached the parade ground. Pugh stopped. The entire camp had been assembled on parade.. Seeing Pugh's expression, the Colonel smiled. "You didn't think we were going to let you go without saying goodbye?"
"Parade!, Parade 'Shun!" The Regimental Sergeant Major's voice echoed across the square and as a man, the parade stood to attention.
The RSM marched over to the Officer and saluted. "Parade ready for inspection, Sah!"
"Very good Mr Beaumont." Replied the Colonel. He turned to Pugh.
"Mr Pugh, Would you care to inspect the troops?"
"Yessir." He smiled
Accompanied by the Colonel, Pugh began his inspection.
The saloon finally came to rest outside an impressive structure, set in five hundred acres of woodland. The original dachas had been simple log cabins. This structure, built for the vlasti, or elite in this workers' paradise, was little short of palatial. Armed guards snapped to attention as the chauffeur opened the rear passenger door
A senior aide, who had been waiting patiently at the top of the stairs, came down to meet them.
"Mr Ambassador, Colonel Straker. Welcome to Oreanda"
Garvey made the appropriate introductions and the aide led the three men inside. By normal Soviet standards of austerity, the furnishings, imported from Scandinavia, were positively palatial.
The aide led them along a corridor, finally stopping outside an oak-panelled door. He knocked and waited. At the command, he opened the door and ushered the visitors in.
Dominating the room was a large wooden desk. Apart from an ornate inkstand and blotter, the only other item on the desk was an ancient-looking Bakelite telephone receiver. Sitting behind the desk was a huge bear of a man, wearing the uniform of a Marshal of the Soviet Uniforms. This was Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev, Hero of the Great Patriotic War and Chairman of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. He looked up from the papers he had been reading.
"Da?"
The aide introduced the guests.
Brezhnev gazed solemnly at each of his guests in turn. Straker was under no illusions; here was a man who could, with one command, precipitate a World War. Straker prided himself on being a good judge of character but he could make nothing of the impassive expression of the Ukrainian. For long minutes, Brezhnev stared at them in silence.
He looked at Garvey and spoke; Knowing little Russian, Straker could only guess at what was being said. He could see Garvey stiffen slightly and frown. He replied briefly in Russian, then turned to Straker, frowning: It seems, Colonel, that I am not required. I'll be waiting outside. Professor Komarov will translate for you." With that, he stiffly turned and left the room, escorted by the aide.
Brezhnev waited until the door had clicked shut before he spoke.
Komarov translated: "There will be no record of this meeting."
"You are a Colonel in the Amerikanski Air Force. With the Amerikanski threatening the Rodina. You could be a spy. You could disappear forever if I so choose…"
Straker gazed at Brezhnev in silence, his face impassive.
"You are not afraid Amerikanski?"
"You would not have allowed me here, under your personal protection just to have me executed." Replied Straker. "That would be the act of a madman. You are not mad."
Brezhnev gazed impassively into Straker's steely-blue eyes as Komarov translated.
At last the inspection was over. The turnout had been exceptional. There was one last surprise:
"Escort Party! Atten-shun!" To a man, the party snapped to attention.
Colman shook Pugh's hand. "Well, this is it. If you're ever in the area, please don't hesitate to look in on us"
"Of course, sir"
Colman directed his attention to the Escort Party.
"To the Main Gate. Quick March!"
As Pugh was escorted towards the guardroom and the main gate for the last time, a voice from the rear of the parade called out: "Three cheers for Mr Pugh. Hip-Hip…"
"HOORAY!"
RSM Beaumont recognised the voice. Private Hawkins; always in trouble, yet potentially a good soldier. For that outburst, Hawkins should, according to Queen's Regulations, end up in the guardroom on a charge.
Noticing the expression of Beaumont's face, Colonel Coleman strolled over.
Beaumont saluted: "Just about to put Hawkins on a charge, sir."
"You know, Mr Beaumont," He said as they watched the escort party march towards the main gate. "I've been in the Army over twenty years. I sometimes think there are times when Queen's Regulations can just go hang. Don't you?"
"Yes Sir."
Night had fallen; the waning moon washing the steppes with a silvery-blue tint. Since landing in the remote forest clearing, the UFO had lain dormant. Now, it stirred into life, humming gently, it rose gently from its resting place. Once clear of the undergrowth, it started to spin, slowly at first but soon the vanes were little more than a shimmering blur as it rose into the air.
"The Soviet Union does not want war with the Americans. We have trade agreements. We do not understand why they threaten us and invade our airspace"
"Who said they did?"
Brezhnev took a file from his desk drawer and tossed it at Straker. It was a translation of the report from Tracking Station 25, detailing the radar contact and the subsequent loss of the interceptors.
Straker read the report in silence.
He looked up. "I think you should read this."
Whilst Komarov translated, Straker slid the nameplate to one side then opened his attaché case. He drew out a folder. Contained within was a transcript of Waterman's report, translated into Russian, along with a copy of the full dossier he'd shown the British Cabinet Minster that fateful day, so long ago.
Apart from the occasional interference from the chatter of unsuppressed Strowger switches on the telephone lines between Ankara and London, the recording, if not perfect, was usable. In total, Ford's report ran to a little over five minutes, detailing the devastation that he'd found and the sterling efforts of both the Turkish rescue teams and the Red Crescent organisation in helping the survivors.
Turnbull had been making copious notes as Ford wound up his report. Suddenly, his pencil stopped in mid-word as he turned to stare, open-mouthed, at the recorder.
"I have positive proof that the quake was not the result of Soviet Testing, nor was it the result of a secret Turkish nuclear test." Ford's voice was unmistakeable. "Locals reported seeing an unidentified flying object over the area less than a week before the earthquake. This, along with recent reports from the British Geological Survey point strongly to the conclusion that it was caused by some hostile extra-terrestrial power."
Turnbull's pencil snapped. "What the…?" he spluttered
"Oh…my…God!" muttered Hooper. "He's lost it. Keith's finally flipped."
"When he gets back," Turnbull's voice was icy "Tell Ford to come and see me. Without fail."
"Yessir!"
"In the mean time, do something with this…this…" Turnbull was rarely at a loss for words but this was one such occasion.
"Leave it with me, sir."
Skimming at little more than treetop height, the UFO remained undetected by air defence radar
For what had seemed like hours, Garvey had waited in the anteroom. When he got back to the Embassy, he would send a stiffly-worded telegram to London. A skilled diplomat, treated as little more than an errand boy, excluded from the meeting whilst some damned Yank had tea with Brezhnev was quite unacceptable. He looked out through one of the tall windows. Beyond the blazing floodlights, few stars could be seen. The waning moon was barely visible against the artificial glare. A single glittering star caught his eye. He blinked; the star seemed to be getting larger…
Brezhnev had slowly and carefully read the report. Finally, he looked up; "How do I know this is not some plan to destabilise the Soviet Union by the CIA?"
"You will see, Mr Chairman, that some of the verified reports in the file come from your own staff." Replied Straker. "The photograph on the last page was from an enlarged single frame of ciné film that was found, undeveloped, still in the camera, near a confirmed UFO landing site."
"Brezhnev riffled through to the last few pages and read the report.
"One woman dead, one man injured and one woman missing. What do you suppose happened to her?"
"She's never been found" replied Straker. "But on many occasions, dead bodies have been found near the areas of sightings and in several cases, vital organs had been removed.
"This is monstrous!" Exclaimed Brezhnev. "Who would do such a thing?"
"Not the Americans" replied Straker. "They are just as concerned about this as you. In fact…"
Straker broke off. Outside, he could hear raised voices and the sounds of running feet.
The telephone rasped. Brezhnev picked it up and listened. He slammed down the receiver and stood, just as armed soldiers of the Presidential Security Detail rushed in to protect him. The soldiers unceremoniously bustled the three men out of the office and into a waiting armoured personnel carrier, its engine already running. Garvey was already sitting on one of the bench seats inside the vehicle. Despite the roar of the heavy diesel engine, Straker became aware of the sound of gunfire and an all-too familiar sound. As the rear hatch was slammed shut, Straker looked through the thick vision port. He could just make out the dome of a UFO, glinting in the moonlight as it appeared over the treetops.
Puffs of smoke punctuated the air around the alien craft as anti-aircraft guns opened fire. Energy beams lanced out, immolating the guns and their crews.
As the vehicle bumped along the woodland tracks, it was as much as Straker could do to prevent himself from being thrown to the floor of the vehicle. Suddenly, there was a flash and a roar. The vehicle shook; an energy beam, just missing the vehicle, had blown a crater in the dirt track. Earth and stones showered the vehicle.
Satisfied that he could achieve no more in Turkey, Ford booked a ticket for the last flight of the evening back to London. With several hours to kill before he was due to check in, He had allowed Emcan to take him to his favourite restaurant. Although unprepossessing - Emcan had revealed that the place had once been the Air Terminal for Turkish Airlines - the food was remarkably good
The Armoured Personnel Carrier came to rest in the middle of the forest. The thick canopy hid the vehicle from the view of the hovering UFO. Through the vision ports, the passengers could make out, in the clearing ahead of them a tracked vehicle. A number of missiles were fitted to launch rails at the rear of the vehicle. Of the crew, there was no sign.
Although now invisible, the continued humming of the waiting UFO, hovering just above the treetops, provided an ominous background.
A hasty council of war had been convened in the vehicle. Straker finished his assessment of the situation: "Apart from the rifles carried by the troops here, we are defenceless and if we move from cover, the UFO will destroy us."
Garvey had finally collected his wits: "Colonel, are you telling me that that thing has been sent to assassinate the President?"
Straker had already realised that the truth would be too much for the diplomat "Very likely, sir", he lied.
"Who would do such a thing? Why?" Replied the diplomat.
"I don't know sir."
"My God! If they succeed, the consequences could be unimaginable."
"That's why I've got to destroy it before it destroys us"
Straker had already decided that he would have to go; The President could not be risked; if anything should happen to him, the consequences would be unthinkable. The diplomat was too old, the Presidential Security Detail, unless ordered, would not leave their principal and as for Komarov…? Straker opened the rear hatch and jumped down. Before anyone could react, he'd turned and slammed the hatch shut once more. Carefully, using every scrap of cover, Straker made his way towards the abandoned vehicle. The constant whirring of the UFO was making his ears ring…
The news bulletin was proceeding quite smoothly. After reading out the headlines, the Newsreader moved onto the details, introducing filmed reports from correspondents from around the world.
"The Turkish Earthquake is now known to have claimed more than eighty thousand lives. This report from Keith Ford in Ankara:"
The operator in the Transmission Gallery pressed a button and Ford's report played to an expectant world
Turnbull looked at the small pasteboard rectangle that Jackson had given him.
Dr Douglas Jackson
Psychiatrist
There was a telephone number. Turnbull picked up the handset and began to dial.
Straker jerked back to full consciousness. The alien noise had a hypnotic quality. He had no idea how long he'd lain at the edge of the clearing, waiting for the UFO to move away and allowing him to sprint for the missile launcher. He'd learned from Waterman's report that the alien craft could be damaged by surface-to-air missiles so a lucky shot should be effective. Slowly, he skirted the edge of the clearing.
Hooper sighed with relief; his edits to Ford's report seemed to have gone unnoticed, the news bulletin had gone without a hitch and Turnbull seemed satisfied, although he still expected Ford to see him on his return.
The call had been answered quickly, almost as if Jackson had been expecting it. Turnbull had barely had a chance to explain about Ford's report before Jackson had promised to be there within the hour and ended the call
Ford shook hands with Emcan and made his way to the check-in desk.
A mere twenty yards now separated Straker him from the cover of the vehicle although, even if he did reach it, he was under no illusion of his chance of survival if the vehicle was hit by an energy beam fired at close quarters.
Straker froze, every sense alert for danger. Something was pushing its way through the bushes. Quickly, Straker took cover behind a tree trunk
The airliner left the apron and taxied out to the runway. Through the cabin windows, Ford could make out little beyond the taxiway lights as they slid past. Scarcely pausing, the aircraft lined up, the engines were throttled up to maximum power and the aircraft hurtled down the runway and leaped into the air.
Straker held his breath. Whatever was stalking him was now just on the other side of the tree…
Above the sound of the hovering UFO, there was a distant, low-pitched rumble. Perhaps a storm, with heavy rain would provide enough cover to reach the vehicle, particularly if the risk of lightning forced the UFO to gain height.
A large figure appeared round the tree. Straker leapt. There was a muffled grunt as the figure hit the ground. Straker rolled clear and froze as he heard the clicking of weapons being cocked. In the gloom, he could make out the shapes of figures, each pointing weapons at him. He was surrounded. Slowly, he raised his hands. Perhaps the Aliens would understand the meaning of surrender. No, not surrender, he'd die first; just a sign that he was unarmed and was prepared to talk to the aliens, to find out why they came to Earth.
A groaning noise made him turn, slowly. The figure he'd knocked to the ground was stirring. In the darkness, he could barely make out the figure. A guttural order was issued and the weapons were no longer pointing at Straker. The language, heavily accented, was unfamiliar but the voice was not, Evidently Brezhnev, once a combatant in the Great Patriotic War, had decided that he had to join in one final battle. He had ordered his troops to aid Straker but to a man, they had refused to leave their Chairman alone with a foreigner. Moreover, a foreigner in the uniform of their sworn enemy. Thus, he had decided to lead them.
"You may put your hands down, Colonel". Komarov, stepped from behind the Protection Squad.
Straker immediately strode over to the sitting figure and helped the old man to his feet, all the while watched by the heavily-armed troops, alert for any signs of trouble.
The bear of a man muttered quietly. Komarov translated: "The chairman says that you are brave but still too impulsive to be a true leader. You must learn when to leave the fighting to others."
"And you?" replied Straker.
"Brezhnev waited for the translation before replying with a chuckle:
Komarov translated with a smile: "Sometimes foolish old men miss the thrill of battle."