Prologue
16 May 1947, Roswell New Mexico, 0817 hours.
Colonel Ramsey was overlooking the crash site on the rancher's land. “This has to be one of the most intriguing things I have ever seen in all of my years in the Army Air Force (AAF).”
Looking over to Lieutenant Johnson. “Have you ever come across anything like this?”
“No sir, I’ve never seen anything close to this,” replied Johnson.
The area of impact must have been about the size of two football fields. It defiantly was not from this country, nor any other, much less from this planet.
All around the crash site people were standing by, just looking it over not sure what to do. “Johnson, get on the horn with Base Ops, we need some cranes and two duce and a half’s, a flatbed eighteen-wheeler or two, let’s get some digging equipment as well. You better have them send some light all-towers. It looks like we are going to be here awhile.” Stated Colonel Ramsey
Johnson immediately got on the radio speaking with a Sr. Airman over at the Base Operations Center. The Airman in charge of the communications center after normal duty hours and weekends was Gomez. There must be some communication breakdown as the Sr. Airman keeps asking the same questions over and over.
“What do you need the trucks for?”
Johnson was starting to get upset at the Sr. Airman. “Let’s try it this way,” Johnson said in a stern voice. “SR. AIRMAN the last time I checked I was a Lieutenant, and you are a?”
“A Sr. Airman, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. Now get that damn equipment I requested loaded and, on the way, over here! Also, let’s try a new phrase for you.” Johnson yelled into the mic, “this is now a Code Red Alpha Project, any other communication with us or from us will be referred to as Zulu or the Zulu site.”
“Yes, Sir.” Stuttered Gomez, as he was shaking in his boots with a cold sweat running down his forehead. Gomez thought to himself, damn that took all the fun out of the day, and what the hell is a Code Red Alpha Project?
Gomez picked up the phone and told the base operator to connect him to the Base Motor Pool. Relaying the instructions that he received from Lieutenant Johnson, the guy on the other end of the phone was now questioning each item on the list. “I do not know. I’m just the middleman and I’m on the bottom of the totem pole,” Stated Gomez.
“Well, I need to get with the Sergeant and see what he says.”
“Whatever just get it on the way, also it is a Code Red Alpha Project,” informed Gomez.
Not much time had passed from the call to the Motor Pool before Sergeant French, the Noncommissioned Officer in Charge, was back in the shop and barking out orders. “Shit Jones get those trucks in here,” yelled French.
The Base Motor Pool was in a high state of activity. Never in a million years has anyone seen this much activity on the base. Well not since the Great War, WWII that is. The convoy was on the way in less than ten minutes from when Sergeant French arrived at the Motor Pool. There was no way he was going to miss out on this, sitting in the lead truck barking orders to the driver. “Put the pedal down and get this ole truck a rolling.”
Within an hour from Lieutenant Johnson’s call to the base, the Sergeant and his team were on the scene.
“Holy damn this was worth the trip, a real Code Red Alpha.” Sergeant French replied.
“What took you so long sergeant?” You could see in the face of Lieutenant Johnson that he was joking with the Sergeant.
“I got here as fast as I could. These old trucks only go so fast, sir.”
“Damn French, you know I’m just pulling your chain. The Colonel wants you to set up over to the south.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant French had his men proceed to the south side of the crash site. After getting the trucks in position and staged the sergeant went to go see Colonel Ramsey. Leaving Airman Boggs in charge, he ordered them to set up some tents. One for the mobile chow hall and another one for the command post.
As French was looking over the crash site, he was mesmerized by what he was looking at. “What in the hell is this mess, better yet where in the world did it come from?” Speaking out loud to himself.
“Or better yet, is it from this world?” Replied Colonel Ramsey as he was approaching French. “Well, Sergeant, what the hell do you think about this mess?”
“I never would have believed anyone if I had not seen with my own eye’s.”
Peering all around you could see small areas smoldering in several locations. Luckily, there were no huge fires. What must be tons of some kind of metal are scattered over an area that would cover about two football fields. There looks to be some type of panel, console, or control center. Lots of the metal plates have some type of strange writing imprinted onto them. ∑∞ᶭᶲᶶԒԄ….ͼ₪€₴ᶚᵹᴂӜӁ҉…… Most of the wreckage is in large sections, with what looks to be some type of craft. It does not look like any type of airplane, at least not one anybody had ever seen before.
Under one of the consoles, there was a body, not one, but three bodies. The bodies did not seem to be human. These creatures looked to be about four and a half feet tall. Looking to be about the size of a kid in middle school. Their arms, or what we would call arms, are very long. Almost as long as the length of their body, with three protruding appendages, that one would assume to be legs. A head that is somewhat larger than ours and very oblong gives it a unique shape. No apparent body hair, with dark greenish skin, or some type of an external covering. Maybe it is a protective suit or body armor. There outer skin or suit seems to be cold and wet. Somewhat slimy, almost like… like snot.
As Colonel Ramsey was observing the creatures before him, he turned to Lieutenant Johnson. “Get back on the horn and get the Flight Doc down here. I want him to see these things before we move them. You better tell him to bring the meat wagon with him as well.”
“Yes, sir.” Said Lieutenant Johnson.
While getting back on the radio, a pick 66, with a range of over 50 miles and being one of the latest and greatest items to be sent into the field for secure communications. With this new radio only weighing sixty-five pounds, it lets the user have a lot more movability. Allowing the field users to have a greater capacity to communicate with their command, or in this case the Base Operations Center.
