Chopper Ops (29 page)

"His inertia dampener is overloading a bit," one tech said. "We'll have to check it."

"Sure we can check it—
tomorrow
,'' the second one replied.
 
"I feel like I've been here a month."

"Same here," the first tech agreed.

They watched the object cross over the Nevada border.

It was now 225 miles away. Then 175. Then 125.

"That gyro buffer is getting crazy too," the first tech said, reading the constant flow of diagnostic numbers on one of the many screens facing him.

"That's the fucking sand," the second man said. "If anyone ever finds out he actually set down in that thing three times near blowing sand, for Christ's sake—they'll shoot us all. You, me,
and
him!"

"That's why no one will ever know," the first man responded.

The object was now on their primary screen and they could see it up close for the first time in a while. It was a very plain but odd-looking thing. A kind of pancake with winglets, triangular in shape, the size of a utility sports vehicle, flattened out. Like a bad flying saucer from a bad science-fiction movie was how someone once put it.

But it could move very
very
fast.

The aircraft was twenty-five miles away—and then, a few seconds later, it was right above the observatory. It had made the transit over the desert in less than two minutes.

One tech hit a button, and the roof of the station slid open. Both men looked straight up, and saw the blue object hovering absolutely still about a hundred feet above them.

The second tech keyed his microphone.

"OK, bring it down before the whole world sees you."

With that, the aircraft began to slowly descend. It took about ten seconds before it was inside the observatory itself. Then buttons were pushed and the roof closed back up again.

The aircraft made absolutely no sound; there was no outward sign of any propulsion. Up close it really looked more purple than blue, and its hull was still sparkling slightly from its high-speed trip back home.

Once it was down on its special receiving platform, a seamless door opened on its top. Next to it was the only identification that could be found on the strange aircraft. In very small gold-leaf letters it read:
Aurora-6/ h-M.

The door finally opened all the way. Inside, the pilot stood up, stretched, and stepped out.

He took off his helmet, shook his hair out, and then took a baseball cap offered by one of the two technicians. The cap said, "Angels Last Longer than Eternity," on the brim. It was his second-favorite hat.

"Change the oil, check the tires, and put some water in the radiator, OK, guys?" he said as he put on the hat.

One tech took a huge pod from the behind the vehicle’s front landing strut. It contained thousands of minutes of videotape. In reality, this strange airplane was supposed to be a recon vehicle. Nothing else.

"They want you downstairs ASAP," one tech told the pilot. "If you broke anything, don't blame it on us, OK?"

The pilot walked to a small elevator, pushed a button, and the doors opened. He stepped in, pushed another button, the doors closed, and he was soon hurtling straight down through the mountain.

After fifteen seconds, the elevator stopped with a hiss of air and the pilot walked out. Before him was a dark chamber with a huge gleaming table.

Seven men sat around it. They were all elderly, with either long flowing gray hair or no hair at all. Each one was dressed in a Western shirt with blue jeans and cowboy boots.

The pilot took an empty seat at the head of the table. Someone passed him a Coke, his favorite beverage.

"We watched just about the entire episode on the big TV," one of the men told him. "Those chopper guys were never at a loss at getting their asses in a ringer."

The pilot nodded. "Yeah, but they got good at getting out of them as well."

"Only because you were there," one said. "Without you, they'd all be dust by now."

"Yes, maybe so," the pilot said. "But you're the ones who were really watching over them, feeding them the right orders when they needed it. And telling me what to do and when to do it. I realize it was risky, but without you guys, they wouldn't have even made it over to Iraq alive. The only difference is, they saw me. They think I'm the one who saved them. For all they know, you guys aren't even alive."

The pilot slurped his Coke, shrugged, and added: "I guess that's another reason they call me Angel."

The seven men all laughed at once.

Then one said: "And that's the reason they call us ghosts."