Air Traffic

Air Traffic

A Novel by

Cindy Ely

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to some events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Cindy Ely

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Visit Cindy’s website at:

www.familynovels.com

ISBN: 978-1301981120

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my husband, my editor, whose continued encouragement has allowed me to dream. Thank you for believing in me. And to my brother Gary, whose humor makes me laugh and support strengthens me.

Other books by Cindy Ely

Dear Mrs. Gray

The Superstitions

PROLOGUE

This is not a book report on the various types and functions of air traffic radar systems. But the reader needs to know just a little bit about these systems to enjoy the story. You need to know that in the simplest terms air traffic control radar systems serve to monitor an aircraft’s position (bearing, range and altitude) and identity. It’s the identification function that often garners the most interest, or more precisely the inability to identify an airborne object that really intrigues us. The identification function occurs when an aircraft’s transponder transmits an assigned 4 digit code, unique to that aircraft, which is essentially intercepted by a secondary surveillance radar operating at an air traffic control (ATC) facility. These two system components work in conjunction to produce a synchronized surveillance picture.

When an ATC radar receives radio waves returned from an object without a transponder code, it’s considered an unidentified object or target. Even more puzzling are those episodes where ATC radar is not detecting an airborne object yet a pilot is reporting an object within sight of their aircraft. Check out the following recorded exchange between ATC and a commercial airline pilot.

Airline Pilot, tower, we have traffic at our one o’clock position. It just passed within a mile of us at about thirty-two thousand feet. It’s throwing off four discernible colors.

Air Traffic Controller, uh, we have nothing on radar flight four eighty one can you describe it?

Airline Pilot, yeah…it’s cigar-shaped. It’s a dark metallic object. Seems to be traveling at a tremendous speed. Can’t understand why you can’t see it sir. It’s enormous in size.

Air Traffic Controller, negative flight four eighty one. We’ve got nothing. We’re all huddled down here scratching our heads trying to figure out what you might be seeing.

Airline Pilot, wait…oh my God. It can’t be. It-it just disked out.

Air Traffic Controller, disked out? You mean it’s in the classic shape?

Airline Pilot interrupting, wait…wait…it-it’s turning around. Now it’s directly ahead and above us. Wait! Hold on! Hold on! Oh my God…it seems to be heading right for us!

The earliest UFO sightings in recorded history date back as far as 74 BC when a Roman army was about to begin battle and a flame-like silvery object in the shape of a wine jar was seen falling between the two armies. By the nineteenth century fishermen, astronomers, even the U.S. consul in Venezuela reported strange anomalies in the sky. But it wasn’t until the twentieth century that the number of observed and documented UFO sightings mushroomed. Understandably, many aviation experts, and this author, believe this development was a direct result of mans new found ability to take flight and monitor aircraft movements using radar technology.

World War II pilots described seeing bizarre orbs of light and small metallic spheres that flew alongside their planes during combat missions and coined the term Foo Fighters. In early 1942 unidentified aerial objects observed in the night sky over Los Angeles prompted the sounding of air raid sirens and an anti-aircraft barrage. The incident evoked suspicions of another Japanese air raid like the one that occurred at Pearl Harbor only a few months before. This unexplained event was actually known as the Battle of Los Angeles. And of course a well-publicized UFO crash in Roswell, New Mexico produced witnesses who were ridiculed by some and believed by others.

The United States Armed Forces offered a classic explanation for the sightings. They claimed the objects were ‘weather balloons.’ These dismissive responses from the military brought more questions, prompting conspiracy theories and government cover-ups.

The U.S. government officially started searching for extraterrestrials in 1948 approximately one year after the crash at Roswell and after an amateur pilot named Kenneth Arnold claimed he saw a crescent-shaped object traveling at high speeds in the sky near Mount Rainier, Washington. From his description came the phrase flying saucer.

From 1952 until 1969 more than 12,000 reports were compiled by a government-run program named Project Blue Book, which explained most of the sightings as atmospheric or artificial phenomena. Only 6% of the accounts were labeled as truly unidentifiable.

For years aircraft pilots, air traffic controllers and astronauts have been faced with the decision of whether or not they should report an unidentified craft, knowing full well that their reputations were on the line. The obvious implication was it made them look crazy; they would have to file insurmountable paperwork with the FAA and subject themselves to hours or even days of interviews.

Along with being grilled doggedly, the flight in question would undergo careful examination. Every radio transmission during the flight would be scrutinized. If one small rule was bent or a minor FAA regulation broken, such as not reading back a clearance correctly, the pilot would be subjected to intense interrogation for which his/her pilot license could be revoked or suspended and he/she could lose their job. Therefore, most professionals were, and still are reluctant to report any anomalies they observe.

Each month air traffic controllers receive reports on flying objects that don’t conform to normal flight patterns. The vast majority of these flying objects are easily dismissed. Some are conventional aircraft that have strayed into busy airspace, others are weather balloons or satellites. But for that small percentage of unidentified flying objects that cannot be explained, the FAA has submitted instructions on how and where to report them. One such data collection center is Bigelow Aerospace Advanced Space Studies, a privately held company.

It seems the United States government isn’t interested in pursuing the E.T. theory anymore, but are they monitoring this company for information? Or are the reports going into the proverbial black hole?

Officially reporting such incidents still carries an aura of doubt and criticism. There are those out there who believe the government is keeping secrets from us. Interestingly enough some former soldiers and employees who worked the Roswell site have gone to their graves insisting they saw an extraterrestrial and a crashed UFO.

Just how believable are the government conspiracy theories? Are we being visited by extraterrestrials? How much does the public believe and how much is the government willing to reveal?

Recent polls indicate that 36% of Americans believe in UFOs, 48% are not sure and only 17% do not believe they exist. Some theories suggest they are here to gather our gold and precious metals, others suggest a more sinister motive like genetic harvesting. Is it possible that they need our help? Or are they here to help us?

One thing is sure…ask almost any pilot or air traffic controller and they will tell you that they have witnessed or experienced something unusual in the sky. Something that was unexplainable.

Major Gordon Cooper, one of the original Mercury astronauts is quoted as saying, I believe these extraterrestrial vehicles and their crews are visiting this planet from other planets. I did have on an occasion in 1951 two days of observation of many flights of them, of different sizes, flying in fighter formation, generally from east to west over Europe. For many years I have lived with a secret, in a secrecy imposed on all specialists in astronautics. I can now reveal that every day in the USA our radar instruments capture objects of form and composition unknown to us. And there are thousands of eyewitness reports and a quantity of documents to prove this, but nobody wants to make them public. Why? Because authority is afraid that people may think of God knows what kind of horrible invaders. So the password still is: we have to avoid panic by all means.

Gordon Cooper is in good company when it comes to believing in UFO’s. Many of his fellow astronauts have described seeing unidentified objects while piloting a spacecraft.

In 1965 James Lovell and Frank Borman saw a UFO on the second orbit of their record-breaking flight. Gemini Control at Cape Kennedy told them they were seeing a booster rocket, but Lovell and Borman claimed differently saying, we have a bogey at ten o’clock high…we have several…actual sightings. We also have the booster in sight.

Astronauts such as Edgar Mitchell, Donald Deke Slayton and Edwin Buzz Aldrin have spoken extensively about their beliefs. Even John Glenn said he saw fireflies when orbiting the Earth. There have been a plethora of quotes from past astronauts. These credible men have been given extensive tests to qualify for their technical jobs. They have come back heroes in the public eye. How can we discredit them?

And so the questions continue for those of us who are trying to learn the truth. Just what is out there?

CHAPTER ONE

I was heading to work with the AC on full blast when a faint chime sounded and the engine light on my quicksilver metallic 2001 Corvette illuminated. I shook my head in disgust with the muscle car.

Every time I leave you in the garage for so much as a week you have to act up. What is it this time…the oxygen sensor, the fuel trim system, or is my gas cap not on tight enough? Man, it’s always somethin’, I mumbled under my breath in frustration.

When I bought the sports car from the local used-car stealership I hadn’t realized how much money and time I would have to sink into it. One thing I learned about high performance cars, you can’t let them sit idle for too long.

For two weeks I’d been on an excruciating family vacation with my wife, kids and mother-in-law and was anxiously anticipating my return to work and a cruise in the Vette. The family four wheel drive sport utility vehicle was anything but sport unless you were on a safari in the Amazon. I wanted to drive a sleek vehicle with handling capabilities matched only by an Indy 500 Formula One racer and a used Corvette was affordable for a man of modest means, namely me. If only I could stop the engine light from pestering me every time I backed out of the garage.

Why I wanted a sports car was beyond any reasoning. The traffic jam I was sitting in was a constant reminder as to why stick shifts and muscle cars were totally impractical and pointless. I was reminded of this fact by my mother-in-law on a daily basis. Perhaps that was why the car held such a special place in my heart.

US highway 285 in New Mexico was far from being a racetrack especially during commuting hours.

I unbuttoned the top button of my once clean white shirt and grabbed my necktie, pulling it away from my sweat-soaked collar. It had been another hot day. The summer sun had raised the late afternoon desert temperature to a sweltering 114 degrees. Thank heavens the sun was setting.

Following the signs to the airport, I separated from the other cars when we came closer to the terminal. Taking a direct route to the employee parking lot, I veered around an area cordoned off by a chain link fence.

The Corvette engine hesitated briefly then accelerated past the guard at the gate. Working the night shift as an air traffic controller had its advantages, usually there was only a skeleton crew and airspace wasn’t jammed with planes. I was looking forward to a peaceful night.

Since the moment I took my first private lesson on a crop-duster I was hooked on flying. I was just a simple farm boy from Momence, Illinois when I left home to seek greener pastures through higher learning. After four years of college I found that my affinity for flying hadn’t waned so I did a twenty-six year stint flying jets for the Navy.

My name is Douglas Jeffries. My wife and I are entering our empty-nester/change of life years. We’re both on a perpetual diet, we’re always looking for healthier, tastier foods and we’ve been together long enough to finish each other’s sentences. The only difference between us at this moment is that I sweat during the day and she sweats at night.

I’m at the point in my life where I just want status quo. My two teenagers give me enough drama to compete with the most popular reality show on television. And my mother-in-law, who lives with us, always thought Darlene should have married Vernon, the banker’s son from her college days. He ended up becoming a podiatrist. She hates anything to do with flying. Her motto is: if God had wanted man to fly he would have given him wings. Sure, like I hadn’t heard that expression countless times before.

I met my wife Darlene when I was based in Alameda, California. She worked at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital as a surgical nurse. For her, it was not love at first sight. Frankly, she couldn’t stand me. I was too brash and cocky and she was too busy dating every doctor on the base. She was in ‘like’ with me, but I knew I could win her over and I did. We eventually got married and had two kids, who are now a hurricane of emotions because of the teen angst years. I think I’m going gray prematurely, I know for a fact my hair is thinning.

I wouldn’t say I was a perfect husband during our entire married life. I was absent a lot, for which my mother-in-law will never forgive me, but I will tell you I always came home to Darlene. She has always been my rock, and a great looking one at that.

Once my military career was over, I realized my pension wouldn’t be enough to sustain a college education for my kids, so I took up some courses and ended up in a small hole-in-the-wall town called Sand Valley in the New Mexico desert working as an air traffic controller. The town is composed of a drug store, gas station, used car dealership, fifty-bed hospital, general store filled with necessary groceries, a frequented truck stop equipped with pool tables and video games, and a small commuter airport. The kids go to school in the next town over which is a veritable metropolis with a population of 12,000.

Sand Valley Airport is an integral location for all air traffic running from the east to the west coast. Everything from military aircraft to commercial airliners traverse our air space. During peak air travel times in the United States there are approximately five thousand airplanes flying in the sky every hour. This translates to about fifty thousand aircraft operating in our crowded skies every day.

The relationship between the pilots who fly these aircraft and the crew who service them is compatible and coordinated because it is based on professional respect. The relationship is a delicate balance. Pilots are traditionally covered with affectionate displays of gratitude by the flying public; such as the time when Captain Chesley Sullenberger ditched his aircraft in the Hudson River saving 155 souls. The fixers of these aircraft receive few accolades, but receive tremendous criticism when a mechanical malfunction brings down a plane or delays one. Both groups are proud species of men and women.

The same holds true for air traffic controllers. It is a rare traffic controller who is not heavily conscious of his or her duty; even the most lighthearted recognize the importance thrust upon their shoulders in keeping the skies safe. We guard the tradition of our position with pride. Any misfortune that occurs on any given flight fundamentally becomes the responsibility of one or more of the three groups. We’re all part of a team…a crew. A crew that experiences such life-threatening emergencies is forever bound to each other.

Sand Valley Airport is a relatively small airport with a 45 foot tower and two 6,000 foot runways. We handle about 165 aircraft a day. Of course those numbers are cut greatly at night.

An exciting night for us is when a private plane, either owned or operated by a famous celebrity, enters our airspace. This is especially true for the young man who shares the tower with me on the nightshift. His name is Robbie Stevens, a.k.a. Romeo. He’s twenty-three years old, has a waist that’s one-half the width of mine, his shoulders are as broad as the Montana mountains, working out is his passion, and his claim to fame is that he once dated Taylor Swift. I think they were all of eleven years old at the time so I wouldn’t exactly call it a date. She must have been attracted to his green eyes, copper-colored hair and his cherub round face. I’m sure he has a list of more recent beauties in a little black book somewhere.

The employee bus dropped me off. I made my walk to the tower, unaware that this particular night would change my life and the lives of my fellow homo sapiens forever.

The tower was lit with ambient green light. The room was filled with LCD screens and keyboards. The monitors displayed a map of the area, position of various aircraft and data tags that included aircraft identification, speed and altitude.

When I entered I could see Robbie hovered over his work station, jotting down information on a piece of paper in front of him while speaking into his push-to-talk headset system assigning a sector of airspace to a departing aircraft.

Eagle flight ninety-five twenty-eight, turn right heading two three zero.

Eagle ninety-five twenty-eight right to two three zero. The Eagle pilot repeated the coordinates.

I headed toward the small kitchen where prepared food and snack vending machines lined the wall three abreast, and reached the coffee maker. Pouring the lukewarm high octane battery acid into my cup I could hear the refrigerator and vending machines humming steadily.

Lisa, our weather girl, stepped inside briefly to retrieve her stereotypical airline food from the microwave as it beeped its reminder that the food was no longer a meat-sicle. Frankly the entrees looked better in a frozen state, once cooked the mystery meat usually looked like it could stand a good eulogy.

The weather should be calm tonight Jeffries, she stated as her hand swiftly moved toward the plastic utensils. How was vacation?

Glad to be back, I replied, avoiding the question, but unable to disguise the exasperated expression on my face.

Oh, her demeanor sobered. Did your mother-in-law come with you?

We were a small night crew and knew each other’s personal situations like an ongoing soap opera. Tried leaving her once in the Smoky Mountains, but it didn’t stick. Can’t seem to shake her, I smirked.

Lisa Hitchcock was an unassuming thirty-something flight data employee. I’m lucky. I just love my mother-in-law.

I wasn’t buying it for a minute. She only felt that way because her mother-in-law was rich and she was hoping to cash in one day. "I take it she took