BlackStar Read online

  BLACK STAR

  BY

  MW HUFFMAN

  BLACK STAR© 2012

  Marshall Huffman

  All Rights Reserved

  - But what is the greatest evil? If you are going to epitomize evil, what is it? Is it the bomb? The greatest evil that one has to fight constantly, every minute of the day until one dies, is the worse part of oneself.

  - Patrick Mcgoohan

  OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN

  THE END BOOK I of the EVENT SERIES

  THE BEGINNING BOOK II of the EVENT SERIES

  The REVELATION BOOK III of the EVENT SERIES

  A NATION DIVIDED BOOK I The 2nd CIVIL WAR

  A NATION AT WAR BOOK II The 2nd CIVIL WAR

  A NATION HEALING BOOK III The 2nd CIVIL WAR

  THE BRINK BOOK I OPERATION DEEP FLIGHT

  THE BRINK BOOK II The BHAKKTAH

  BlackStar

  MYSTERIES

  THE LOGAN FILES

  DEAL BREAKER

  INNOCENCE and AVARICE

  THE ROSE TATTOO

  THE NORRIS FILES

  INSURRECTION

  THE DEATH MERCHANT

  COMING SOON:

  THE NORRIS FILES–SILVER2

  BlackStar Major Characters

  President : Oscar Zane Simpson (OZ)

  Chief of Staff: Larry Harper

  Secretary of Defense: Craig Hollister

  Homeland Security Head: Raymond Eller

  Assistant to Eller: Sarah Steal

  George Snapp – investigative reporter

  Dr. Robert Lake (Robert) – worked on propulsion units with element 115

  Dr. Dan Barnett (Dan Crain on badge) – Majestic 12 member

  EG & G Security Firm

  Thomas Warren Miller–(NAVY)-STRIKE-1 TEAM

  GROOM LAKE: AREA 51 also Dreamland

  General Devin Base Commander over Area 51

  Dr. Gimbel: Head of BlackStar Project

  Dr. Lynn YURISS: Head of Flux Propulsion

  J-Rod Alien

  SU – 11 Prototype

  SU – 12 Prototype

  CHAPTER ONE

  - Roswell, New Mexico -

  -July 1, 1947 -

  Until today the weather had been typical for this time of year in New Mexico. July was always dry and arid and weeks would pass without a single cloud in the sky. The lack of moisture made the stars in the night sky appear so copious that it was often difficult to differentiate the normal constellations. Of course you had to be careful at night if you decided to go stargazing in the desert. Nocturnal creatures such as snakes, scorpions, and an occasional coyote were always potential dangers to those who were not familiar with the New Mexico desert.

  This night, however, was not typical because heavy clouds had started to roll in during the late afternoon. The small sleepy town of Roswell would roll up the sidewalks around 9:00 p.m. and all decent and respectable citizens were expected to be tucked in their homes at that hour.

  James “Jimmy” Emerson was just such a person. He had gotten off work at the usual 5:00 p.m., stopped in at the only pool parlor in town and shot a few rounds with his friends. By 7:00 p.m. he was standing in the kitchen, looking into the refrigerator for something to eat.

  His wife, Amy Lou, had gone to Santa Fee to help her sister recover from a gall bladder operation. She had only been gone two days and Jimmy was already tired of fending for himself. He wasn’t a big man but he could put away a fair amount of food in a single sitting.

  He decided to drive back to the mom and pop greasy spoon on Highway 101 to get something to eat. He started up his pickup truck and left a dusty cloud as he took off out of the gate and headed for the highway.

  He lived five miles off of the main road as the crow flies, down a mostly sand and gravel road. It was supposed to be all gravel but it was losing the battle to the drifting sands that would cover everything. Mother Nature still held the upper hand and always would.

  The neon sign on the café said Ed’s and Erma’s INER. The ‘D’ had burned out long ago and they never got around to fixing it. He climbed out of the pickup and used his hat to dust off his shirt and pants before entering the café. Ed Morgan sat behind the counter, reading the weekly newspaper. The round black faced clock with pink neon that was visible above his head said 7:18 p.m.

  “Erma, come look at what the cat's done drug in,” he yelled to the back kitchen as Jimmy entered.

  “Damn, Ed. You sure aren’t getting any better looking. How does a pretty girl like Erma stand to look at your ugly face?”

  “Why darlin’, you know how to talk to a lady,” Erma said, coming through the swinging doors.

  “I’m still trying to steal you away from that grumpy old fart,” Jimmy said laughing.

  “Take her,” Ed said.

  Erma slapped him on the back of his head. She was short with dark brown hair eyes that looked like they were made of milk chocolate. She was obviously a good cook. You could tell by looking at Earl. Erma was pretty hefty too. She had once been a real beauty when she was in High School but time and her good cooking had taken their toll.

  “What?” he said, trying to sound innocent.

  “Sit down sweetie and Erma will make you something special,” she said to Jimmy.

  Jimmy plopped down on one of the stools and put his elbows on the counter.

  “What ya got that's good tonight Erma?” he asked.

  “We have Beef Manhattan, red beans and rice, meatloaf and mashed taters and of course our good old burgers. We had ham and beans until Ed polished them off.”

  “The Beef Manhattan sounds good. I’ll have that.”

  “Be right back sweetie. Sorry, but you’ll have to talk to Ed until I get back,” she said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  The diner had been around since before World War II and it looked it. Booths were situated along the front offering a view from dusty glass windows. The red topped vinyl stools would groan when someone sat down on them and tried to spin around. A pass-thru window separated the kitchen from the back counter where a large coffee machine sat along with an ancient brass cash register. It always said ‘No Sale’ no matter what Ed rang up. A two year old calendar hung on the wall next to the pass-thru.

  “So what brings you to our fine dining establishment? Get tossed out on your ear?” Ed asked.

  “Nah. Amy Lou is up in Santa Fe helping her sister out,” Jimmy said.

  The two men sat, just chatting about what was going on. Each one would try to throw in an insult occasionally, whenever the chance presented itself. They had been friends since elementary school and Ed had actually dated Amy Lou in junior high.

  “It’s gonna’ rain. Look at those clouds,” Ed said, glancing out the window.

  “Yep. Kind of strange for this time of year. July isn’t much for rain and that looks like a mean one blowing in. Unusual looking clouds,” Jimmy replied.

  “It’ll cause flash floods for sure,” Ed predicted, turning the page of his newspaper.

  “I suspect it will. When we go this long without rain, it usually does. Probably wash the road to my place away again,” Jimmy lamented.

  “Hell, no one wants to come see you anyway. It will give Amy Lou a good excuse for not coming back,” Ed teased.

  “Then I would just have to convince Erma to run away with me,” Jimmy joked.

  “Honey, that wouldn’t take much convincin’,” Erma said, bringing a plate with mashed potatoes, brown gravy and roast beef, all piled high on two slices of white bread.

  “Damn woman, feed me like this and we can leave tonight,” Jimmy said.

  “I’ll get her suitcase,” Ed murmured, which prompted another slap to the back of his head. The three of them sat and talked while Jimmy wolfed down his dinner. Thunder rolled across the desert and the sky grew even darker.

  “Looks like it might be a big one,” Ed observed.

  “Why thank you Ed, nice of you to say so,” Jimmy said with a slight smile on his lips. It took Ed a second.

  “You pervert. I was talking about the rainstorm.”

  “Oh. That might be a big one too.”

  Erma just chuckled.

  The banter continued as Jimmy ate his food. Finished at last, he leaned back rubbed his stomach and smiled. That was satisfying food.

  “Don’t you have some place you have to be?” Ed asked.

  “Actually, I guess I had better get my butt home. If it really lets loose, it may very well wash away my road,” Jimmy said, laying three dollars on the counter.

  “Hon, it’s not that much,” Erma said.

  “It is to him,” Ed said, scooping the three dollar bills off the counter.

  “Gotta’ run. Good grub Erma. I may have to come back for you later if this old grouch doesn’t shape up,” Jimmy said, opening the door.

  “I could deliver,” Ed said, trying to duck as Erma took another swing at his head.

  CHAPTER TWO

  - Foster Ranch, Roswell, NM -

  - July 6, 1942 -

  The wind had really picked up and large splatters of rain dotted his pickup’s windshield as he headed down highway 101. By the time he got to his turnoff it was starting to come down in torrents. He pulled up as close to the house as he could and then made a dash for the door. He looked back from the kitchen and saw that he had tracked mud across the living room floor. He would have to clean it up before Amy Lou came home. He took off his wet shirt and threw it across one of the dining room chairs. A beer would taste good right about now, if he actually liked beer. He settled for a
Coca Cola.

  ~~

  Mac Brazel sat in the kitchen watching as the rain hammered at the window. The rain was blowing sideways at times and he knew the little creek that ran through the property would be overflowing. As he was watching, a huge flash of lightning made him squint and he turned his head away. He thought it was strange because no thunder followed.

  One thing for sure, when this did let up, he was going to have to go check on the cattle. Anytime the weather got like this he knew he would spend several days rounding up strays. Maybe he could get Floyd and Loretta, his nearest neighbors, to help him when this passed. Then he would help them round up their strays.

  The violent storm lasted well into the night on July 6th and he was beginning to wonder if he should just saddle up and try to start out now, but a fresh gust of wind convinced him that waiting was a better idea. His lights flickered twice and then went out. Damn, he thought, now the power is out.

  He picked up the phone and got no dial tone. Son-of-a-gun, he might as well go to bed, he thought. He found an oil lamp, lit it, and went up to the bedroom. He emptied the bucket he had placed under a roof leak, undressed and climbed into bed.

  The rain seemed to be less intense now; maybe he could get an early start tomorrow he thought, as he rolled over and pulled the sheet over him. Within minutes, he was snoring softly, dead to the world.

  When Mac woke early the next morning, the rain was gone and the sun was bright and there was not a cloud in the sky. He dressed, went to the kitchen and made coffee. While it was brewing, he went out to the barn and saddled his horse. The coffee was ready by the time he had finished. He drank two quick cups and ate a piece of dry toast. The phone was still out so he decided to head out and see how his cattle had fared. He mounted up and headed towards the creek that would certainly be swollen by now. He knew some of the cattle would be trapped on the other side. It always happened when the creek rose.

  He was about a mile from the house when he noticed a trench that look like it was freshly dug. It went on for a hundred yards or so and then stopped only to start again a few yards further on. He got off his horse and scratched his head.

  What the hell could have done this? He followed the trail and started to notice pieces of metal. The trench went for several hundred yards and more and more metal pieces and parts were lying all over the field.

  His first thought was that an aircraft must have crashed in the storm last night. He climbed back on his horse and followed the trench. In the next few minutes his life changed forever as did the small community he lived in.

  Mac rushed into the house and picked up the phone, he was relieved to hear a dial tone again.

  “Sheriff Wilcox’s office,” the voice said.

  “Is the Sheriff in? This is Mac Brazel.”

  “Hi Mac. No he isn’t in. He has been out helping clean up some of the mess from the storm,” she replied.

  “Any idea when he may be back?”

  “Well, not really. I could call him on the radio if it’s important,” she offered.

  “Hummm. Well, I think it is kind of important. I think a military or some type of air craft crashed on the property during the storm,” he said.

  “Oh dear. Did you find anyone hurt?”

  “Uh, well sort of. I think the Sheriff needs to come have a look for himself,” Mac said.

  “Goodness, I’ll call him now. It should take about an hour for him to get to your place. Can you wait at the house for him?”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Mac said as he hung up.

  He didn’t want to say what he thought he had just seen. Everyone would think he was crazy or worse yet, all come out to the ranch and start tromping around. Mac liked people, as long as they stayed away from his space. He ate a tasteless sandwich and sat on the porch waiting for Sheriff Wilcox.

  ~~

  “Bonnie, I don’t have time to just stop what I’m doing and take off to the Foster Ranch,” the Sheriff said.

  “He said the thought he found an airplane wreck. People could be dead or hurt,” she said.

  “We have no reports of missing aircraft. Look, tell him I’ll get out to his place as soon as I can. It may be a couple of hours.”

  She called Mac.

  “The Sheriff is really busy right now. He is trying to break away and plans to get to your place as quickly as he can. We have a lot of damage from the storm last night. He will try to get to the Foster ranch within the next hour or two,” she said.

  “Well, I’ll be here,” was all he said as he hung up.

  What the hell could be more important than a plane crash, he thought to himself. He examined the piece of metal he had picked up at the crash site. It was incredibly light weight but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not bend it. He went out to the tool shed and placed the metal in a vice on the worktable. He lit the cutting torch and adjusted the flame. As he pressed the oxygen lever the flame grew intensely hot.

  He started heating the metal first before trying to cut it. He played the flame back and forth across the metal but it didn’t glow red like other metals. He increased the temperature but the metal still didn’t heat up. It looked exactly the same.

  He tried cutting through the metal but had no success whatsoever. He turned off the torch, flipped up his shield and scratched his head. He reached over and got some water on his hands and flicked it on the metal. Nothing. No sizzle, no steam vapor, no sound. He placed his hand near the metal but could not feel any heat coming off of it. Using just the tip of his finger he quickly touched the metal. It was not the least bit hot. He scratched his head again.

  Next he picked up an eight pound sledge hammer and took a hard swing at the metal but all the hammer did was bounce off. It hardly made a noise, almost like the blow was absorbed. He looked at the spot he had hit and not even a mark was left on it. Whatever this metal was, it wasn’t anything he had ever run across before. He was just about to try something else when he heard a car coming up the road. It was Sheriff Wilcox.

  “Hi Mac.”

  “Sheriff,” Mac said, shaking the officer’s hand.

  “What’s going on? Bonnie said you found an airplane wreck,” the Sheriff said.

  “I think so. I’m not really sure what I found.”

  “Now Mac,” he said, placing his hands on his hips, “You would know it if you found an airplane crash.”

  “Well, why don’t we just take a ride and I’ll show you what I’m talking about,” Mac replied.

  “Can’t we just drive? You know I don’t exactly have a deep love for animals bigger than me,” he said.

  “You’re welcome to give it a try but I think you will get bogged down. The ground is really soft right now.”

  “Oh hell. All right, let’s get this over with,” the Sheriff said, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to get on a horse if he was going to see this alleged plane crash.

  Mac already had the horses saddled up and within minutes the Sheriff was seated uncomfortably on a large grey Arabian. Mac led the Sheriff back down the path to the spot where he first saw the trench.

  “See there,” he said, pointing to where the ground had been dug up.

  “Where does it go?”

  “About three quarters of a mile through there,” he said pointing.

  “Let’s go,” the Sheriff said. They rode in silence until the Sheriff finally said, “Lot of metal around. You could be right. It looks like something crashed around here.”

  “There,” Mac said, “Pointing to the wreckage.”

  “What in God’s name?” the Sheriff said, his mouth hanging open.

  “That’s why I called,” Mac said. The two men dismounted and walked toward the wreckage. Debris was spread all over the area.