INCEPTION (Projekt Saucer, Book 1) by Harbinson W. A

Author:Harbinson, W. A. [Harbinson, W. A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2011-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

EPILOGUE Roswell, New Mexico July 2, 1947

‘The space age is beginning,’ Bradley told Gladys. ‘It began when we shipped the first captured German V-2s to New Mexico in 1945 and when, in March the following year, the first US V-2 launches began at the White Sands Proving Ground under the direction of our old friend, Wernher von Braun, now under contract to the United States. Since then, about fifty V-2s have been launched, most of them successfully. Meanwhile, the Soviets, who got Peenemünde and to whom we kindly handed over Nordhausen shortly after capturing it, have started a similar rocket development program and are preparing to launch their first V-2 from a range near Volgagrad, better known to us as Stalingrad. And apparently, back here in the good old US of A, improved rocket motors, using liquid self-igniting fuels and based on the V-2 research, are about to go into production with civilian aviation organizations given USAF contracts... And all that in two years!’

‘Give it a rest, Mike,’ Gladys said. ‘Let me fill up your glass.’ ‘A man’s gotta have a hobby,’ Bradley replied. He handed Gladys his glass and glanced out of the window at the desert, flat under a starlit sky. They were living not far from the late Robert H. Goddard’s Mescalero Ranch and his old rocket launching site, Eden Valley. Bradley often felt inspired by the location, given what he was doing.

They’d moved here when they were married, shortly after Bradley’s release from the hospital, and now, when he was not involved in the drafting of contracts between the many US Air Force and civilian aeronautical establishments in the area, he was conducting his own investigations into Wilson’s whereabouts and his possible connections with the recent spate of sightings of so-called UFOs, or flying saucers.

It kept him busy. It helped him forget the pain. As they had told him in the hospital, he would have to live with the pain for a long time. He owed Wilson that as well.

Gladys handed him the refilled glass, kissed his forehead, then took the chair facing him. Her hair was turning more gray every day, but her smile was still radiant. He loved her and loved being married to her; he’d gained that much, at least.

‘Feeling okay?’ she asked him.

‘Sure.’

‘When are we going to New York to see your kids? I sure like those visits.’

Bradley shrugged, then winced. Even shrugging could hurt like hell. ‘Christmas,’ he said, remembering the submarine in the harbour of Kiel, the icily sardonic SS captain, the fuse spluttering toward the truck piled with corpses, then the stupendous explosion... ‘We’ll go see them at Christmas. They’re looking forward to seeing you again. We’ll have a real family holiday.’ He’d awakened hours later, pulled back to life by pain, and found himself half buried under rubble with a lot of bones broken. He’d been rescued, of course – the Allies and Soviets had met in Kiel – but he’d spent the next six months in a

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