“It was a
cold, dark night when the screaming headless man came bounding around
the corner, carrying his own bloody head in one hand and his trusty
sword in the other...”
you just read is the only piece of fiction contained within this book.
This is a non-fiction book. As such, it is not written to entertain but
expect this book to be a Pulitzer Prize winner either. I’m not a writer by
trade. What I am is a regular person who has undergone an extremely
unusual and somewhat fascinating experience which most people will find
compelling and worth the read.
of how it’s written, however, some people will naturally be skeptical.
Others may be able to put two and two together and slowly see the light
based on what they may already know. Regardless of where you stand, it
doesn’t make this story any less true. If you’re skeptical, you simply
must take the seemingly fantastical leap of faith it takes to believe this
story in its entirety.
who choose to take that leap will be most affected by what I have shared
about my experiences. For it is only when you open your mind to the
unbelievable, and catch a glimmer of that certain something that just may
be the missing light of truth, will you finally believe. Then, and only
then, will the knowledge you’ve gained from the act of believing be
allowed to make an impact on your life.
not, though, be prepared to make some room in your comfort zone regarding
your pre-conceived notions about mankind’s existence. It may make you
uncomfortable to do so, but being comfortable has never been fertile
ground for growth.
Believe and you
will have no choice but to grow.
Back to Table of Contents
deal of soul searching on my part was necessary in making the decision to
write this book. As you can readily imagine, it’s a subject wide open for
ridicule and ostracizing. Indeed, I’m sure this is one of the biggest
reasons why more people have not made their experiences known.
As far as
I’m concerned, the information I know relating to Project Preserve
Destiny (PPD) specifically, has absolutely no impact
on national security. Perhaps if they had been more forthcoming with the
truth and made me aware of a greater goal that did impact national
security, I wouldn’t be coming forward today. But they didn’t, so here we
I’ve documented in this book is an authentic first level account of the
existence of aliens. It is a story of my personal experiences as an
intuitive communicator with the United States Air Force
(USAF), while working for the National Security
Agency (NSA). My going public with this story will
hopefully be considered by historians of the future as the catalyst that
opened the gate to the flow of relevant and concrete information regarding
the government’s role in the cover-up of alien related information.
I think one
of the numerous reasons more people have not come forward is obvious; fear
of prosecution. Another reason why someone would think twice about
revealing any information is that there is no physical evidence readily
accessible that would enable someone to verify the validity of their
story. So in coming forward with my story I risk not being believed and
outright ridicule as well. I have decided to take that chance because I
believe the story should be told and someone from the first level must
take that first step to get the avalanche of information started.
the release of alien information into the public
domain has been a gradual process. I’m convinced that by going public
with what I know I will help turn what has been a trickle of information
up until now into an avalanche of other first level accounts. At least,
that is my hope.
What do I
mean by “first level account”? This is explained in more detail
within the context of my experience. For now, it’s a system designed so
that the guardians of information can exert control over, and keep hidden,
certain levels of information...i.e., projects dealing with alien
contact and technology.
someone is assigned to an alien project they are also
assigned to the collateral black mission (cover
mission). One of the reasons for this is if someone were to reveal
any alien information, by extension, they would most likely reveal
something about the cover project and it would be on this basis
that someone would be prosecuted for divulging classified information. By
setting it up this way the government is able to effectively silence and
discredit someone without ever having to acknowledge the existence of the
alien project. Hopefully I will avoid this scenario by
methodically unfolding my story.
preparing this book for release, I had to take certain precautions
regarding legitimately classified information. My regular Air Force job
was as an Electronic Intelligence Specialist. The Air Force
describes this career field as “analyzing electromagnetic energy for
intelligence value.” In more simple terms, I would analyze the
internal characteristics of energy emanating from a piece of equipment,
such as a radar, to see what kind of transmission it emitted and determine
exactly how the actual signal would operate so we could identify the
People in this
career field are called “ELINT” specialists, or
“ELINT’ers.” Some of what I did as an ELINT’er
isn’t any more classified than the secret level, or below. However, some
of the things I worked on would be considered in the “above top secret”
realm. It is in this realm that I start treading on thin ice. This is
heavily sensitive territory, for which the danger of unauthorized
disclosure lurks around every corner.
challenge I’ve been presented with has been to share with the reader
information pertaining to the grey project without threatening the
existence of the “above top secret” projects I may have been
familiar with. “Careful” has become my middle name concerning my regular
Air Force duties. So you’ll notice that few details regarding my regular
job in the Air Force are present within the story.
I feel I have brought the PPD aspects of my role in the
USAF to light without revealing any other collateral
information, I want it to always be known that my going public with this
book is not, has not and never will be an attempt to undermine the
security of our nation. Everything I say regarding my experiences is
relevant only to my involvement with PPD. PPD has
nothing to do with national security and everything to do with a
government who feels the need to protect us from a particular area of
alien gathered information. (Perhaps other alien projects
are classified for good reasons; I don’t know.)
I also had
difficulty relating the sequence of events in relation to where I was
stationed. Even though the actual geographical locations of where I have
been stationed are not classified, relating the bases to certain other
information I write about is. Hence, the references to “PPD Base
#1” and “PPD Base #2” within the story.
first learned of Project Preserve Destiny and my role in it,
I was very proud. Imagine being in a position of knowing that aliens
actually do exist!
make matters practically unbearable, you knew you couldn’t tell anyone.
More importantly, even if you did tell someone, you risked being thought
of as crazy. Well, the time has come. I have finally decided to make this
story known, regardless of what people will think of my sanity.
It will be
interesting to learn what the world will do with this information, if they
even listen. Finding out we are not alone in this universe is exciting,
but the other things you’ll learn may not be so enchanting.
There is always
a price to pay for knowledge.
Back to Table of Contents
The clock on the wall
of the visitor’s center said it was exactly 3 p.m. yet there was no sign
of Captain White. Where was he? Was I at the wrong entrance?
"Okay," I said to myself. “Be patient. You’re just a little nervous,
that's all." As I waited for Captain White to arrive, my mind couldn’t
help but search out a reason for this impromptu meeting.
to Maryland had taken 18 long, grueling hours. So when the Holiday Inn
came into sight it was not a moment too soon. I checked in and dragged
myself up to the room. Without unpacking, I fell on the bed for some much
needed rest. I had just fallen into a deep sleep when the phone rang.
was in that stage of sleep that, when awakened, you have no idea where
you are or how you got there.
"Sergeant Sherman?" the caller asked.
Still confused, I answered, "Uh, yeah, that’s me."
"This is Captain
White, from the training group. I'd like for you to meet me at the main
entrance to the NSA building at 1500 hrs. I need to go over some
things with you."
I had come to
the National Security Agency (NSA), outside of Washington
DC, to attend an intermediate electronic intelligence class. It was a
course needed in my development as an electronic intelligence
(ELINT) analyst in the US Air Force. There were two of us from my
base that were selected to attend this class so I assumed Captain White
wanted to see us both.
like me to bring Sergeant Ham, Captain?"
"No," he said. "I'll only
need to speak with you. Do you know which entrance I'm talking about?"
I had never been to the NSA complex so I told him I didn’t. I
quickly grabbed a pen and wrote down the directions.
"I'll see you
at 1500 hrs,” he said before he hung up.
looked at my watch and it was already 1300 hrs. I had been asleep for only
three hours and my body was pleading for more. As I walked to the bathroom
I started to wonder, “Why did the captain want to talk to me, and me
only?” I thought about the possibilities; I was the highest ranking person
attending the course from my base - maybe he just required a
representative from each of the bases attending the school. But why the
odd break in protocol?
usually call enlisted personnel directly and ask to meet with them at
"Oh well," I
said out loud to myself as I stepped into the shower. "If the captain
needs to see me, I guess I'll find out why soon enough.” I did.
As I sat in the
visitor’s center waiting for Captain White, I couldn’t help but
notice the guard at the customer service desk. When I pulled security duty
earlier in my Air Force career, we always referred to the civilian guards
as “rent-a-cops.” Looking at the guard sitting at the counter in front of
me, I could see why. His blue shirt had what Air Force security police
would call “summer creases,” meaning “sum’er here, sum’er there.” I guess
proper ironing techniques weren’t included in the rent-a-cop’s how-to
black man attracted my attention as he walked through the visitor’s center
glass door. He was about my own height, 6’2”, slender build and in his
late 20’s. His black hair was cut “high and tight,” marine style, which
suited his personality.
He was decisive
in his actions, with no wasted energy.
As he stuck
out his hand towards me he said, “Sergeant Sherman, I assume?”
Immediately intimidated by his presence, I grabbed his hand with all
the strength I could muster and shook it. “Yes, Sir!”
“Have you been
waiting long? I’ve been so busy, running around, I’m lucky I made it
when I did.”
“No, Sir, I’ve only been here a few minutes,” I
politely lied. I had actually been there for 15 minutes, not counting
the 15 minutes it took me to find a parking space and then the correct
entrance into the building. The NSA has a sprawling
parking lot with spaces seemingly miles away from the building. In my
hectic search for a parking space, I became confused, lost my bearings,
and couldn’t find the entrance where Captain White had told me to
meet him. It’s a wonder I wasn’t late as well.
“Great! Do you know
if your security clearances are here yet?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,
Sir. I just drove in today, so I don’t think so.”
was sent away from their home base, for school or to work temporarily, you
were said to be on “temporary duty” or just “TDY.” When you needed
access to classified information while on TDY, proof of your
security clearances had to be received by the TDY host base
prior to being granted unescorted entry into any restricted areas. The
military was notorious for not getting security clearances where they
needed to be and/or not getting them there on time.
checking for the status of my clearances at the visitor’s desk, the
rent-a-cop confirmed that they hadn’t arrived. The captain would have to
escort me into the building.
“Did you find
a parking space okay?” the captain asked, making small talk as we waited
for the guard to fill out the paperwork I needed to sign.
no problem,” I lied again, not wanting to create any more conversation
than was necessary. I was getting more and more anxious. Why had he
called me for a private meeting?
was weighing heavily on my mind as we left the visitor’s center and made
our way through the turnstiles into the most formidable and secretive
government agency ever to be formed; the National Security Agency.
I had heard
many stories about the National Security Agency, dubbed the
“Puzzle Palace” by many. When I found out I was going to attend
classes there I read everything I could find on the subject. I learned
that the National Security Agency was originated in response to a
memorandum sent by President Harry Truman on October 24, 1952 to Secretary
of State Dean Acheson and Defense Secretary Robert Lovatt.
placed the NSA under the authority of the Secretary of Defense, and
charged it with monitoring and decoding any signal transmission relevant
to the security of the United States. In layman’s terms, the NSA
eavesdropped on the world through all kinds of sources, overtly and
I also learned
that, due to security concerns, the construction of any structures
surrounding the main NSA building complex was restricted to a
certain pre-determined height. The rationale for this construction
regulation, it explained, was to prevent any adversarial agency from
taking up residence in a location that would provide them a vantage point
for audio and visual surveillance. For obvious reasons, this would make
the world’s most prolific intelligence agency very uncomfortable. Many
sources jokingly referred to it as “No Such Agency” because of the
level of secrecy surrounding the organization itself.
walked down the stark hallways, my pre-conceived ideas of how the interior
of the hallowed halls of the NSA complex would look fell far short
of reality. The hallways were bland expanses of raised tile floors and
painted walls. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but somehow it
wasn’t what I was seeing.
for miles, it seemed, down numerous hallways before we reached Captain
White’s office. The sign next to the door, in small unassuming letters,
read “Captain White/DO.”
it,” he said as he swiped his card through the card reading device mounted
on the wall below his name plate. He punched his personal code into the
numbered keypad located on the face of the device. A green light and an
audible click signaled the door had unlocked.
stepped through the door I could see another door in front of us. The
captain made sure the door behind us was secured, then turned and placed
his forehead against what appeared to be a visor. I immediately recognized
it as a retina scanner. My understanding was that they were still
experimental, but this one appeared to work fine. After a few seconds of
scan time, we heard a tone. I was already full of questions about the
security measures, but I bit my tongue not wanting to sound inexperienced.
I had never come across such tight security procedures to get into an
office within an already tightly secured building.
My mind was
becoming more and more active with questions. I am a naturally curious
person, so I had to actively suppress my curiosity and hold my questions
for a more appropriate time.
a room appointed with fine furnishings. The room was square, perhaps 20
feet by 20 feet. Along the right wall was a brown leather couch with a few
chairs in the corner. The captain’s desk stood in the middle of the room.
On the left
wall was a built-in sink with a miniature refrigerator set into the
White motioned for me to sit in the chair facing his desk.
like something to drink, Sergeant Sherman?” he asked as I sat down.
“No thank you, Sir, I’m fine.” In reality I was dying of thirst, but
I still wasn’t comfortable accepting any of his entreaties.
he said as he sat down behind his desk. “How was your trip out here; did
you get to see any of the sights on the way out or did you drive
I couldn’t help
but wonder why he was dragging this meeting on with small talk. The longer
he waited to share with me the reason for this meeting, the more nervous I
straight through, only stopping for gas,” I answered him.
must be pretty tired then. Let me get this out of the way so you can get
back to the hotel and get some sleep.”
Yes! I could almost hear the
sigh of relief escape my mouth. I was tired, and had been running on
adrenaline for some time.
“You’ve probably surmised by now that this
meeting is a little unusual.”
“Actually, my curiosity has been
piqued,” I said as calmly as I could, not wanting to let him know how
nervous I was.
“I can imagine. I’ve been in the position of telling
people this a few times now, and there’s never been a way to put it
lightly. As you know, you’ve been sent here to go through course EA280,
but you will also be going through another school while you’re here.”
In one quick moment, all my anxieties vanished. He just wanted to
tell me about another class. But no sooner had my anxieties disappeared
than they reappeared, only ten-fold.
“To put it bluntly, Sergeant
Sherman, in the summer of 1960 your mother was visited by what
the world commonly refers to as aliens.”
“Sir?” was the only
thing I could manage to say.
“Random tests were being conducted on
the general populace at the time to determine compatibility.”
I was in a
state of utter disbelief when I asked in a weak, cracking voice,
“Yes. Actually, it’s a long story. I’ll try
to explain as much as I can but there’s much that I don’t even know. In
a nutshell, you’ve been given an interesting ability through what we
call genetic management.”
genetic management, compatibility, long story. My mind was reeling with
all this new information. I came in here expecting to find out about a
deployment for an exercise, or perhaps that I had incorrectly filled out
my travel voucher, but not this!
the captain could sense how much shock I was experiencing he said,
“I know all
this is going to be hard to swallow, but I can assure you it’s true.”
All at once I
became overwrought with a sense of amazement and curiosity. Captain
White sat in front of me, calm and relaxed, telling me that aliens
existed as if he were merely sharing with me the topic of an obscure
news item he read in yesterday’s paper.
If this was
true, than all those years of boyhood wondering had just been validated,
in one fell swoop. There was life elsewhere and we were not alone in this
vast universe. Was I dreaming? Could this really be happening? I had heard
rumors through the classified grapevine of alien craft experiments in
Nevada, and the testing of new weapons based on alien technology. But this
was no longer a rumor. This was reality - my reality.
things were going through my mind as the captain continued with his
you have a unique ability; we call it ‘intuitive
communications.’ It’s an ability to communicate through the
intuitive manipulation of your mind. There have been a handful of people
since this ability was perfected that have utilized this skill within
the military establishment. There are many others throughout the general
world populace that currently have this ability, but until it is brought
out by proper exercise methods it lays dormant.”
By this time, I
had immersed myself into what the captain was telling me, soaking up every
detail. I found myself from one moment to the next believing and then
disbelieving what he was saying. How could all this be kept from the
public so thoroughly? Even in the tabloids, where people routinely gave
birth to three-headed aliens, you never once heard of “intuitive
getting ahead of myself a little; let me show you some background on what
I’m talking about.” He got up to pull down a screen from the ceiling above
the refrigerator. As I shook my head in amazement Captain White
looked at me with a slight smile on his face and continued with his story.
And what a
story it was.
Back to Table of Contents
Captain White spoke
slowly at first, as if to gently nudge the unbelievable truth in my
“In 1947, the
US government made contact with an alien species. Today, we commonly
refer to them as ‘greys’. Because of this contact, we have
learned many things. Some of the things we learned were good, and some
not-so-good. And it’s one of those not-so-good things that has
ultimately brought you here, Sergeant Sherman.”
My mind was still
swimming as I asked, “So what am I doing here, Sir?”
continued with the story as if he hadn’t heard me. “In 1960, an
experiment was given a great deal of attention within Level
“Excuse me sir,” I interrupted. “What is
“I was just getting there. Level 1 is a classification
category that allows us to compartmentalize any and all grey
information. You’ll hear more about this at your security
The captain went on. “The
experiment that I’m referring to was, and still is, named ‘Project
Preserve Destiny.’ It started in 1960 and was fully operational
by 1963. It was a genetic management project with the sole purpose of
cultivating human offspring so that they would have the ability to
communicate with the greys. Your mother was initially abducted in
1960 for tests, then again in 1963 for the actual genetic procedure
while you were in the womb.”
Each moment in
Captain White’s office was more shocking than the last. In the
seconds after each new revelation, my mind went through utter disbelief,
followed by skepticism, then outright curiosity. How could this be
happening to me? Aliens were the made-up fantasies of
Hollywood film makers and science fiction book writers. They had no place
within the concrete, tangible realm of the US Military. Yet, here I sat in
front of a US Air Force captain with two connected silver bars on each
shoulder, listening to what most people would recognize as a great little
point in our conversation, I can’t remember exactly when, I became a
believer. First out of my own desire to believe, then ultimately in my
inability to avoid the information being presented to me.
abilities are a product of Project Preserve Destiny, Sergeant
I was about to ask a question when the captain directed my
attention back to the screen, as if to say, “not yet, there’s more!”
I was expecting pictures of aliens and other science fiction type of
stuff. Instead, I was treated to a healthy dose of facts and bullet
“In January of 1963, the first successfully managed
embryo was produced under PPD supervision. There were only a
certain number of ‘intcomm’ capable personnel required, hence the
genetic management phase of PPD was terminated in March of 1968.”
I accurately surmised that “intcomm” was a shortened name for
intuitive communications. (I later learned that I would be
referred to as an “IC”.)
“Because intcomm abilities
really cannot be fully utilized, biologically, until the subject is
approximately 25 years old or older, we have just recently begun the
recruiting and training phase of PPD. Because the selection
process in 1960 was based on carefully calculated statistical
demographics, they were able to accurately predict that a certain
percentage of those offspring would choose the military as a career.”
I had a million
questions running through my mind by now, so I just grabbed one and spit
it out. “Did my mother conceive me or was I implanted?” Even as I said the
words, I couldn’t believe the conversation I was having. Several hours ago
I was trying to get a non-smoking hotel room for my prolonged stay in
Maryland and now I was inquiring as to whether I was naturally conceived
or placed in my mother’s womb by an alien race. It was almost too
much to process all at once.
White responded in a reassuring tone, “Everyone I’ve had to tell this to
has had the same concern at some point in the conversation. Rest assured,
you are 100% human. Your conception was as normal as any other person’s.”
I distinctly remember being greatly relieved to find out I wasn’t part
alien. In retrospect, it seems a little naive but a lot was happening at
once, and my mind was racing with all kinds of possible scenarios.
slowly becoming more and more impatient as well. I wanted to know the
“whys” of this project.
“Why have all
these people been selected for this project? What’s the ultimate
“That’s a good question. Unfortunately I have no answer
for you. Most of us only know enough to do our assigned jobs. The long
term goals are only known by a handful of Level 1 personnel of
which I am not one. All that we’ve been told is that your abilities will
be needed in the future when all electromagnetic communications will be
“How will this happen?” I asked.
there are things that you have no need-to-know at this point and that is
one of them. To tell you the truth, I do not know either. I have my
suspicions, which I’m sure you will have as time goes on as well.
will be your PPD point of contact during your stay here in
Maryland. It’s probably obvious, but I must address it anyway. You are
not authorized to speak to anyone about PPD unless I direct you
to do so. You will be going through a highly specialized school while
you are here. This school is designed to teach you how to recognize and
uncover your IC abilities. You will see another student during
your classroom time as there are two of you here at present. Neither of
you may speak to one another. Your transportation to and from the school
will be provided. You’ll meet a blue van outside your hotel after your
ELINT classes break for the day. You will be
expected to be down at the van exactly 45 minutes from the time you
arrive back to your room from your ELINT class. This will
give you enough time to do any necessary tasks before departing for your
PPD classes. Don’t worry, we’ll go over most of
this again tomorrow. Do you have any other questions for me so far,
I had plenty of questions but all I could say
was, “Not right now, Sir.”
Captain White went on as if
reading from a manual. “I realize this has been quite a shock and you
may not even believe what I’m telling you right now; but I assure you,
Sergeant Sherman, this is not a dream.”
understood exactly what I was thinking. I was grasping for some sort of
explanation. Even though I knew Captain White was telling me the
truth, I kept expecting this to turn out to be an elaborate joke. Perhaps
they were initiating my arrival to the ELINT school. I
expected some joker to jump out of a closet laughing and pointing at me as
if I were the biggest fool in the world for falling for this “alien”
thing. Yet I couldn’t dispute what was being told to me. Everything was
too elaborate, and the captain too convincing.
This was real!
“When you get
back to your hotel all kinds of questions are going to come to you.
Please make a mental note of them. I say mental note because you are not
to write anything down at all concerning this subject. We’re seeing each
other again tomorrow for your school indoctrination. You will be able to
ask any follow-up questions at that time. Until then, you understand
that you are not allowed to speak about this to anyone, correct?”
The military training in me stepped up to the vocal chords and
announced automatically, “Yes, Sir!”
“Well, I think you’ve probably
earned some much needed rest. You look pretty worn out. I’ll give you a
call tomorrow to set up a time to meet at the same entrance we met at
today.” Captain White started to rise and I followed his lead. Of
course I had more questions but he appeared to have stopped taking them.
As I stepped
out of the NSA building into the sunny but cold Maryland
winter air, I realized everything that had been important to me before I
stepped into this building earlier today had all of a sudden changed. I
don’t remember the long walk back to my car. My mind was racing and
churning over and over. There was absolutely life elsewhere.
No doubt, not
fiction - they actually existed. I had always believed in the possibility
of life elsewhere but it was difficult to comprehend. Even as I now knew,
on a conscious level, that aliens existed, I still found myself resorting
to rationalization. I was trying to deny the truth because it didn’t fit
what I always thought was real. My previous beliefs about extraterrestrial
life were always based on a distant possibility. Now that I was confronted
with the reality of it head on, my mind had a hard time believing.
back to the hotel. During the 15 minute trip I started becoming slightly
paranoid. Every car I passed or that passed me, in my overly-heightened
sense of awareness, could have been someone following me to make sure I
didn’t tell anyone that aliens existed. Of course that was
ludicrous! What if I did tell someone? Would I be found dead behind a
country barn 50 miles from civilization? I began to wonder how they kept
people who knew about this program from telling someone. I didn’t intend
to find out, that was for sure!
Back at the
hotel, as I lay in bed, all these questions began to surface. The main one
being; if there was life elsewhere then where did God fit into the
picture? Was God a fictional entity that we humans had dreamed up in order
to make sense of our lives? There had to be a mastermind that made order
out of chaos. Were the aliens God?
off to sleep questioning my own religious beliefs and wondering if I would
ever get any answers.
The phone rang,
awakening me once again. I knew it would be Captain White so I
rushed to answer it.
said a little too excitedly, like a kid answering the phone when he knew
Santa would be calling.
“Good morning, Sergeant Sherman,” I heard
the efficient voice of Captain White quickly say. “Meet me at the same
entrance at 0900 hrs.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring
“No. I’ll see you at nine.”
As I hung up
the phone it occurred to me this wasn’t a dream. I sat on the edge of the
bed, rubbing my eyes, as the questions I had gone to sleep thinking about
came rushing back to me. I’d have to make a mental note of them like the
was already at the visitor’s center when I got there. He met me with a
smile which set aside my fear that he was mad because I was late.
need to sign these forms so that the guard can issue you your restricted
area badge.” My clearances had arrived. I posed for a picture, signed
the badge and waited for the guard to laminate it and attach a chain to
it. While we waited, the captain was uncomfortably silent. I stole
glances of him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed too calm for
someone who knew aliens existed. I wasn’t sure how you were supposed to
act, but calm didn’t seem to fit. This was all so new to me and I
constantly felt nervous.
“Sergeant Sherman,” the rent-a-cop guard
called out, interrupting my thoughts about the captain. I went up to the
counter to retrieve my new, freshly laminated restricted area badge.
“Here is your PIN, Sergeant Sherman. Just swipe your card through
the card reader, enter your PIN then press the pound key. You should get
a green light and hear a click from the door or turnstile.”
This was the
same system we had at my own base so I wasn’t paying much attention to the
guard. My mind had too many other things to think about than to listen to
midst of my mental wanderings I noticed the guard had stopped talking to
me so I took that as my cue.
I said, even though I hadn’t paid much attention to his instructions.
“All set?” the captain asked.
“I guess so,” I answered.
The captain led
me out the visitor center’s doors. But instead of turning right to go
through the building’s security turnstiles he turned left and headed for
the doors that led outside. I almost questioned where he was going but
consciously bit my tongue instead and continued to follow behind.
us in front of the building in a no-parking zone was a blue Air Force van.
My heart began to beat faster. My internal safety mechanisms were
sounding. Where were they taking me? More importantly, would I return?
Those were the two immediate concerns paramount in my mind as I climbed
into the van ahead of the captain.
sitting in a van with blackout windows, traveling to an unknown location,
when it hit me like a ton of bricks: my life was never going to be the
same again. I was right.
Back to Table of Contents
The van that I
would end up spending a lot of time in over the next few months was
interesting. You could not see anything through the windows, either
looking inside or looking out. Because the cab part of the van where the
driver sat was blocked from view as well, I never once was able to get a
good look at the person driving the van. This was always amusing to me and
I even had a nickname for him: Casper the friendly van driver. Not that I
could share my sense of humor with anyone, as I was never able to talk to
the driver nor anyone else while I was there except Captain White.
And after our initial meetings I didn’t see him too often.
Captain White where we were going a few minutes after we had
boarded the van.
location of the site is not important. You’ll always be picked up by
this van at your hotel and taken to school everyday.”
More silence. I
wanted to know so much, but when was the proper time to ask questions?
appeared to be coming to a final stop but not quite. It crept forward for
a few more seconds, went over a few bumps, then came to a halt. I could
tell this was our destination because I heard the driver shift the
transmission into park. A few seconds later the engine stopped. I heard
the “thunk” of the locks unlocking and the captain opened the sliding door
to the van and climbed out. I climbed out after him.
I didn’t look
around too much because I didn’t want to appear nosy. There was no time to
look around anyway as we headed straight for a metal door along the wall
in front of us. I was able to notice we were in a concrete room the size
of an oversized four car garage. The room had no exterior light sources -
no windows at all. The ceiling looked to be about 12 to 14 feet high. The
metal door we headed for was about ten feet from the van.
My mind was
racing. Was I going to see an alien?
no card readers at the metal door we approached. Instead, the captain held
his hand up to a metal hand-shaped plate mounted on the wall to the left
of the door. Embedded into the ends of each metal finger were mini glass
many times I entered this door I assumed the metal hand was a device to
read a person’s fingerprints through the little glass windows at the
fingertips. I gave some thought to the possibility that it could have been
reading my heat signature as well. I never knew for sure. What I did know
was that the security measures were advanced beyond any that I had seen
before or have seen since.
captain placed his hand on the metal hand-shaped plate, I could hear the
familiar click signaling that the door could be opened. We stepped into a
vestibule area, similar in size to the vestibule outside the captain’s
office. He placed his forehead on a black visor of the retina scanner
mounted above a small glass window on the left wall. I heard a beep, then
the captain placed his hand up to another metal hand-shaped plate, this
time for the right hand, on the same wall to the lower right of the retina
This time the
door in front of us clicked. The captain pulled the door opened. I was
surprised to see that we were stepping into an elevator. Interestingly,
the door opened directly into the elevator - no other doors, sliding or
otherwise. I remember wondering how they had all this machinery serviced.
I couldn’t help but picture little aliens running around with tool belts
there in the elevator, I could see there was only one button and a little
handle off to the right of the button. There were no markings on anything.
I assumed there was only one button because there was only one choice of
movement; up if you were at the bottom and down if you were at the top.
elevator moved, I could tell it was moving down. It took 15 seconds or so
to arrive at its destination. On the way down, the captain turned to face
the opposite wall of the elevator. I took this to mean that we would be
exiting the elevator in the opposite direction we had entered. Indeed, as
we came to a halt, double doors opened in front of us. The room we stepped
out of the elevator into was approximately 25 feet by 15 feet. Straight
ahead on the other side of the room, facing us, was a glass window that
appeared to be as black as the windows in the van. The window was big,
taking up most of the wall it occupied. I could see the captain and me
reflected in it as we stepped out of the elevator.
On the left and
right walls were identical workstations. To the immediate right of the
workstation against the left wall was a door, narrower than a normal door
would be. Two large computer monitors and a standard keyboard were at each
workstation. I remember being impressed by the size of the computer
monitor’s screens. They were at least 26” measured diagonally, if not
more. The only other furnishings were two chairs at the workstations and a
table in the middle of the room. On the table was a pitcher of water, two
glasses, and a plate with two pills on it.
White motioned for me to pull up to the table with one of the chairs.
The captain sat at the head of the table and placed his briefcase down in
front of him.
take long, Sergeant Sherman. We just need to get some papers signed and
go over some security issues.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You are already
aware of the alien project. There are other programs that you’ll become
involved with that serve as ‘cover’ or ‘black’ missions. The cover
missions are designed to do just that: cover the existence of the alien
It was at this time I asked the obvious question anyone
would ask, “Why hide the alien program from the public to begin with?”
“That’s a good question, Sergeant Sherman. My guess is that the
information being kept from the public, if released, would create
instability to world markets and the global equilibrium of power that is
so unstable anyway.”
I had read that this was one of the reasons the
government kept alien information a secret. It seemed too much of a
canned answer to me. Indeed, he said it like he had memorized the
The captain went on. “I’m sure it’s not so much the specific
knowledge that aliens exist that is the problem, it’s more like the
information that we have gained from communicating with them that would
create havoc if released.”
That seems a bit more believable, I
thought to myself.
“Although, the mere fact that there is
intelligent life other than us in the universe would most likely put
a strain on the world’s religions, which would have a domino effect
in global relations. Back to the point though, I’m not sure exactly why
this information has not been released, but I do know that it is not our
place to share it with anyone. This is the reason PPD has
been hidden behind other classified projects. I’m sure you’ve heard of
‘black’ projects. The press loves to report
on the black budget.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about them,” I answered.
“These are actual projects that are hidden from the general public
because of national security reasons. Of course, it wouldn’t do any harm
if the average American knew this stuff. But as we know, if Mr. Joe
Public has access to information then so do any potential enemies who
may use the information against us. There are many examples of black
projects within the US military. You will be told about the specific
projects you will be working with when you have a need-to-know in the
future. There will be no need to indoctrinate you into the black
project here. Any questions before we go any further?”
I said, as I sat back for my official PPD indoctrination.
After I had signed numerous forms promising I would not divulge
any classified information for the next 75 years, or some ridiculous
number, the captain went on with my indoctrination.
“As I said yesterday, PPD had its beginnings in
1960. The personnel in charge of the project, at the time, tried to
figure out a better way to keep the program from the eyes of the
increasingly aware public. Brute force and manipulation was intimidating
but not an effective long term solution. In order to protect any future
information leaks they instituted what they called the ‘onion’ effect.”
I was slightly confused by this time, so I asked, “When you say
brute force and manipulation, what do you mean exactly? In what context
are you talking about?”
“The personnel working with alien projects
at the time were simply told not to tell any unauthorized person about
anything they knew or they, a friend, or a family member would meet with
an unfortunate situation. Of course, fear is a prime motivator but not
the most effective. They still had people stealing documents with
classified markings all over them as proof to others about what was
going on. In order to hide information effectively back then, it took a
great deal of resources and manpower to oversee everyone involved with
alien programs. So when PPD was first formed, it was the
model for the new onion effect. It was also around this time period that
a new black project was just getting started so they decided to hide the
newly formed PPD behind this new black project to keep
curious Congressmen and other nosy officials away.
“How the onion
effect works is similar to the actual layers of an onion. An onion has
many different layers. So does the military. On the outside of the
military onion, the side everyone can see, is the ‘unclassified’ layer.
This is the layer that is typically portrayed to the public and may or
may not have any bearing on the true mission of the organization, base
or installation. At most government locations, the unclassified
publicized mission of the base is perfectly accurate, and there is truly
nothing to hide. But this is not true of every location.
layer we uncover on our way to the center of the onion is called the
‘For Official Use Only’ (FOUO) layer, or
Level 5. FOUO is mostly a formal way of keeping
what is essentially unclassified information from being disseminated
indiscriminately. If several FOUO bits of information were
to be pieced together to form a more classified picture, the release of
that information could inadvertently be as damaging as the release of a
higher level of classified information.
“The next layer on the
classified journey is ‘Secret’, or Level 4.
The unauthorized release of Secret information and above has the
potential of causing serious damage to national security.
layer is ‘Top Secret’ (TS), or Level
3. Within the TS category there are code words that
compartmentalize the release of information even further. These code
words are used to protect many missions, including the ones referred to
as black missions.
“Black missions, which we call
Level 2, are what the alien projects are effectively
hidden behind. The existence of black missions is only known by a
handful of Congressmen and the President. These black missions are the
last line of defense for the alien projects. Wherever an alien
project is located there must be a black mission to cover its existence
from prying eyes. It creates a highly sophisticated shield designed to
mask the grey project’s existence from high level officials who have no
need-to-know. Otherwise, the alien project would eventually come under
scrutiny by someone within official channels. As it stands under the
current system, if a nosy Congressman starts looking where he has no
need-to-know, he can be briefed on the black mission, be made to feel
important and thereby squelching any further digging. It’s an extremely
effective method of hiding alien missions and is the reason they have
been hidden so effectively for so long.
“Last, but not least, on the
trip through the onion, we come to the alien missions or
Level 1; referred to as ‘grey’, ‘grey
matter’ or ‘slant missions’. The center of the
onion always contains the alien project. Not even the commander of a
site is normally aware of the alien project residing beneath his
“Anyone who is or has been part of an alien project is
considered to be ‘first level’, or Level 1 personnel.
Personnel who serve in a support function to the first level are
considered ‘second level’ and are unaware of the link between their jobs
and the alien project they are covering for. They work with the
cover or black missions. In addition, the existence of the entire level
system is only known by first level people.
“It gets even more
complicated. Within Level 1 there are separate and
distinct categories called ‘steps’ which directly correspond with your
As he was explaining this onion effect, I remember
being fascinated by the ingenuity of the system. It was obviously very
effective in preventing information from being revealed.
White finished explaining the onion effect. “Any questions, Sergeant
Sherman?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied. “You allude to the fact
that there is more than one alien mission - is this true?”
refer to there being more than one because I assume there are several. I
am not personally aware of any others, but since we have been in
contact with them since 1947, I can only assume there are now and
have been others in the past.”
I thought that was a logical
assumption. “Another question I’ve been meaning to ask is; how have they
been communicating with us since 1947 if you’ve only recently been able
to get people who can communicate with them? I’m a little confused about
“That’s a good question, Sergeant Sherman. Unfortunately, I
don’t know the answer. I can only venture to guess that we only have the
ability to communicate with them now through traditional electromagnetic
means. I’m not sure.”
“Now let’s talk about your
school, Sergeant Sherman,” the captain said, moving on to another
subject. “When the van lets you off upstairs you’ll do exactly what we
just did to get down here. On the way out today, we’ll enter your
identification parameters into the system. When you get down here, come
straight to the table and take two of these pills using this water then
sit down at your workstation, put on these headphones and await further
instructions from your instructor. It’s as simple as that.”
heard nothing up to this point about taking any pills, I was
understandably alarmed. “Why do I have to take these pills? What are
they for?” I asked, somewhat defensively.
“They are to facilitate
your abilities - they’re quite harmless,” the captain said nonchalantly.
Of course I wasn’t taking it so lightly, so I asked again. “But what
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. But you will have
to take them to help you with your schooling,” he said.
like the idea of eating an unknown substance, but I reluctantly agreed
with a passive nod of my head.
The captain went on, “After you place
your headphones on, you’ll hear all your instructions through them. If
you need to ask a question of your instructor there will be a box to
type the question out on your screen. Your instructor will tell you
about this during your first lesson. That’s it. Any questions?”
had none. I was too overwhelmed once again. This was becoming a
The captain went on. “As I mentioned yesterday,
there will be another student learning at the other workstation. You
will work at this one.” He pointed to the workstation on the left wall.
“You will see each other every day but you may not talk to one another
at all. It’s imperative that you understand this. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. I wondered what the big deal was though.
the way out of the classroom, we stopped in the vestibule upstairs before
exiting the metal door to the waiting van. The captain entered a number on
a numerical touchpad mounted on the wall, which I had not seen when we
came in. After entering a number, he told me to place my hand on the metal
hand-shaped plate. A tone sounded.
punched a number into the keypad once again, and told me to place my
forehead on the visor, look straight ahead and hold still. I did so. We
heard a tone once again signaling that my parameters had been successfully
entered. We stepped out of the vestibule back into the garage. The captain
instructed me to place my hand on the other metal-shaped hand outside the
door. We verified this parameter was entered correctly then headed for the
blue van parked in front of us.
I was now officially entered into the system and was able to
enter the vestibule and elevator unescorted. There was no turning back
now, assuming of course I had that choice to begin with.
Back to Table of