XCOM: The Long War, Prologue Part II
Langley, Virginia
24 February 1955
"Welcome to the Pentagon, sir." The Marine at the front gate said in that every-so-military respectful tone of voice before handing Alan Stockmann back his wallet. Alan nodded, smiling appreciatively, as he took it and placed it on his lap before sliding the gear off park and into drive. His grey Pontiac matched the abysmal weather that morning, but Alan took comfort in that it wasn't snowing. At least, he thought as he stared up at the cloudy skies, not yet.
24 February 1955
"Welcome to the Pentagon, sir." The Marine at the front gate said in that every-so-military respectful tone of voice before handing Alan Stockmann back his wallet. Alan nodded, smiling appreciatively, as he took it and placed it on his lap before sliding the gear off park and into drive. His grey Pontiac matched the abysmal weather that morning, but Alan took comfort in that it wasn't snowing. At least, he thought as he stared up at the cloudy skies, not yet.
Alan drove past the checkpoint, the stop bar lowering behind him, and continued along the access road. Before him sat the steel and glass monstrosity that was the Pentagon. While someone must have thought it was aesthetically pleasing, Alan only saw it as an eyesore, a gigantic look at me, which was fairly ironic given the building housed one of the most secretive intelligence agencies on the planet. Alan would know: he was one of them.
It took some time before Alan reached the parking lot and found a spot to leave his car. As soon as the engine stopped, Alan opened the car door and grabbed his briefcase before checking his watch. "Damn." It was nearly 9, and he had a meeting right on the hour. Sighing, he clambered out of the car, and slammed the door shut. He didn't bother to lock it behind him: who would steal a car from the CIA?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The upper floors of the Pentagon were the dominion of the bureaucrats and the analysts, where the Department of Defense and the CIA did their best to keep the whole world from snowballing. Alan was perfectly glad with surrendering the territory to them; he liked his turf better. Behind the glass and steel façade of the upper floors lay layer after layer of labs sanctioned off to those who didn't have the highest of security clearance. These labs held the best and brightest, working on projects that varied from new weapon systems to stolen Nazi tech. Alan's team was dedicated to studying something very different.
They called the group "Project Mojave," after where it had got its roots. The CIA, or rather its predecessor, the Central Intelligence Group, had acquired dozens of artifacts after the "Roswell Incident" of 1946. Alan could remember getting the call from Langley late that day, telling him that he had to come in immediately. Prior to that, Alan had been a part of one of the study teams, looking over wartime German tech, so he had figured that there had been some breakthrough. That had been nine years ago, and the Project still hadn't cracked the mystery. At least, not all of it.
Alan checked his watch as the elevator he had entered slowly went down. "Damn." He grimaced; at this rate, he'd be three minutes late. The elevator dinged, and the door slid open. Alan hurried out, moving at a brisk jog as he moved through the sterile hallways of the lab area to find Conference Room A. As he finally reached the oak door, he took a second to straighten his appearance before turning the door knob.
As Alan walked in, he could feel butterflies in his stomach flutter as the entire room turned to look at him. "Apologies, everyone, traffic is murder this morning." His excuse sounded hollow in his mind, but no one said a word as Alan took his seat. He looked around the room, trying to place where everyone was sitted. Half of Mojave was on Alan's side of the large wood conference table. On the other side sat senior officials from the Aquatone team, and at the end sat Director Dulles and a few other high-ranking CIA brass.
"Well, we're glad you could make it." Dulles said, plainly. "I'd like to get to the meat of this meeting as soon as possible." The CIA director turned his head to stare at the head of the Aquatone team, Richard Bissell. The man had a pug-like look to him, and had all the tenacity of one, too. The glare of the light on Dulles' glasses bothered Bissell none.
"Thank you, Director." The man replied politely. "To 'get to the meat,' as you said, it's come to the attention of me and my team that the U-2 is rapidly approaching the prototype stage, and as such, it is time that we consider a location for us to perform tests on the airframe." Before Bissell could continue, Dulles quickly cleared his throat.
"Does Lockheed know when it will have its prototype ready?" Dulles asked.
"We expect that we will be able to start doing flights in late July or early August of this year." Bissell replied. "As I've said in other meetings, I say we should order these crafts as soon as possible in order to minimize the amount of time between the prototype stage and the deployment stage." Dulles nodded, and waved his hand. Bissell nodded appreciatively, and looked down at the notes in his hands before he continued. "To make a long story short, one facility stands out over any other as the potential location for the Aquatone team: Indian Springs."
Alan was familiar with Indian Springs, but only as much as the pre-meeting brief had explained. Created in 1942 as an auxiliary Army Air Force base, mainly used for bomb practice. However, after the end of the war in '45, it had effectively fallen out of use. Isolated, and smack-dab in the middle of the unchanging-environment that was the Mojave desert, Indian Springs could be the perfect place to hide a top-secret aeronautics initiative.
"Indian Springs hasn't seen much use since 1945-how difficult would it be to renovate the facility?" Dulles asked. "How difficult," of course, was a pleasant euphemism for "how expensive?"
"It depends on how expansive we want the facility to be." Bissell answered, quick-as-a-whip. "If we want this to be home for only the Aquatone team, then it need only have the space for the prototypes, the crew, and the evaluation teams. However, if this is going to be a long-term investment, we might want to look into expanding the facility well beyond that." Dulles held up a finger, and Bissell stopped in his tracks.
"And that is why I called you and the Mojave team for this meeting, Mr. Stockmann." Dulles looked over at Alan. The chief researcher stared blankly-the brief had simply been addressed to him, but it hadn't said a word about why he and some of his senior staff were being told to come. "Before I continue, please explain briefly to the table what is it that Project Mojave does." That was a shock-Mojave was as classified as they came, more so than even Aquatone. But one did not refuse Director Dulles.
"Uh," Alan started, unsure, "Project Mojave was founded in 1946 to, uh..." He trailed off as he stared at the Director.
"It's okay, Mr. Stockmann." Dulles said comfortingly. "As of an hour ago, all of the men in this room have the same level of clearance as Mojave." Alan blinked before nodding.
"Uh, right." Alan's mind quickly scrambled back into gear. "The Project was founded in 1946 after an incident at Roswell, New Mexico. A debris field was discovered and collected by the local Air Force Base before being turned into the CIA, then known as the CIG. We fabricated a cover story about a weather balloon to the civilians in the town near where the debris was discovered, and another for military personnel stating that it was a craft meant to observe nuclear testing." Alan paused, took a breath, and forged on. "The truth is that the debris is not of American origin, nor is it Russian, Chinese, German, or any other nation. It appears to be the remains of some kind of object foreign to our world."
The room fell deathly quiet. The first to speak up was Bissell.
"You're shitting me." It was an incredulous response, hence the lack of decorum. Dulles didn't say a word-Alan suspected that the man had anticipated everyone's reaction.
"No, Mr. Bissell, I am not." Alan replied, his confidence returning to him. "We have had the debris analyzed dozens of times, and the conclusion is the same: the alloys that make up each part of the debris has no match on the Earth. Further, the pieces had, implanted in the metals, an advanced electronic 'web' that we assume to be some form of highly advanced computer, well beyond ours or any nation's capabilities."
"Thank you, Director." The man replied politely. "To 'get to the meat,' as you said, it's come to the attention of me and my team that the U-2 is rapidly approaching the prototype stage, and as such, it is time that we consider a location for us to perform tests on the airframe." Before Bissell could continue, Dulles quickly cleared his throat.
"Does Lockheed know when it will have its prototype ready?" Dulles asked.
"We expect that we will be able to start doing flights in late July or early August of this year." Bissell replied. "As I've said in other meetings, I say we should order these crafts as soon as possible in order to minimize the amount of time between the prototype stage and the deployment stage." Dulles nodded, and waved his hand. Bissell nodded appreciatively, and looked down at the notes in his hands before he continued. "To make a long story short, one facility stands out over any other as the potential location for the Aquatone team: Indian Springs."
Alan was familiar with Indian Springs, but only as much as the pre-meeting brief had explained. Created in 1942 as an auxiliary Army Air Force base, mainly used for bomb practice. However, after the end of the war in '45, it had effectively fallen out of use. Isolated, and smack-dab in the middle of the unchanging-environment that was the Mojave desert, Indian Springs could be the perfect place to hide a top-secret aeronautics initiative.
"Indian Springs hasn't seen much use since 1945-how difficult would it be to renovate the facility?" Dulles asked. "How difficult," of course, was a pleasant euphemism for "how expensive?"
"It depends on how expansive we want the facility to be." Bissell answered, quick-as-a-whip. "If we want this to be home for only the Aquatone team, then it need only have the space for the prototypes, the crew, and the evaluation teams. However, if this is going to be a long-term investment, we might want to look into expanding the facility well beyond that." Dulles held up a finger, and Bissell stopped in his tracks.
"And that is why I called you and the Mojave team for this meeting, Mr. Stockmann." Dulles looked over at Alan. The chief researcher stared blankly-the brief had simply been addressed to him, but it hadn't said a word about why he and some of his senior staff were being told to come. "Before I continue, please explain briefly to the table what is it that Project Mojave does." That was a shock-Mojave was as classified as they came, more so than even Aquatone. But one did not refuse Director Dulles.
"Uh," Alan started, unsure, "Project Mojave was founded in 1946 to, uh..." He trailed off as he stared at the Director.
"It's okay, Mr. Stockmann." Dulles said comfortingly. "As of an hour ago, all of the men in this room have the same level of clearance as Mojave." Alan blinked before nodding.
"Uh, right." Alan's mind quickly scrambled back into gear. "The Project was founded in 1946 after an incident at Roswell, New Mexico. A debris field was discovered and collected by the local Air Force Base before being turned into the CIA, then known as the CIG. We fabricated a cover story about a weather balloon to the civilians in the town near where the debris was discovered, and another for military personnel stating that it was a craft meant to observe nuclear testing." Alan paused, took a breath, and forged on. "The truth is that the debris is not of American origin, nor is it Russian, Chinese, German, or any other nation. It appears to be the remains of some kind of object foreign to our world."
The room fell deathly quiet. The first to speak up was Bissell.
"You're shitting me." It was an incredulous response, hence the lack of decorum. Dulles didn't say a word-Alan suspected that the man had anticipated everyone's reaction.
"No, Mr. Bissell, I am not." Alan replied, his confidence returning to him. "We have had the debris analyzed dozens of times, and the conclusion is the same: the alloys that make up each part of the debris has no match on the Earth. Further, the pieces had, implanted in the metals, an advanced electronic 'web' that we assume to be some form of highly advanced computer, well beyond ours or any nation's capabilities."
"The long and short of it, gentlemen, is that we are not alone." Dulles interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. "The technology being analyzed by the Mojave team is proof of that, and because of that it becomes crucial that their work be safeguarded." The Director turned his gaze on Stockmann as he spoke, staring intently at the researcher. "Stockmann, the Mojave team will move with Aquatone to Groom Lake. It is of the utmost importance that your work be hidden from the world, especially from the Soviets."
Stockmann blinked. "Sir, uh," he stammered. His confidence had drained again in a heartbeat. "Groom Lake lacks the facilities we need to continue our research on the samples." Dulles smiles.
"I know that. That's why I'm going to order this-" at that, Dulles reached inside his jacket to pull out a small tan folder, which he slid across the table to Stockmann. The researcher looked down at the folder, his eyes drawn to the words stamped in red across the face of it: "SRF-GR". Stockmann glanced back up at the Director.
"What is this?" He asked, confused.
"Subterranean Research Facility, Groom Lake." Dulles replied. "Your work will continue in he best facility we can create. Somewhere safe from prying eyes abd secure from events from the outside world." Stockmann nodded, but he only halfway understood.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The meeting would go on for hours, covering every detail, but Stockmann barely paid attention. He was drawn to the documents in the folder, pouring over every sentence. He could understand why Dulles didn't want Mojave threatened by infiltration, but projects almost as classified as Stockmann's existed quite happily above ground. What made Mojave so special that it alone deserved an underground base in the middle of nowhere?
It would be hours later, when Stockmann was driving home, did things finally click. Dulles knew as good as Stockmann that this was an extreme answer to the threat of espionage. Just being out in the middle of Nevada would be enough to keep the Project out of the picture. Dulles wasn't worried about a nuclear threat-a research facility is too insignificant to waste a bomb on. It had struck Stockmann like a lightning bolt when he realized what it was Dulles was worried about, and the revelation had hit him so strongly that the researcher had to pull over as soon as he could in order to even begin to process it.
Dulles knew, like Stockmann knew, that someone build the thing that had exploded into pieces at Roswell. Dulles knew, like Stockmann knew, that that someone was far more powerful than anything humanity had ever encountered. What Dulles knew, and what Stockmann had never thought of in the years of attempting to understand the Roswell Incident, was that if that power could send the thing-that-was-debris, they could find it. And if they came looking, it might fall to a small, hidden team of researchers to be able to find a weakness in the alien technology.
Dulles was afraid of an Invasion.
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