Grounded

This episode continues our sci-fi theme: The short story "Grounded" was written by William Sambrot in 1957 - a rare mid-50's piece of public domain literature, and worthy of a Twilight Zone episode. 

Music by Slip.stream - 
"Recalling A Legend" - https://slip.stream/tracks/be569a97-63a4-441b-b039-3b9a44aed7b5
"Net Tension" - https://slip.stream/tracks/c1af00d1-35d6-4b81-a563-f828ae6c2208
"A Heros Theme" - https://slip.stream/tracks/605f7a1f-ca0b-4594-ba6f-1257418e5f35
"Fire In The Sky" - https://slip.stream/tracks/793b475b-4103-4a82-9e7e-8a2430e4687d
"Where Is This?" - https://slip.stream/tracks/2427a39b-2cd1-44d4-be50-3629f077e73b
"Confrontation" - https://slip.stream/tracks/bd63c2d9-5e03-4a70-b3b3-6778d247501b

Theme written by Bernard Kyer for this podcast. Follow the link for more info. https://www.bardmediamusic.com/

Transcript

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Hi friends and welcome to another episode of forward into the past. I'm J C Rede. your host and narrator. And today we're concluding this month's foray into the Sci-Fi realm. With another story seemingly ripped from the files of the Twilight zone. This one coming from the fall of 1954 edition of startling stories magazine. A tale called grounded, written by William Sambrot Science fiction in the 1940s was marked by several key events, trends, and literary works that helped shape the genre during the decade. One of the most notable events of the 1940s was the start of world war two, which had a profound impact on the science fiction genre. The war not only provided a backdrop for many science fiction stories, but it also led to an increased interest in the topic of science and technology. And their potential impact on the future. Another trend of the 1940s was the rise of science fiction magazines, such as astounding science fiction and startling stories, which provided a platform for many new and established science fiction writers to showcase their works. Many of these magazines were published during the war. And they often reflected the military and technological themes that were prevalent during that period. During the 1940s science fiction also began to explore social and political themes such as the impact of war, race, and gender on society. This was exemplified by works such as Isaac Asimov's I robot written in 1940, which explored the relationship between humans and robots and Ray Bradbury's the Martian Chronicles written in 1950, which examined the consequences of colonizing other planets. Finally. The 1940s saw the emergence of several major science fiction writers, including Robert, a Heinlein, Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clark, who went on to become some of the most influential writers in the genre. These writers helped to establish the conventions and themes of science fiction that are still prevalent today. Overall the 1940s was a crucial decade for the development of science fiction and many of the works produced during this period, continue to be highly regarded and widely read today. And so very many of these stories have ended up in the public domain for us to enjoy. Like the one I am about to share with you from startling stories magazine in the fall of 1954 comes grounded, written by William Sambrot. Grounded. Written by William Sambrot. Lieutenant Colonel Martin sat back in his hard desk chair and looked out through the tinted window to where the slim dart-like jets waited poised on the sun washed runways. A red and blue jet swooped down out of the brilliant cloudless sky and shot along the runway, wheeled and rolled back toward the parking strip. It was the courier ship from Washington. The Colonel frowned his sunburned face, breaking into sharp diagonal lines. The courier plane was used only in cases requiring utmost secrecy. And always it brought trouble. Today. It brought trouble for Martin. He waited. Tapping a lean finger on the desk, his eyes distant, but not seeing the harsh Ridge of up flung barren mountains looming, clear and incredibly near. Despite the fact they were 60 miles away, 60 miles of alkali wasteland, where only Gila monsters moved scuttling from rock to rock to escape the brazen sun. Beyond those mountains was project breakaway, the air forces top secret, attempt to fling a dart up high enough and fast enough to break free of Earth's clutching gravity. It was Colonel Martin's job to command one group of jets that guarded the approaches to project break away. It had been a dull job routine boring. Up until yesterday morning. It was 28 hours ago to be exact that Colonel Martin captains, Morelli Sayers, and Ryan had sighted and chased the fantastic plate like object that zoomed wobbled and ducked in circles about them, even though with all coal poured on, they were hitting close to 800 miles an hour. Morelli Sayers and Ryan had never come back from that chase. At 800 miles an hour with visibility limited only by the furthermost rim of the horizon. Under a glaring desert sun. All three had plowed simultaneously into its sun drenched Ridge, a mere 9,000 feet above sea level, a Ridge. It appeared they deliberately headed for and smashed into. How, why had all three made the same error of judgment? Why had they dropped from 30,000 feet to 9,000 in a steep zooming, dive, flying formation and not once mentioned it over their radio. Why indeed. These were all questions asked Colonel Martin by suspicious security agents, air force intelligence, three-star generals, and by DirecTV hookup, the air secretary himself. But the $64 question they asked was. Why hadn't Colonel Martin smashed into that Ridge to. Good question. Unfortunately, his answer was so bad. It called for the services of a trained alienist. They'd flown one in. He'd listened and asked for time. He was getting it. Martin swung and watch the occupants of the red and blue jet swing down and stride quickly across the hot concrete. He recognized one of the approaching men as under secretary of air Saunders. The other was general Britain on the staff of G2. To regardless of whether or not they considered him insane. They felt that something had happened something important enough to rate to next in rank to the top commanders. They came in unescorted. He stood at attention until the Burley general waved a hand, rather irritably putting him at ease. Then he sank down again into his hard seat. Now it would start all over again. The questions, the careful scrutinizing of the plates he'd taken the hard narrowed eyes, the disbelief. In your own words again, the general was saying. Will you repeat to Mr. Saunders? What you told me over the TV hookup last night. The general leaned forward and fumbled with the pile of color photographs on this desk. Are these. The shots you took. Colonel Martin nodded wearily, sighed. Looked briefly out the window and said in a soft even voice captains Morelli Ryan and Sayers. And I took off at oh 800. Who gave permission for the flight? Saunders cut in crisply. Is it routine for your people to fly formations around here without some special alert? Martin stiffened slightly. No, sir. It was an unauthorized flight. My idea. He moistened his lips. We are on 24 hours alert. Of course. A fat lot of good that would do. If every group leader took off, when he felt like it, the general sputtered, impaling Martin with eyes like blue icicles. We are allowed 12 hours a month. Flight time. Martin said. I will admit I didn't file a plan or report my intention to take the group up, but that SIRS is important in view of what happened. He leaned forward. I believe. I'm certain SIRS that we caught. Them off guard. He chewed his lips at the sudden veiled look in Saunders eyes. It was plain they considered him mentally unhinged. They waited saying nothing. Their faces as chill and immobile as marble. Martin spread his big raw knuckled hands. We took off. I flew lead as usual. Martin began. We were up to about 20,000 and climbing. When I ordered an attack pattern. We were doing about 600 ground speed when Ryan. I believe it was suddenly shouted over the radio that something had just made a pass at him. We all saw it at once. After that around plate, like object about 30 inches in diameter, maybe 10 inches thick and the color of buffed aluminum. It moved sort of jerkily back and forth and occasionally dancing up and down almost as though it were attached to a string or something. The two listeners exchanged glances. It was obvious what they were thinking, but Martin went doggedly on. I ordered the men to break formation, but to remain at 30,000 and keep it insight. I put my ship on autopilot. I carry a camera and wanted to get some shots I did about 12 color picks, aiming directly at the thing I couldn't possibly have missed. General Brereton snorted and handed the develop prints to Saunders. Saunders examined each one. His brows lifting higher and higher. Finally, he handed the pictures to the general and turn to Martin. Those pictures are utterly blank. He said quietly, they show nothing but blue sky and a distant horizon. How do you account for that? I can only say martin replied. That the camera doesn't lie. I've taken too many shots with that camera. Not to know that it's in top condition. It couldn't and didn't lie. There was no flying disc in front of us. No. The general frowned and set up with a jerk. First, you tell us this story of an object darting and weaving about your formation. An object four men see and give chase, an object that led three good pilots to their death. And now you say there was no object. It's the only explanation I can give for the way in which more reli Ryan and Sayers hit that peak. Martin said patiently. As I say, my ship was on autopilot. I was shooting away. And at all times that disc was directly in front of me. He stopped and looked at the two to see if they caught the significance of what he had just told them. They hadn't. Don't you understand? The others kept up a running commentary. Each saying that the disc was directly in front of him and all the time unknown to me, they were in a steep dive and simultaneously they hit that peak at 9,000 feet. There was another long silence broken only by muffled sounds from the field outside. The chugging of fuel trucks, shouts of mechanics, the occasional crackling hum, as a jet was fired up. Then it is your contention. Saunders said that each of you was suffering from a hallucination a mirage in fact, a Mirage, which took the form of a flying disc and which caused three trained pilots to fail to notice they were losing altitude and heading directly into a mountain peak. Is that what you're trying to say? It was not a Mirage. Martin said. It was a deliberately implanted impression. Ah, explain yourself. The general said hoarsely. He exchanged a swift glance with Saunders. The disc suddenly wasn't there after the others had hit. I imagine. I don't know for sure, but suddenly the thing just sort of. Turned off it wasn't there. I looked around and saw the pillar of smoke far off to my left and rear, but no following ships. I swung around and tried to contact my men. No result. I went over to the spot where the fires were and recognized them immediately as. The remains. I contacted the base. While I was hanging around up there. I had a lot of time to think. I realized then what I've already told you that each of the men thought the disc was directly before him. Each followed it to his death. I wasn't operating manually. My autopilot. He smiled strangely. Isn't susceptible to. Hypnotic suggestions. So it flew a straight course at 30,000. You believe that you and the others were hypnotized into thinking you were seeing a flying disc? Is that it? The general said, dryly. I believe that we caught someone, some thing off guard when we took off on an unannounced flight. Martin said with firm conviction, ignoring the sudden reaction they showed. I'm sure we were heading in a direction where some secret lay without sufficient advanced warning for whatever holds that secret to cover up. I'm positive. We were hypnotized lured away, just like a mother quail pulls that broken wing stunt to get a dog away from her nest. Doesn't that explanation strike you as unbalanced to say the least. Saunders said slowly. What person could possibly have such powers or devices to hypnotize for men flying 30,000 feet above the earth at 800 miles an hour. No power on earth. Martin said softly. The Panamint Indians. Won't go near those mountains. He gestured to the tinted window and beyond to where the great range of jagged mountains, gleamed luridly orange and purple under the slanting rays of the desert They have positive beliefs, not legends about beings from other worlds who dig in the Hills for shining metals who have great ships that fly beings who can make a man who comes to near to die of thirst. Even though he carries water at his belt beings who can control the minds of men. He hesitated. That's why they named those mountains. The superstitions. I'm afraid. You'll have to find a better explanation than that. The general said, stiffly. You have the written reports or the radio men on duty. Martin said. They all heard Ryan Morelli and Sayers talking the backup. Every word I've said. You asked my opinion and I've told you someone, some thing didn't want a snooping around when they weren't prepared for it. And they simply drew us away by means of delusion or mind control of some kind. We've photographed every inch of this entire corner of the state, the general said. You have stated that the camera doesn't lie. We have observed nothing unusual in any of the many excellent photographs made of the area you flew over yesterday. Martin smile briefly. You observed nothing because they were ready for you. It wouldn't be much of a job for them to camouflage. If they prepared in advance. I imagine the intercept every message in and out of here. You make it sound very plausible. The general said sourly. But we're looking for something besides words. Martin rose and his lean figure towered over them. I held this out because I wanted you both to understand what line of reasoning made me go back. I sound insane because of course what I've said, isn't pleasant for human minds to accept. He brought out a large composite constructed of carefully joined together. Aerial photographs, pasted on a board. Yesterday after I saw the smashed ships. And while I waited for the base to confirm. I went back over the route I'd taken while following the will of the wisp disc on autopilot. This time I shot downward. At the earth. He slid the composite around so that it faced the two men. They came erect eyes, glittering staring down at it. I didn't mention this over the TV hookup last night, or to any of the interrogators for reasons already given. I wanted to make certain only the highest echelon would see this. He handed the general, a powerful magnifying glass. Those ships must be a good thousand feet long. Don't you think? He laughed softly, a thin triumphant sound that filled the room. Who'd think that spiders, like those could make such machines. Saunders and the general stared grimly at the fantastic shapes and objects that were frozen and sharp clarity on the magnified photos. Great round dome buildings connected with long Dolly gleaming walks and here and there, tall needle pointed ships rested on broad, concrete like basis. They're slender snouts pointed up toward the blue sky. While about their basis, swarmed creatures that were squat and broad. And many limbed. The two men looked at him. Then turned once again to their scrutiny of the composite, their faces, impassive unchanging. Martin opened the desk drawer and piled half a dozen thin negatives near the General's elbow. Here are the negatives. He said, You can see they're genuine. Genuine. Martin echoed. And they grounded me because they thought I was insane. But I won't be grounded after this. And neither will the rest of us because not a hundred miles away. SIRS is the answer to everything. Everything we've ever wanted to know. Project breakaway. He laughed aloud again. Kindergarten stuffed to them. Perhaps, they're not interested in teaching. Kindergarten. Saunders said slowly. He gave Martin a piercing glance. A most remarkable job Colonel lucid thinking. You are to be congratulated. Thank you said Martin, I'm glad it convinced you. So much so. The general said that we'll have to leave with it immediately. He stuffed the negatives and composite into a briefcase. They shook hands exchanged a few more congratulatory words then stepped out of the door. Beyond them. He saw the alien list, major Ellison at the end of the hall. They shut the door quietly and Martin stared at it. Uh, faint crease between his eyes. He licked his lips swallowed once or twice and drew a deep shaky breath. The door opened and the major came in. He looked curiously about the room. Had the radio on? he asked. An awful lot of conversation in here, it seemed. Martin sank into the chair, looking over at the sparkling pitcher of cool water on the side table. Funny, you should ask that. He said vaguely. Didn't you recognize? You better get ready for the big brass, the major interrupted and for God's sake, if you insist on that story about being hypnotized, at least make it a little more plausible than the one you told me. He stopped and looked out the window. Here they come now. Martin whirled and stared at the green tinted window, overlooking the runway. Uh, red and blue jet streaked along wheels down hit bounced and brake to a stop. It wheeled about flashing under the late sun. And rolled up to the parking strip. Another courier ship. Martin murmured, but I don't. Another The major looked curiously at him. What do you mean another courier ship? That's the only one today and one's too many. If you ask me. Dry tongue scraping over dry lips, Martin stared at him. Then back to the familiar red and blue jet. He swung and looked down the line of park jets, straining to see the other red and blue, which had landed over an hour ago. There was no red and blue jet there. Oh, here they come now! The major muttered, holy cow, Saunders under secretary to the old man, no less and general Britain. G two. He turned to Martin. Oh, you better give it to them straight. He broke off seeing Martins, burning eyes in his drawn gray face hearing the sudden strange rattling breath as he pawed weakly through the empty desk drawer. Negatives. Composite. Martin croaked gone. They took them. I never. Guest. His hands trailed limply and he fell across the desk, bounced and rolled onto the floor. With a single bound, the major was at his side. Good God. It's unbelievable. He gasped. He stared in horror at the dry lips, the swollen black tongue. In the space of seconds, the hard young man was a limp scarecrow who's lips cracked and moved in a dry as dust whisper. The major, bent his ears close to the withered mouth listening. Water. The words were faint in his ear. For heaven's sake. The major reached up and lifted the big picture of cool water off the side table. Here Colonel drink. Here's all the water you could want. But already. It was too late. Well friends thus ends another amazing story from the volts of project Gutenberg. I hope you enjoyed this one. On the next several episodes, we're going to focus on adventure and Western stories from the past. And following that another detective story from the case files of Nick Carter. Oh, you're definitely going to want to follow along for those. And speaking of which, once again, I urge you to subscribe, rate and review the show on your favorite podcast app. If you don't currently have one, I highly suggest good pods. If you're anything like me, you'll appreciate all the thought. The nice people at good pods had put into their app. Highly highly recommended. And of course I suggest to not only subscribe to the show, but become a proud supporter. It's easy. There's a nice link on almost every podcast platform that says something like support the show. And it will take you to my, buy me a coffee page where you can make a one-time donation to the show or become a monthly subscriber. Okay. Time to go. As always friends. Thanks for listening. Keep sharing the stories. And be a good human. Bye for now.