The three helicopters thundered over the arid desert
plain, booming through the early morning silence.
They flew in tight formation—like they always did—shooting
low over the tumbleweeds, kicking up a tornado of sand
behind them, their freshly waxed sides glinting in the
dawn light.
The giant Sikorsky VH-60N flew out in front—again, like it
always did—flanked on either side by two menacing CH-53E
Super Stallions.
With its pristine white roof and hand-polished dark-green
flanks, the VH-60N is unique among American military
helicopters. It is built for the United States government
in a high security “caged” section at the Sikorsky
Aircraft plant in Connecticut. It is non-deployable—
meaning that it is never used in any operational capacity
by the United States Marine Corps, the branch of the
military charged with its upkeep.
It is used for one thing, and one thing only. And it has
no replicas on active duty—and for good reason, for no one
but a few highly cleared Marine engineers and executives
at Sikorsky can know all of its special features.
Paradoxically, for all this secrecy, the VH-60N is without
a doubt the most recognized helicopter in the Western
world.
On air traffic control displays, it is designated “HMX-1,”
Marine Helicopter Squadron One, and its official radio
call-sign is “Nighthawk.” But over the years, the
helicopter that ferries the President of the United States
over short-to-medium distances has come to be known by a
simpler name—Marine One.
Known as “M1” to those who fly in it, it is rarely
observed in flight, and when it is, it is usually in the
most demure of circumstances—taking off from the manicured
South Lawn of the White House or arriving at Camp David.
But not today.
Today it roared over the desert, transporting its famous
passenger between two remote Air Force bases located in
the barren Utah landscape.
Captain Shane M. Schofield, USMC, dressed in his full blue
dress “A” uniform—white peaked hat; navy-blue coat with
gold buttons; medium-blue trousers with red stripe; spit-
polished boots; white patent leather belt with matching
white holster, inside of which resided an ornamental
nickel-plated M9 pistol—stood in the cockpit of the
Presidential helicopter, behind its two pilots, peering
out through the chopper’s reinforced forward windshield.
At five-ten, Schofield was lean and muscular, with a
handsome narrow face and spiky black hair. And although
they were not standard attire for Marines in full dress
uniform, he also wore sunglasses—a pair of wraparound
antiflash glasses with reflective silver lenses.
The glasses covered a pair of prominent vertical scars
that cut down across both of Schofield’s eyes. They were
wounds from a previous mission and the reason for his
operational call-sign, “Scarecrow.”
The flat desert plain stretched out before him, dull
yellow against the morning sky. The dusty desert floor
rushed by beneath the bow of the speeding helicopter.
In the near distance, Schofield saw a low mountain—their
destination.
A cluster of buildings lay nestled at the base of the
rocky hill, at the end of a long concrete runway, their
tiny lights just visible in the early light. The main
building of the complex appeared to be a large airplane
hangar, half-buried in the side of the mountain.
It was United States Air Force Special Area (Restricted)
7, the second Air Force base they were to visit that day.
“Advance Team Two, this is Nighthawk One, we are on final
approach to Area 7. Please confirm venue status,” the
pilot of M1, Marine Colonel Michael “Gunman” Grier said
into his helmet mike.
There was no reply.
“I say again, Advance Team Two. Report.”
Still no reply.
“It’s the jamming system,” Grier’s copilot, Lieutenant
Colonel Michelle Dallas, said. “The radio guys at 8 said
to expect it. These bases are all Level-7 classified, so
they’re covered at all times by a satellite-generated
radiosphere. Short-range transmissions only, to stop
anybody transmitting information out.”
Earlier that morning, the President had visited Area 8, a
similarly isolated Air Force base about twenty miles to
the east of Area 7. There, accompanied by his nine-man
Secret Service Detail, he had been taken on a brief tour
of the facility, to inspect some new aircraft stationed in
its hangars.
While he had done so, Schofield and the other thirteen
Marines stationed aboard Marine One and its two escort
choppers had waited outside, twiddling their thumbs
underneath Air Force One, the President’s massive Boeing
747.
While they waited, some of the Marines had started arguing
over why they hadn’t been allowed inside the main hangar
of Area 8. The general consensus—based solely on wild
unsubstantiated gossip—had been that it was because the
facility housed some of the Air Force’s top-secret new
airplanes.
One soldier, a big-smiling, loud-talking African-American
sergeant named Wendall “Elvis” Haynes, said that he’d
heard they had the Aurora in there, the legendary low-
orbit spy plane capable of speeds over Mach 9. The current
fastest plane in the world, the SR-71 Blackbird, could
only reach Mach 3.
Others had proffered that a whole squadron of F-44s—ultra-
nimble, wedge-shaped fighters based on the flying-wing
shape of the B-2 stealth bomber—were stationed there.
Others still—perhaps inspired by the launch of a Chinese
space shuttle two days previously—suggested that Area 8
housed the X-38, a sleek 747-launched offensive space
shuttle. A black project run by the Air Force in
association with NASA, the X-38 was reputedly the world’s
first fight-capable space vehicle, an attack shuttle.
Schofield ignored their speculation.
He didn’t have to guess that Area 8 had something to do
with top-secret airplane development, probably space-
based. He could tell it from one simple fact.
Although the Air Force engineers had concealed it well,
the regulation-size black bitumen runway of Area 8
actually extended another thousand yards in both
directions—as a pale concrete landing strip hidden beneath
a thin layer of sand and carefully placed tumbleweeds.
It was an elongated runway, designed to launch and receive
aircraft that needed an extra-long landing strip, which
meant aircraft like space shuttles or—
And then suddenly the President had emerged from the main
hangar and they were on the move again.
Originally, the Boss had intended to fly to Area 7 on Air
Force One. It would be faster than Marine One, even though
the distance was short.
But there had been a problem on Air Force One. An
unexpected leak in the left wing’s fuel tank.
And so the Boss had taken Marine One—always on stand-by
for precisely this situation.
Which was why Schofield was now gazing at Area 7, lit up
like a Christmas tree in the dim morning light.
As he peered at the distant hangar complex, however,
Schofield had a strange thought. Curiously, none of his
colleagues on HMX-1 knew any stories about Area 7, not
even wild unsubstantiated rumors.
No one, it seemed, knew what went on at Area 7.
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