Martin swung and watched 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 Brereton, on the staff of G2. Regardless of whether or not they considered him insane, they felt that something had happened--something important enough to rate two next in rank to the top commanders. * * * * * They came in unescorted. He stood at attention until the burly 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 his 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 0800--" "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 twenty-four 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 twelve 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 twenty thousand and climbing when I ordered an attack pattern. We were doing about six hundred 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, a round platelike object, about thirty inches in diameter, maybe ten inches thick and the color of buffed aluminum. It moved sort of jerkily, wobbling 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.