#Langley Air Force Base

[carbone14]

Ed Shipley aux commandes d'un North American P-51 Mustang pendant un meeting aérien – Langley Air Force Base – Virginie – Etats-Unis – 21 mai 2004

Photographe : Technical Sergeant Ben Blocker

©United States Air Force

[tomorrowusa]

That Chinese balloon is now sleeping with the fishes off the coast of South Carolina. Actually, retrieving as much of it as possible would be a useful intelligence move.

U.S. officials first detected the balloon and its payload on January 28 when it entered U.S. airspace near the Aleutian Islands. The balloon traversed Alaska, Canada and re-entered U.S. airspace over Idaho. "President Biden asked the military to present options and on Wednesday President Biden gave his authorization to take down the Chinese surveillance balloon as soon as the mission could be accomplished without undue risk to us civilians under the balloon's path," said a senior defense official speaking on background. "Military commanders determined that there was undue risk of debris causing harm to civilians while the balloon was overland."

An F-22 Raptor fighter from the 1st Fighter Wing at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia, fired one AIM-9X Sidewinder missile at the balloon.  

The balloon fell approximately six miles off the coast in about 47 feet of water. No one was hurt.

47 feet/14.32 meters of water isn’t terribly deep. That’s less than the height of a five-story building. Locating the debris is probably a greater challenge than recovering it. Being shot down over US territorial waters makes that easier.

Examining what’s left of the data collection hardware should explain what its purpose was. But for the most part, China could get the same information from its satellites.

Long before the shoot down, U.S. officials took steps to protect against the balloon's collection of sensitive information, mitigating its intelligence value to the Chinese. The senior defense official said the recovery of the balloon will enable U.S. analysts to examine sensitive Chinese equipment. "I would also note that while we took all necessary steps to protect against the PRC surveillance balloon's collection of sensitive information, the surveillance balloon's overflight of U.S. territory was of intelligence value to us," the official said. "I can't go into more detail, but we were able to study and scrutinize the balloon and its equipment, which has been valuable."

Contrary to GOP politicians and hyperventilating far right media, the balloon was not a military threat to the USA.

The balloon did not pose a military or physical threat. Still its intrusion into American airspace over several days was an unacceptable violation of U.S. sovereignty. The official said Chinese balloons briefly transited the continental United States at least three times during the prior administration.

Maybe Trump was hiding classified documents at Mar-a-Lago to cover up his failures regarding those three instances when Chinese balloons floated over US airspace during his administration.

Former Director of National Intelligence (2010-2017) James Clapper spoke with Jim Acosta at CNN. Mr. Clapper described the Chinese use of the balloon as “ham-handed” and questioned what good it did for Xi Jinping. 

There are good reasons the US military didn’t attempt to shoot down the balloon until it was over the ocean. The safety of people on the ground was just one of the reasons.

This article was published before the balloon was brought down...

Shooting down a suspected Chinese spy balloon could be a lot harder than it sounds, former Navy pilot says

Why doesn't the US just shoot down the suspected Chinese spy balloon floating around parts of the country like a growing chorus of GOP lawmakers, as well as former President Donald Trump, are demanding?

Because it's not that simple, a former Navy pilot told Insider.

Attempting to take out the high-altitude balloon with the air defense systems the US has is "very difficult," it's hard to engage it with fighter aircraft, and shooting it down also risks injuries and fatalities on the ground, explained Brynn Tannehill, a former naval aviator and senior technical analyst at the RAND Corporation think tank.

Balloons like the one that was spotted this week over the continental US can operate at more than 100,000 feet, and according to Tannehill, most US anti-air weapons systems were not "designed" to eliminate targets that high up.

Most systems "weren't designed to shoot down things operating at the kinds of high altitude balloons can operate at," Tannehill said, explaining that an aircraft would likely struggle to get close enough to it to get within gun range, either. 

[ ... ]

[M]issile systems, both surface-to-air and air-to-air missiles, "aren't designed to attack balloons because balloons don't look like the kind of valid targets that they were designed to attack," like enemy aircraft or missiles.

"They don't move like a cruise missile," Tannehill said of these kinds of balloons. "They look more like a cloud or chaff, and modern missiles are designed to ignore chaff," a kind of radar countermeasure.

"It's very difficult with what we have, because what we have was not meant to shoot down balloons," she said.

For perspective, that balloon was about twice as high as commercial airliners fly.

[humanoidhistory]

Mercury Seven astronauts at Langley Air Force Base, 1960. Photo by Ralph Morse.

[captain-price-unofficially]

Douglas A-20C Havoc undergoing maintenance at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia. July 1942

[darkmaga-returns]

This is real. This is a cybersecurity, law, policy, and roles and missions of the Federal Government. This is not a technology issue on how to take them down - that's easy.

Oct 15, 2024

A complex swarm of drones wanders at will over the largest American National Security Joint Base cluster. Langley Air Force Base, Ft. Eustis (now a joint base with Langley), Yorktown Naval Weapons Station, Norfolk Naval Station, Norfolk Naval Air Station, Little Creek Amphibious Base, Oceana Naval Air Station, Dam Neck Annex (Seal Team 6), etc. etc. etc.

This cluster of bases in Virginia is the largest single concentration of U.S. Military resources, units, and equipment. And someone just flew a drone swarm for 17 days as the Department of Defense and the Inter-Agency process went bonkers.

Step 1 on any new, complex, national security issue is answering this question: Who will be the lead Department or Agency to address the developing crisis?

I’m sure the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, the National Security Council, and the National Military Command Center were doing Cheetah Flips and Flap-Exs on steroids to answer this question. Well the threat actor flew for 17 days with no interruption.

Apparently they are inside our OODA-Loop and our inter-agency process is not fast or agile enough to take action.

Not good at all. Was it China or Iran? Likely

[retropopcult]

Master sergeant Gregory E. Settles uses a UKY-83 desktop computer in the combat communications center at Langley Air Force Base to convey information during Operation Desert Storm, 1991.

[usafphantom2]

About the A-12 Oxcart

CIA developed the highly secret A-12 OXCART as the U-2’s successor, intended to meet the nation’s need for a very fast, very high-flying reconnaissance aircraft that could avoid Soviet air defenses. CIA awarded the OXCART contract to Lockheed (builder of the U-2) in 1959. In meeting the A-12’s extreme speed and altitude requirements, Lockheed — led by legendary engineer Clarence “Kelly” Johnson — overcame numerous technical challenges with cutting-edge innovations in titanium fabrication, lubricants, jet engines, fuel, navigation, flight control, electronic countermeasures, radar stealthiness, and pilot life-support systems. In 1965, after hundreds of hours flown at high personal risk by the elite team of CIA and Lockheed pilots, the A-12 was declared fully operational, attaining the design specifications of a sustained speed of Mach 3.2 at 90,000 feet altitude.

CIA’s operational use of the A-12 was beset by not only many technical problems but also political sensitivity to aircraft flights over denied areas and competition from imaging satellites. After the U-2 piloted by Francis Gary Powers was shot down over the Soviet Union in May 1960, all Soviet overflights were halted, thus blocking the A-12’s original mission to monitor the Soviet Bloc. By the time of the CIA’s first A-12 deployment in 1967, CORONA satellites were being launched regularly to collect thousands of images worldwide each year. Although its imagery was less timely and of poorer resolution than the A-12’s, CORONA was invulnerable to anti-aircraft missiles and much less provocative than A-12 overflights. At the same time, the US Air Force was developing the SR-71, a modified version of the A-12. Seeing little value in maintaining both overt SR-71 and covert A-12 fleets with similar capabilities, President Johnson ordered the retirement of the A-12 in 1968.

The only A-12 reconnaissance operation codenamed BLACK SHIELD, took place from May 1967 to May 1968. A detachment of six pilots and three A-12s based at Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa flew 29 missions over East Asia. The panoramic stereo camera aboard each aircraft yielded considerable high-quality imagery that within hours of landing was processed. From the images, photointerpreters provided key intelligence information in support of US military operations during the Vietnam War.

The A-12 on display at CIA Headquarters — number eight in production of the 15 A-12s built — was the first of the operational fleet to be certified for Mach 3. No piloted operational jet aircraft has ever flown faster or higher.

I found this article on the CIA website. This is the Central Intelligence Agency's opinion about the Oxcart. Interestingly, the A-12 was taken from the Minnesota Air Guard to be placed in front of the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. The pictures are of that very A-12 that used to be in Minnesota.

CIA did not give up the A-12s without a fight. They wanted to keep them. They did insist that for about a year during the transition from the A-12 to the SR 71s to have civilians from the CIA fly the SR 71 on covert missions if necessary. I have a paper called “ Memorandum for the President” from my father‘s book “The Very First’’ about the CIA flying the SR 71. What was decided during that congressional committee with Senator Russell as a key person on this matter was to reduce the overall fleet size by mothballing eleven A-12 aircraft and phase out the CIA fleet capability by January 1968 with all missions assigned to the SR 71 fleet under Air Force management with the possible use of civilian crews. The date on this document is December 26, 1966 . ~Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[bighermie]

Mysterious Drone Fleet Breaches U.S. Military Airspace for 17 CONSECUTIVE DAYS Without Deterrence | The Gateway Pundit | by Jim Hᴏft

[1americanconservative]

@amuse

CHINESE BALLOON 2.0? The Air Force admits that at least a dozen 20-foot drones, flying around 100 mph at 3,000 feet, routinely fly over some of America's most sensitive military bases, including Langley Air Force Base and Naval Station Norfolk. Despite suspicions that these drones are operated by the Chinese military, President Biden's National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) prohibits the Air Force from shooting them down. Under current federal law, China is effectively allowed to fly drones over our bases for surveillance. I hope that when

@realDonaldTrump

takes office, he permits the military to protect the homeland by neutralizing such foreign threats.

[carbone14]

Douglas A-20C Havoc en cours de maintenance à la base aérienne de Langley – Virginie – Etats-Unis – Juillet 1942

Photographe : Alfred T. Palmer

©United States Library of Congress - LC-USW36-203

[blogparanormalexpresso2stuff]

For at least 17 nights in December 2023, swarms of small 'drones' were seen penetrating the highly restricted airspace above Langley Air Force Base in Virginia. Above, a photo taken by an eyewitness of one (or more) of these drones as provided to the Wall Street Journal and others

[sigritandtheelves]

All Along, Like Fire (Part 7)

FINAL PART!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Mature | 3.4k words | MSR, AU

—

October 13, 1995

Mulder sat alone in his apartment, head in his hands, staring at the floor and thinking. Diana was gone—her things gone, most of the furniture, even the crock pot his mother gave them for their wedding. He wanted to believe that all of this wasn’t his fault, but he felt like a failure for the way their marriage had ended. And for the decisions he’d been forced to make because of it. At his feet was a lone cardboard box of photocopies, the most important documents he was able to salvage. It was the all he had left of the X-Files.

His clothes were also boxed up, along with his books, his trophies, his diplomas and knickknacks. Tomorrow morning, a moving truck would arrive, and he would say goodbye to this place forever. He wasn’t sorry. Just sad, a little ashamed. He’d let Diana make a fool of him here, let her seduce truths out of him while he was blindly manipulated for years. He’d planned to sulk alone until it was time to load the truck, but a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to three familiar faces.

“Well well well,” Frohike said. “If it isn’t the spooky birthday boy on Friday the 13th.” The little man shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels into Mulder’s chest and pushed into the apartment.

“Happy Birthday, man.” This from Langly who toted three pizzas, which he tossed onto the coffee table. Byers echoed the sentiment, carrying a mysterious white box under his arm.

“What are you guys doing here?” Mulder asked, not unkindly.

“Couldn’t let you sit alone on your birthday, could we? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

“We do?”

Frohike was digging around in the kitchen cabinet for glasses, but they were almost all packed away. He settled for a quartet of coffee mugs and plastic novelty cups. “Yes! Imminent divorce and new beginnings! Fighting the good fight!” He carried the dishes in and passed them around.

“We’re gonna miss you, Mulder,” Byers said. “But we all agree this is a good step. You can do some really good work this way.”

“Then why do I feel so crappy?” Mulder poured shots of the Jack Daniels into the mismatched cups.

“When’s the last time you saw Scully?” Langley asked, flipping open the first pizza and digging in for a slice.

“Last week.” Mulder frowned.

“Well, there’s your answer. Cheers.” Frohike knocked mugs with Mulder and threw back a shot. “All in good time, my man.”

Mulder downed his shot with a wince and reached for a slice of pizza. “What’s in the box?”

Langley waggled his eyebrows. “Goodies,” he said.

“Open it up,” Byers tapped the lid of the unmarked container.

Inside were several gadgets, one of which looked like a large gray brick, and at least two bulky phones with fat antennas.

Byers explained, “Those are hacked satellite phones that will connect from anywhere. They’re essentially untraceable and should hold their battery for several days between charges. Good for off-grid work.”

Langley was too excited to wait for him to ask about the brick. “And this one’s a hacked satellite modem. You’ll have internet no matter how remote you are. New tech, definitely not consumer hardware.”

“So you can stay in touch,” Byers added.

At the bottom of the box was a new laptop, which Mulder was sure had a range of nonstandard additions and upgrades.

“And we’re gonna come out to visit,” Frohike said. “Soon. Maybe this winter if that’s okay.” If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think the man was choking up. He was touched, and another wave of sadness washed over him.

“Thanks guys,” he said, voice thick.

—

San Diego, CA

The warm California air made Scully think of her childhood—fond memories with Melissa on base housing, sticky summers when freckles appeared on all the Scully children’s noses. She drove up in front of a small house that was so like the one in which she’d spent those years. She double checked the address against the one on her paper; it was right, though she couldn’t imagine this unassuming abode as the site of any secret research. There was a small garden out front, wind chimes hanging from the porch roof. She breathed in deeply. There was no reason not to go in now except the terrifying thundering of her heart and the sense that there was no going back after this. She opened the driver’s side door and got out.

On the porch, she was greeted by two unsmiling men—not hired muscle, she thought. Maybe doctors in plainclothes to blend in with the suburban atmosphere. They wore khakis and polo shirts and the looked around, suspicious, before letting her in. Beyond the foyer, the inside of the house couldn’t be any more different than its outside. It was sterile, white, and filled with beeping machines and medical equipment.

“This way,” one of the men said. He led her up the stairs to the second floor landing, where a woman in scrubs was backing out of a room, closing the door behind her. The man led Scully to the left, to an open bedroom door that was just as sterile, just as white as the downstairs. Here, though, a crib sat in the corner—also white—with a mobile of farm animals hanging over it. In the center of the room stood Diana Fowley. Scully’s eyes ping-ponged between the crib and the woman she didn’t trust at all.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said.

“Not anymore.”

The other woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Right, of course.”

“Where is she?” Scully’s heart was pounding, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think about what—or who—was behind the other doors of this nightmare suburban experiment.

“In the crib,” Diana said, stepping aside to let Scully see. “She’s sleeping.”

Scully took three steps closer. She couldn’t breathe. As she approached, she saw a tiny figure in a onesie covered in stars, little fingers curled into fists on either side of her auburn head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

The child looked perfect. She moved her lips into a subtle dreamy frown, and her long lashes lay against pink cheeks. Scully bent over to lay a hand on the baby’s chest, to feel the movement of her steady breathing and the tiny flutter of her heart.

“You can pick her up,” Diana said. “She’s yours now.”

Tears were blurring Scully’s vision. She tried to blink them away, but one slid down her cheek. She swiped it quickly. “And she’s well now? She won’t get sick?”

“She’s healthy,” Diana confirmed. “But she’s chipped. Like you are.”

A brief wave of anger flared through Scully, but she swallowed it down. She knew what she’d bargained for. She’d accepted the price. She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, and the child turned into it, as though seeking out comfort. “Does she have a name?”

“The nurses were calling her Emily, so that’s the name we put on the paperwork. You could change it, but that might take some time.”

Scully shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I like Emily.” She couldn’t imagine giving up a single minute with this baby for the sake of another hoop she’d have to jump through. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then reached both hands into the crib to scoop the child up. Emily wrinkled her little nose and let out a whimper, but didn’t wake. Scully held the baby against her chest, buried her nose in the impossibly soft skin of her neck, her downy head.

“Hello Emily,” she said, and closed her eyes against the enormity of it.

—

Traveling with an infant was a new experience for Scully, and not easy while alone. She was terrified that the baby would stop breathing in the back seat while they drove, that she’d be too hot, too cold, too hungry. But little Emily seemed happy enough, and slept for much of the first day’s drive. Scully had bought a pack-and-play, formula, bottles, and diaper packages in two sizes. Instant motherhood was even more frightening than leaving the job she’d worked so hard to prove herself in.

At a rest stop in Santa Rosa to change the baby and get some caffeine, Scully discovered something hard buried in the package of clothes Diana had sent with her. It was a small cryo-package containing three vials. One was clearly blood: Emily’s, she thought, dated July of this year. Before she’d been cured. Another was mysteriously green and unlabeled. The third looked familiar, an amber liquid she’d seen before. It was labeled Purity - 3.9506. A dated code: the current iteration of the vaccine. She almost didn’t notice the note tucked below the package:

         To get you started.

                   - DF

Scully wanted to hate Diana, but she found herself unable to conjure the same fury she’d felt last year. This was a gift that Diana taken great risks to provide. Whatever bargain she’d made to keep herself safe, it was clear that the woman was still ensnared by the Syndicate’s poisoned grasp. Scully allowed herself to feel grateful to her, despite everything she’d done. Scully placed the vials back in the chamber and made a note to store them with her own recovered ova. Emily had woken up when the car stopped moving, and was beginning to fuss. Scully shoved the clean onesie into the diaper bag and unbuckled the baby, hushing softly to her and humming.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured.

Scully was unaccustomed to the number of strangers’ smiles that greeted them. An elderly couple stopped to coo over the chubby infant, to remark how like her mother she was. Scully’s smile was tight-lipped and nervous. They weren’t wrong—the child did look like her. She had the same blue eyes, the same fair coloring. She tucked Emily’s warm little body against her chest and nuzzled her head.

“Let’s get you some food, hmm?”

By the third and final day of driving, fear had turned overwhelmingly to love. When the baby woke in the morning light, she greeted Scully with a wide, two-toothed grin. She sat up in her pack-and-play and pushed at the mesh sides.

“Good morning!” Scully laughed and felt a flood of warmth accompany her own smile. The little girl babbled a steady “yah yah yah.”

They had six more hours on the road, and then a whole new life ahead of them.

—

Lummi Island, WA

October 20, 1995

Beyond the mainland, the salt air reminded Mulder of chill mornings on the Vineyard. He could go fishing here, or watch the sunrise from a boat, every day if he wanted. Though the coastline and the island were different from the ones where he’d grown up, the place felt like home. The closer he drew to his final destination, the more the melancholy that had clung to him in the last two weeks melted away. He was nervous, but it felt more like excitement than anxiety now. He fiddled with the radio—there wasn’t much signal to pick up on the island, but he needed something to fidget with. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

He rounded a grove of trees and finally caught sight of the little house up a short driveway: blue clapboard, a tiny porch, a brown shingled roof over the cozy two-story cottage. He pulled up alongside a white fence—honest-to-god picket—and climbed out, stretching his limbs with a massive heave of his chest outward.

This was it. This was home, now.

The front door of the house opened, and he felt his heart stutter, then swell. There she was. There they both were.  Dana Scully walked toward him with an impossibly cute baby on her hip, smiling broadly in jeans and a woolen sweater.

Mulder couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face. He pushed through the waist-high gate and walked up onto the porch.

“There are my girls,” he said.

Scully blushed. “You made it.”

“I did,” he said as he reached them. He leaned down to kiss the woman he’d ached for over two long weeks. Her lips were soft and sweet, and her eyes dropped closed at the contact. He cupped her cheek, curled his other hand at her waist, and felt the pull of her middle toward his. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.

Scully breathed deeply, eyes still closed for a moment, and nodded. Then he turned his attention to the baby.

“And you must be Emily.” The infant eyed him curiously and reached a finger out to touch his nose. “Hi baby.” She pulled the hand back and tucked two fingers into her wet mouth. Mulder booped her own nose in return, which earned him a shy half-smile as she tucked her head against Scully’s neck. “She looks just like you said. Just as perfect.” Mulder palmed the baby’s downy head, where blonde hair was growing in soft and fair. The little girl didn’t pull back or object, just watched him with something like awe.

“She’s been really good,” Scully explained. “I think she’s only cried twice since I brought her here. I mean she fusses, but…” Scully shrugged.

Mulder tickled the baby’s belly, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a tiny stuffed fox about the size of his hand, and Emily’s eyes went wide. “You like him? That’s Mr. Fox.” He handed over the toy, which Emily grasped with both hands. “He’s like me.”

Emily pressed her little fingers into the fox’s button eyes, her tiny fingernails scritching at the plastic.  Then she brought the fox’s head toward her mouth and bit down on the pointy nose.

Scully laughed. “She likes it.”

Mulder bent to kiss the top of the child’s head, then added another to Scully’s head for good measure. “Let’s go inside, hmm? I can’t wait to see how it looks in person.”

—

Later that night they lay facing each other on her bed—their bed now, Scully realized, and the thought made her heart beat faster. They were tucked under quilts and printed flannel sheets against the autumn chill. Emily slept in the second tiny bedroom next door, warm and safe with a mobile of colorful planets and her little fox beside her.

Scully felt the momentousness of this night, now that it was just them, now that they were really together. She found herself watching Mulder for doubts, for guilt, for regret. She held her own small sorrows: leaving her mother, leaving her job. But she feared most that Mulder would come to resent her for the loss of their work in D.C., their resources, their allies inside, as it were.

Mulder pursed his lips in a frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Everything, everything. Her mind was spinning: What if we fail? What if we lose her? What if they take back the bargain and come for us all in the night? What if you never forgive me? But Scully just shook her head. It felt like too much to talk about now. “It’s nothing. It’s okay.”

She knew he wouldn’t believe her, and he didn’t. He moved his face closer to hers on the pillow. “It’s not nothing.”

Scully’s fingers fidgeted under the blanket. She heaved a deep sigh, and decided not to begin their new life by hiding things, by keeping anything bottled up. “I know we have a plan,” she said. “I know we’re not giving up and that our work will just be different here, but… it’s pretty enormous change—all of this. You must have doubts. I just don’t want you to… regret this. Because of me.”

Mulder was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “I understand why you might think that,” he said finally. “I know that in a lot of ways, this feels crazy.”

It did, Scully conceded. Two months ago, they woke up in their separate city apartments and put on suits to go to work for the government. Mulder was married to another woman. Now they were on a remote island off the west coast, with a baby for god’s sake, planning a resistance to a global colonization in secret. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

Mulder reached an arm across the space between them and took hold of her hand under the blanket. “It’s hard for me to explain why, but this feels right.” She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she sensed how serious his face was, how intense his look. “Scully, all of this started for me, because my family lost a little girl, and it ripped us apart. I lost her. I lost my family. I needed something to fill that emptiness, and I did it with work, which I thought might help me find her again. I wanted so badly to fix what happened to us.”

Scully nodded. She felt her chin wobble at the profundity in the pause between his words.

“But the same evil that took my sister also gave me another little girl. And it gave me you.” He squeezed her hand. “I still need to know what happened to Samantha after my father used her as a bargaining chip. And I will find out. That hasn’t changed.” He swallowed hard, and Scully wanted very badly to lean over and kiss comfort into him. “But this,” he motioned between them, “is a real chance at family, and that’s something I never thought I could have again, not even with Diana. I don’t know what kind of father I might make, if that’s even what you want from me. I didn’t have a good role model. But… I want us to try.”

Tears were dripping down Scully’s nose now into the flannel pillowcase, and she found it hard to speak. She sniffed. Nodded. Bent her forehead to touch his. “I want that too,” she managed to say. “And I want… Emily to think of you as her father. If that’s okay, I mean. If you want it.” She shook her head at her nervous rambling. “I just know you’d be a really good dad.”

Mulder nuzzled her nose with his own , unmindful of the damp. Then he tipped his chin to kiss her lips, sliding his arm around her middle and pulling her toward him. They held each other tight in the near-dark. “Yeah,” he croaked, and Scully realized he was on the verge of tears, too. “I want that.”

Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Her face pressed against his t-shirt where she could feel his heart beating, and she pressed a kiss there. She pushed one knee between his and breathed deep, letting the smell of him, of them together, fill her with warmth and need. God, she loved him so much. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and now she was gulping in oxygen. She knew, then, that they would make this work.

“Well,” Mulder said, his tone lighter now, “if I am any good at it, we’ve got all those little frozen uber-Scullys in storage. Maybe we’ll just make a whole tribe, huh?” His hand was on her waist, and he slipped it between them to poke her belly.

She laughed through her tears, nodding. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and it was getting too hot under the blankets for all these pajamas. They were hungry for each other. He touched her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered. They made love in tear-streaked desperation: clutching, dizzy love—though they were quiet and mindful not to wake the baby (their baby) with too much noise. After, when they’d slept an hour or so, he woke her gently with more kisses. This time their lovemaking was slow and gentle and reverent—like they had the rest of their lives.

— END —

A/N: I had many ideas about what their big plan was to save the world, how they’d build a network of allies through the Hosteens (and the Lummi people that they are so close to now), because who better to help them survive colonization than the people who have already survived it? But this ending also felt right and I think I’m happy with it. Thank you so so so much to everyone who has read and left hearts and kudos and comments. This was supposed to be a one-off little thing. It’s no novel, but it’s more than I’ve been able to write in a while.

[dertaglichedan]

Mystery Drones Swarmed a U.S. Military Base for 17 Days. The Pentagon Is Stumped.

https://archive.is/2024.10.13-130553/https://www.wsj.com/politics/national-security/drones-military-pentagon-defense-331871f4#selection-2179.0-2179.81

U.S. Air Force Gen. Mark Kelly wasn’t sure what to make of reports that a suspicious fleet of unidentified aircraft had been flying over Langley Air Force Base on Virginia’s shoreline.

Kelly, a decorated senior commander at the base, got on a squadron rooftop to see for himself. He joined a handful of other officers responsible for a clutch of the nation’s most advanced jet fighters, including F-22 Raptors. 

For several nights, military personnel had reported a mysterious breach of restricted airspace over a stretch of land that has one of the largest concentrations of national-security facilities in the U.S. The show usually starts 45 minutes to an hour after sunset, another senior leader told Kelly.

The first drone arrived shortly. Kelly, a career fighter pilot, estimated it was roughly 20 feet long and flying at more than 100 miles an hour, at an altitude of roughly 3,000 to 4,000 feet. Other drones followed, one by one, sounding in the distance like a parade of lawn mowers.

The drones headed south, across Chesapeake Bay, toward Norfolk, Va., and over an area that includes the home base for the Navy’s SEAL Team Six and Naval Station Norfolk, the world’s largest naval port.

VanHerck, who led the military response to the Chinese balloon, ordered jet fighters and other aircraft to fly close enough to glean clues from the drones. He recommended that Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin authorize a full menu of electronic eavesdropping and spycraft to learn more, though the Pentagon is limited in what it can do on U.S. soil.

“If there are unknown objects within North America,” VanHerck said, the job is “to go out and identify them.” 

Solving that mystery, even for the world’s pre-eminent superpower, proved easier said than done. Local police were among the first to try.

For two nights, starting on Dec. 6, Hampton, Va., officers chased the drones, by patrol car and on foot, relaying momentary sightings along with information from Langley over police radios: One was seen in the area of Marshall Street or Gosnold’s Hope Park.

Three more appeared to land but returned to the air before officers could reach them. Another looked like it landed offshore. Police finally gave up.

Gen. Kelly, now retired, said the Pentagon was stumped, too.

What would the U.S. do, he asked, “if this happens over the National Mall?”