TOP SECRET
Close Encounters at Harthope Burn TOP SECRET
In August 2014 refugees who had been rounded up while on route to Scotland started to arrive at a large encampment near Harthope Burn in Northumbria. Hundreds of men were required by the British Army to undertake work of a sensitive nature. In September I too was picked up by an army patrol and press-ganged into working for the aliens.
Most of us had survived the firestorm that killed our families and friends. Most of us had also scavenged for food and water for months. After a few days rest we gathered near a large tent and it was here that we first glimpsed the aliens. Most of us had seen their giant ship that now hovered overhead before. Later we learnt that there was more than one ship.
We had been press-ganged because the aliens needed our help. Our job was to help them dig a large hole in the ground, for reasons that would reveal themselves at a later date. We would be working closely with the aliens, though we were under the direct control of the British Army. In return for working we would receive hot food and shelter for as long as we worked.
It was during this period that most of us were told of the devastation caused. Most of Europe and the Middle East had been destroyed. The devastation South of Newcastle had been total, and it is estimated that less than 200,000 had survived both the firestorm and its aftermath. We were told that the aliens were not at fault and that we were not at war with them or anyone else. At that time it was still largely a mystery as to what had happened.
The aliens walked on two feet and were insect like. We couldn’t talk to them and they could only communicate using a strange device worn around their necks. A select few (all soldiers) wore identical devices and this is how they communicated with us.
In the afternoon we were shown how to use the tools needed to cut into rock. The technology was alien and frightening and impressive and bloody dangerous. We were shown what was described to us as being a sonic pick. This device was approximately five feet long and made from brushed metal. It was difficult to hold and was designed for alien hands.
There were three switches or controls. There was a power switch, an intensity lever (some labelled this the throttle) and a third dial that changed the frequency, so you could cut through any form of rock from light sandstone to hard granite. The machine was almost silent, but if you hit metal it would shoot out a devastating sonic blast that could and did kill. The other contraption that made life bearable was the extractor – which was basically an alien vacuum cleaner that sucked up large amounts of rock and dust – sending both to the surface, where it was deposited in huge piles of spoil.
Most of the soldiers were employed to guard us, while our job was to dig, and all the time the aliens stood over us all – unarmed and almost harmonious in nature. It was only when we started to have accidents. and some of the refugees were killed that we started to question the status quo. We worked in teams of three or four. One man operated the sonic pick and two to three men would handle the vacuum. The problem is that we had to work fast and that resulted in accidents.
The aliens told us where to dig. We were told that we would be digging until asked to stop. No reason was given and many dreamt up wild and highly inaccurate reasons as to why. Some though we were creating an underground utopia for our alien guests, while others thought we were creating burial pits for the millions who died.
What was evident is that we were fast – very fast. On a good day we could cut through 700 metres per shift. Since the devastating EMP shockwave had wrecked our mobile phones and watches, it was difficult to judge time, but most thought we were being worked an eight hour shift. When sufficient manpower was available we worked two shifts per day, with the bonus of having one day off each week.
Food was plentiful, mostly tinned produce, and army patrols were dispatched daily to scavenge or requisition new supplies - from wrecked businesses that hadn’t already been ransacked by looters. After a week or two digging we started to move our accommodation and catering underground, though time was permitted on the surface. It was around this time that a new piece of alien technology was introduced, namely a access platform or lift that transported ourselves and our equipment to the mine face, now located some 2900m below ground.
This device was pure Hollywood fantasy – a gravity defying platform on which we could travel up and down the mine shafts. It was the only piece of equipment we were unable to master and accordingly it was piloted by an alien, who stood to attention, while us lesser bipeds would sit waiting for the motion sickness to kick in. After much experimenting we found that if you lay on your back in the middle of the platform, and kept your eyes shut, you would normally prevent being sick. At the bottom we were given time to collect our thoughts and our stomachs before we started the shift.
From early on it was self-evident that there was a limited supply of alien technology, with two sonic picks being available per mine, so we took it in turns – working for approximately 30 minutes before being rested. Although we were a semi-captive workforce, our lot was not too unpleasant. If anything we were being fed and our work kept our minds off what had happened before – what we had experienced and lost dearly.
Our mine started with a single tunnel, which was later increased to three separate shafts, one for the movement of men and materials and two for the removal of spoil. Approximately 800m below ground was the accommodation area, which comprised a series of caverns used for catering, sleeping, storage and assembly areas. Below where we ate and sleep emerged an ever-increasing number of tunnels, each measuring thousands of metres in length – all going nowhere, apparently.
It was shortly after we had moved underground that I first encountered an alien close up. I was being rested when I noticed an alien standing near me. I simply said “Hello!” It looked at me and I smiled. And that was it. I received a more favourable or curious response from my own kind and a chastisement from the soldier chaperoning him. I was told “Don’t talk to the aliens; they don’t understand you and we don’t understand them, right?” But I wanted answers.
One day when alone with one of the soldiers (conveniently I forget which) I asked about the aliens. He claimed that despite the size of their ship that remained stationery overhead, they were indeed few in number. He also said that they never ate or sat down in the presence of us and remained onboard their ship when off duty. They travelled around in small shuttle craft that ferried them to and from the main ship.
Life would be tolerable if it wasn’t for the accidents. They are too numerous to mention and hope they are well documented by the army. The alien technology is by definition alien. It is heavy and the controls aren’t designed for human hands. One accident does stick in the mind. It happened in early November when a miner who was adjusting the sonic pick dropped it. It was live and the sonic wave passed through his body. In an instant it dissolved most of his bone structure. He collapsed and died. Unable to breath he knew he was about to die and started to cry.
The following day both myself and another miner requested a meeting. We had a suggestion. The sonic pick could be adapted to be more user friendly. All it required were three pieces of wood, which could be fixed to the device without damaging it. Our idea was approved by the officer in charge, but we were later informed not by the aliens.
As night followed day more accidents followed. It was a good day if you ended up with no casualties, but these shifts were a rarity. What was frightening was when you were paired off with fresh meat – someone recently “employed“ and willing to do anything for a hot meal and a warm bed. They would be given the job of clearing-up the spoil using the metal-tipped vacuum. No matter how many times you told them not to get the damn thing too close to the sonic pick, they would.
If you were lucky they would be the one being buried on the surface that night, or being moved to a hospital minus a leg, but a number of us veterans were becoming casualties too; simply because our suggestions were not being taken seriously. Another idea was to fit a two-feet section of plastic drain pipe to the end of the vacuum. We even tested the idea out on a plastic container scavenged from the kitchens. The effect was devastating for the container, but we remained with our limbs intact. Result! The army said yes, but the aliens said no!
Now and again we would receive word from the other mines nearby. It was apparent that we weren’t the only ones to suffer from accidents.
Problems were being exacerbated by new recruits who often rioted, not wanting to work for those who they thought had caused so much devastation. In the end most realised that the trouble makers were either local or from Scotland - men who hadn’t lost anyone to the firestorm. The army quickly realised that those who worked the hardest and protested the least were those who had lost everything. Accordingly, the troublemakers were sent packing.
Then one day after a really bad accident I just blew a fuse. Even our military cousins were taken aback by my outburst. I can’t remember what I said, and seriously doubt that even if I was wearing one of those coveted translators, my words would have translated. That morning we lost three men - all fresh faced and eager to learn, and eager to fill their empty stomachs. We were dying for these aliens on a daily basis and for what? We didn’t know then and many will never know why we suffered and endured months being underground. I ranted and ranted, and for once one of the aliens actually looked at me with surprise. I turned to - I forgotten his name - one of the soldiers and asked (demanded) a translator, but was refused, only for that same alien to say what? Within moments one of the soldiers took off his translator and handed it to me. I was dumbstruck. I heard him - this alien. “We need to dig,” it said.
I asked if he had family and how did he feel that so many of us were dying in this fucking hole. And every time a word didn’t translate you knew. There was no audible sound, you simply knew, which made you even more angry because there wasn’t an equivalent alien word for “fuck”.
“I’ve lost so many of my friends the day you bastards arrived. Does that not mean anything to any of you?” He didn’t say anything, but I knew he understood. “Where are you from?” More silence. “Why do we dig?” and the answer? Because we must. That was it. We had to dig because we must. Before I could ask any more questions one of the senior NCOs rushed over and removed my translator and told me to back off - leave and take a rest. That was the first time I directly communicated with an alien.
As we progressed new shafts were created and accidents became more frequent. By this time even the army became concerned, so a meeting was arranged between senior NCOs and us old-timers. If you survived the first six weeks and succumbed to black eye you were considered an old-timer - someone who knew how to stay alive. One way was not to be paired off with fresh blood - as they made mistakes and you most probably ended up being buried with the other poor bastards top-side.
We needed to make the aliens aware that we knew best, because we were human and not alien. They didn’t even have any notion of first-aid, and while many died at the hands of alien technology, many more were badly injured. We had made recommendations and suggested ways to improve safety, but they had always been rejected. This had to change. And it was agreed that we miners had to take on more responsibility and if that meant being in direct contact with the aliens then so be it. The meeting lasted for about an hour, and two days later I was asked to work more closely with the lead alien - not always the same, I think - but the alien who could be best described as the duty manager. Again I was introduced to the translator and being less angry and more composed I was quickly able to work round the deficiencies in both our languages.
I was able to explain that we needed to modify their technology and showed them how. They were not impressed (?) but understanding to the point that we were allowed to do what was necessary. The number of accidents plummeted and our only heartache was the knowledge that these changes if implemented earlier could have save lives. Productivity increased and the level of anxiety dropped. We were still captive or press-ganged, but accidents became a rarity.
Then one day worked stopped and the mine face was cleared. Unreal. There amongst the carved earthen rock was the flat side of an alien space ship buried deep underground. We spent five months digging and dying and when we found what we were digging for, the aliens suddenly didn’t want to know. Worked stopped.
Three days later and while resting on the surface something incredible happened. More incredible than what? More incredible that the end of our world or the arrival of an alien race - something many of us only dreamed about! We noticed a sharp change in the weather. We looked up and noticed these large cylinders - positioned upright and stationery - dozens of them. They just appeared out of nowhere, and then before our eyes a giant red brick just materialised out of thin air. It was another “bulk carrier”. We now had two of these giant machines hovering overhead, blanking out the sky. Someone suggested that they must be ten miles long and maybe 2 miles wide. Not sure how he came to that conclusion? It was a game or conundrum - guess the size. We had nothing to compare them with. They were very wide and very, very long.
That night we met up with the aliens, and we finally knew why we had spent months digging and dying. Between alien and NCO we were told what could be translated or deciphered. The aliens were travelling nomads - engineers and miners, who extracted anything that would be sold to other alien races; mostly metal ore - not by the ton, but by the cubic mile. They travelled in a large fleet of giant ships, most of which could be described as bulk carriers. There size was indeed measured in miles. They travelled across space and we think “between levels” which some bright spark suggested meant between dimensions. Distance meant time and time meant what? Money? Sometimes they mined to order and sometimes if they discovered a rare element, they would extract first then find a buyer. One way to save time was to jump between levels or dimensions in search for a quick sale, but something went wrong.
Two ships appeared in our upper atmosphere and collided. The resulting explosion and fireball killed millions and destroyed most of Europe. It wasn’t an invasion but a terrible accident, and the reason why we spent months digging was because we needed to recover the contents of the buried ship. That said, when we succeeded the aliens appeared to be totally disinterested, the ungrateful blighters!
Later one of the NCOs confided in me that a lot of effort had been spent trying to figure out where they came from, but either it was impossible to translate terminology or the army simply didn’t know.
This new openness soon became a worry. For months we were kept in the dark, and now we were privy to secret information, that was now being passed around like a half-complete crossword puzzle. What we did learn is that the newly arrived bulk carrier was to be loaded with the contents of the buried ship. For this to happen we needed to widen existing shafts, and create new ones. A hole would be made into the side of the vessel, and its contents sucked up into the empty hold of the ship hovering overhead. The consensus is that once the transfer has been completed then the aliens will leave. And we who survive can finally seek refuge in Scotland.
It was during this final period (still ongoing) that we suffered additional losses. The problem is that the aliens knew that a ship was buried below us, but its exact position and orientation was beyond the limited technology they carried with them. That’s why we did the hard work. News came through that around a hundred miners had been killed in another mine, and then we had a cave-in, which killed fourteen and two aliens. This was our greatest single loss. We grieved but they didn’t!
The extraction entailed lowering a 30ft wide suction tube from the hovering ship and through the newly widen shaft. Although we were given access to more tools carried on the newly arrived ship, this job became hazardous with three miners accidentally falling to their deaths. We managed to persuade our friends who let us use their floating platform from which we could hack at the sides of the shaft. The debris we let fall to the base (someone else’s problem). The job took three weeks.
Finally the first of several suction hoses descended from the main ship floating above our heads, and after a few adjustments we could hear the contents of the buried ship being transferred up and away. Strange that no one knows if the aliens onboard this entombed ship survived or were rescued. The aliens appeared to be only interested in the cargo.
Throughout this final stage I was allowed to wear a translator, and over time I started to ask questions about who these aliens were; not in a confrontational manner, but matter-of-factly. I started by just trying to improve my translation technique and in doing so I was able to understand a little about them.
They were without religion nor politics. They didn’t give each other names and didn’t organisation themselves into family groups (no identifiable parents). They are born to work, and very loyal to the collective. They don’t work for any other species so cannot be considered slaves, yet I was unable to fathom out if they operated or adhered to any monetary system. They do have a chain of command - similar to a cast system. They are caring towards their own kind and to others. They aren’t armed nor seek confrontation.
They always excavate uninhabited planets or moons for whatever they find a market for. They can be hired to extract what was required or they sometimes would extract a popular commodity and then search for a buyer. The material they extract is either used for fuel or used in construction.
They knew of many races and inhabited planets - all different. I asked what they thought of us and this confused the alien I was trying to communicate with. Did they like us? Again the communicator was working but no one was at home, so to speak. It was around this time that I discovered what they meant by levels. They not only travelled across great distances, but they were also able to jump between realities or dimensions. I think the alien was trying to explain or demonstrate a numbering system and our place in the scheme of things, but the communicator had given up by this time and our brief conversion was over. As far as the alien was concerned we were good workers.
Although the aliens have been with us since day one, the crew of the new ship didn’t know much about us or our operation. This new crew were responsible for the transfer of the cargo . Most of my information was gathered from one of the aliens from this new ship.
On 18 April 2015 and after my shift I asked an alien if I could be shown around their space ship, and was surprised when this new face agreed. He was about to return to his ship when I popped the question. Yes was the response, and before anyone could stop us we climbed aboard the shuttle and lifted off. As I entered the craft I look round to see a couple of soldiers - half shocked and half bemused. I waved at them and smiled. They had no choice but to wave back.
The shuttle craft wasn’t that big - around 20ft long. Then again it was a shuttle craft. The inside was bare. No seating and hardly any controls - apart from a control column - not too dissimilar to the handle of a sonic pick. No side windows. No banks of flashing lights. The only thing missing was the word “Transit” written on the side of the craft. Like the ‘mother ship’ it was red brick in colour, not white.
The ride was smooth, and unlike travelling underground there wasn’t any motion sickness. I was able to stand beside my new best friend as we approached the opening in the side of the mother ship. The journey took forever, then you realised there was nothing to gauge our speed and the size of the mother ship didn’t help either. It was incredibility massive. No wonder we couldn’t spot the shuttle craft leaving or entering the mother ship, we were miles above the ground by now, and as we approached the shuttle bay “The Brick” just filled the windscreen. Then we were in. Not a big shuttle bay - large enough for a few small craft and that was it. No airlock either.
The ship appeared to be cast or moulded out of a rock or concrete type substance - perhaps bonded together in resin. There were no structural imperfections and it appeared to be either new or well maintained. The few metal components visible were made from brushed metal. There were no internal doors nor windows. The floor was covered in a metal mesh set in the aforementioned structural material. I was told that the ship had been built by another species of alien. We walked passed two or three other shuttle craft and towards an opening that led to the interior. It was then that I realised my guided tour wasn’t official, as we kept out of sight - waiting for a couple of other aliens to depart for the surface, thereafter the coast was clear.
“Wow” I kept saying and the alien through our communicator said the same thing: “Wow”. Wow must be a common word in many languages. There was no death ray or banks of flashing computers, just a few corridors but no doors. No signs either. That is one of my regrets - not finding out if these creatures have an alphabet.
He showed me the accommodation area, which consisted of rows of cubicles - no furniture or personal belongings or pictures pinned to the wall. I asked which was his room and his response was simple: “any that are empty”. Then onto catering. This was an eye opener. The dining area consisted of a brushed metal tank filled with water. Floating in the water was the roots of some alien plant. The roots were large and bulbous, pink and fleshy - not to dissimilar to a giant tiger prawn. The dining area consisted of tables but no chairs.
Suddenly another alien appeared. He took one look and then ignored me. He placed his hand in one of the tanks and pulled out a large green leaf, which he then used to pick up and carry one of the pink roots before sitting down on the floor. I asked what did they drink and the answer was nothing. These aliens didn’t drink!
I asked if they ever wanted to try our food and the answer was: “not allowed”.
We moved onto the shower area - cold water constantly cascaded from a fitting in the ceiling, while hot air filtered up through a grill nearby. No soap and no alien-size bath towels to pinch. By this time I was on the hunt for a souvenir. Finally, and after he ignored my requests to see the bridge and engine room (neither of which translated), he showed me the viewing area. Beyond a glass screen the aliens were pumping up the contents of their buried ship into the humongous interior of this one. The size was unbearably big. You simply couldn’t see the sides let alone the other end of the ship. I asked how did they empty it, and the answer came through a simple movement of his alien hand. They simply opened up the top hatch and flip the entire ship upside down. Simple!
I was impressed but I was also rather disappointed. Nothing like what Hollywood could muster. No swishing doors. Just then and if to affirm my disappointment my new-found alien friend and guide pooped himself. He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed and as soon as it happened, another alien came along and picked up the poop. This was a revelation. He was much smaller than the others (around 3ft tall) and as such I hadn’t seen his kind on the surface. Yes, on occasion we’d seen these chaps defecate, but only for them (or some pissed-off grunt) to tidying up afterwards. Rule No.1 is never shake an alien by its hand. But this small creature was tasked to wonder around the ship picking up mess. Different race? Nope, he was a youngster and possibly at the bottom of the career ladder.
I asked if they kept things they found on other planets as souvenirs. Yes was the reply, but not on this vessel. I was trying to formulate other questions that would easily translate, when I heard the screaming banshee of a possessed alien who had just caught a stowaway. I turned round to see two aliens at the opposite end of the career ladder. No weapons or threats, just a lot of hot and smelly air from two oversized aliens, and it was my turn to poop on the poop deck.
My host stepped in front and between me and them, it was obvious that the tour was over and down to the surface we went. Before leaving the shuttle craft my communicator was removed and that was that.
Other things of note: The ship was almost silent. I didn’t feel any vibration from the engine or engines. the ceilings were about 12ft high. The two aforementioned angry aliens were around eight feet tall. I saw no signage or anything that could be construed as being alien writing. The lighting was similar to that fitted down the mine by the aliens. There was no smell - other than that experienced being close to an alien. There were several corridors which I was not shown down. No air lock either entering the shuttle bay from the interior, nor hangar doors.
On my return to mother earth I was greeted by my chums, who cheered and shook my hand. Even the gruff army soldiers were impressed. I was quietly informed by an NCO that no other human had been allowed onboard the alien spaceship - not even his superiors. That evening I recalled my experiences to a captive audience. But the fun wasn’t over yet! Later that evening I was pounced upon by a dozen of my friends, who to relieve the boredom accused me of being fiendish alien clone. All good fun, until they started to undress me. Out came the bucket of cold water and soap. I was to be decontaminated. My response was a string of obscenities and uncontrollable laughter.
The following morning and I was summoned to see the top man, who I recognised as being the Major who brief us some six months previously. He confirmed that I was the only human ever to have explored the inside of one of their space ships, and the morning was spent answering a myriad of questions. Nothing taxing. Then I was asked if I would be willing to share my experiences. Hence this document. I was given a manual typewriter and some paper.
John Smith
Harthope Burn
Northumbria
20th April 2015
Me thinks "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...
As with all my Steemit content, this post and my book "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" are the copyright of Phillip Rhodes (c) 2011-2017.
