“I know what protocol says,” Sikorsky interrupted. Report unknown contact. Do not engage. Do not deviate from mission flight path. But protocols assumed the unknown was a new Russian missile or a NATO drone. Not this. Not a thing that asked permission to fly beside you.
“Co-pilot, you seeing this?”
Co-pilot Zhukov leaned forward, his mustache brushing the instrument panel. “Da. Big. No transponder. No heat signature. No radar return until thirty seconds ago, and now it’s… just sitting there.” captain sikorsky
“Unknown craft,” he said, slow and clear. “This is Captain Viktor Sikorsky, Russian Naval Aviation. You are cleared to fly in formation. Maintain five hundred meter separation. Acknowledge.” “I know what protocol says,” Sikorsky interrupted
Dawn bled over the Arctic horizon. The aurora faded. And as the first orange light touched the disc’s hull, it shimmered—like heat haze over asphalt—and began to recede. Do not deviate from mission flight path
Sikorsky keyed the intercom. “Sensor station, give me something.”
“Captain,” Zhukov said quietly, “that thing is playing with us.”