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This is not a story about 'chicken little', because this is not a fairy tale. This is a true story about a Russian satellite that really did fall from the sky. Here follows my true account to the best of my recollection.
Shuffling through some old boxes tucked away in our back storage shed, I came upon a most startling discovery. Remnants and memories of my assignment to Edmonton, way up in the Northwest Territory of Canada, came pouring out of a well-worn cardboard box that had, for all practical purposes, been left unnoticed for 23 years. The year was 1978. I was working for EG&G, prime contractor for the USDOE, who was responsible for the 'timing and firing' of the above ground nuclear testing at the Nevada Test Site. I was a technical analyst, deciphering data taken from these tests, when we got the word.
On Tuesday, January 24, a surveillance craft fell, entering the atmosphere over the Queen Charlotte Islands off British Columbia. The encrypted message contained classified information regarding Cosmos 954. What in the world was that? It turned out to be a Soviet spy satellite, carrying 100 pounds of fissionable Uranium 235, enough radioactive material to match the payload of a nuclear bomb! It's purpose being designed primarily to monitor United States ship movements and transmit, by radio, its findings to Soviet tracking stations. It had been in the air since 1967. It's normal scenario contained that when its tracking mission was over, and that could vary from one year to many, it split into three components and its own rocket system pushed the nuclear pack into a higher, safe orbit. There it drifts for thousands of years as its radioactivity dissipates.
Almost immediately, military authorities of both Canada and the US began searching for what might remain of Cosmos 954. C130 army aircraft cargo planes began to transport our team, along with our remote sensing equipment. NEST, (Nuclear Emergency Search Team) myself included, began readying for the long journey from Nevada to the Northwest Territory. EG&G's mission was to locate, retrieve and categorize pieces of the satellite and debris left behind in its descent to the earth, and make photographic memory of it.
This couldn't have happened at a worse time. It was winter in that part of the world, where temperatures would drop from between 30 to 60 degrees below zero! Out in the field, our photographers had to literally sleep with their film and equipment, in their specially constructed huts, to prevent their supplies from disintegrating from the extreme cold. My group was based in Edmonton, at a Canadian Air Force Base where our labs were set up. We were outfitted with cold-weather gear and given dosimeters to register and record individual radiation levels, if accumulated. We were there to develop, record and categorize all of the incoming film.
Four days later, two young men, Mike Mobley and John Mordhorst of the US, guided their dogsled around a bend in the Thelon River, approximately 1,000 miles from our basecamp in Edmonton, and came across a mysterious object stuck in the river's ice. It looked as though "an unnatural event had occured here", one of them said. The two men were part of a six-man wildlife survey crew bivouacked near Warden Grove, on assignment from an american geographical magazine. By their own account, they approached with trepidation this mysterious object protruding from the ice. They had seen earlier a low-flying aircraft in the sky that they thought perhaps could have been the result of an air crash, leaving this piece of debris of iron in the ice. Soon, over their two-way radios, they heard of the fallen satellite and promptly relayed a message to Yellowknife, a small Indian village near by, telling them of their find. It was later learned that pieces of this satellite had strewn itself across hundreds of miles along the Northwest Territory! Our team would be there for quite some time. Soon, a Canadian Armed Forces Twin Otter touched down to take the two men to Edmonton for medical examination. Upon completion of extensive testing, they were brought to our base camp where they immediately developed superstar status. These two, unpretentious young men, captured our attention with their accounts of adventure and tests of endurance.
Security restrictions are now telling me to end this account. My tenure with EG&G spanned 15 years and never in my wildest imagination did I ever think I would become a part of this once in a lifetime adventure.
sources: Saint John's Edmonton Report, 1978
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