The first event had involved the sighting of ten unidentified aerial objects dancing around the sky in unison near the Alpha-1 Launch Control Facility (LCF) in the fall of 1986. Each LCF sits at ground-level, directly above an underground Launch Control Center (LCC), where two missile launch officers control ten widely-separated ICBMs, each one deployed in an underground concrete and steel silo known as a Launch Facility (LF).

The UFOs had also been observed by other security personnel at Alpha-1 (A-1), as well as those posted at four other LCFs belonging to the 10th Strategic Missile Squadron. The following day, upon returning to the base, all of the witnesses, including Pscolka, had been ordered to sign non-disclosure statements relating to the incident. Consequently, until very recently, he had never publicly discussed the mysterious event.

Pscolka’s previously unpublished summary of his second strange experience at Malmstrom has been inserted here.

The Black Hole

By Joseph C. Pscolka, Jr.

The incident described below took place at the N-6 Launch Facility, Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana, during the winter of 1987-88. Try as I might, I simply cannot recall the exact date.

I was posted at the N-1 Launch Control Facility as the day-shift Flight Security Controller (FSC). One night, I was abruptly awakened by a frantic night-shift FSC. He informed me that the Alarm Response Team (ART) at N-1 had responded to a “Situation 3A” at the N-6 Launch Facility and hadn't been heard from for nearly an hour.

The ART team's last communication was a required security-status report that occurred when they were five minutes from the LF. This unsettling news made me fully alert because a Sit 3A is an “Unmanned LF Status Out” which means that the Launch Control Center had lost all communications with the N-6 LF.

I quickly got dressed, proceeded to the Security Control Center (SCC) and confirmed the situation with the ranking launch officer on site, known as the Missile Combat Crew Commander. Being very concerned about the ART team, I contacted the squadron’s command post, the K-1 LCF, to ascertain the location of the Flight Sergeant and Flight Leader. Up to this point, no one had been able to reach them. Next, I contacted Wing Security Control (WSC) and was instructed to assemble the Security Response Team (SRT) which consisted of the day-shift ART team and myself. We geared up, jumped in our Peacekeeper Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) and headed out the gate.

The drive to the N-6 LF is very long and slow-going, especially in the winter after a big snow storm, which we just had. The night sky was completely overcast. N-6 is located on the side of a long, low mountain range, nestled near the middle of a small valley. As we got closer, I should have been able to see the LF’s security lighting, but there were no lights visible anywhere. What I saw instead was the snow-covered mountainside interrupted by what appeared to be a black hole where the N-6 LF was located. Seeing this severely creeped me out, as well as the other two airmen in the vehicle.

I periodically attempted to contact the ART team during the entire drive, to no avail. I did my five-minute-out security-status check, informing the FSC of my observations. Upon reaching the access road I placed one airman in the APC’s machine gun turret while the other followed the vehicle up the long steep access road on foot. I could see the ART vehicle parked about 50 feet from the LF gate, with no lights on and no exhaust issuing from the tail pipe. And there was still no radio contact with the team. This was very disconcerting; something was very wrong. As I approached the vehicle I noticed the windows were all fogged-up, so I couldn't see inside. I also took note that the LF gate was wide open.

When I drove to within 10 feet of the ART vehicle, the Peacekeeper’s engine and lights shut off. At that moment, the ART team members burst from their vehicle, ran to the Peacekeeper, yelling to be let in. They were very shaken, nearly hysterical. I calmed them down and listened to their story: Their vehicle had shut down, just like ours did. No vehicle lights, no vehicle radio, the hand-held radios didn't work, nor did any of the flashlights.

The reason the N-6 LF appeared to be a black hole on the snow-covered mountainside was because the entire site was devoid of snow. This zone extended beyond the LF security fence about 20 feet or so, to describe an area that appeared to be circular in shape. As I said above, there had been a big storm the day before and the snow outside the LF was knee-deep.

Although the scene was strange and puzzling, we still had a job to do and a Sit 3A checklist to address. Since the ART team members were so shaken-up, I decided to do the on-site investigation myself. I kept an airman posted in the machine gun turret and deployed the other three airmen to positions outside the vehicle. I proceeded up the access road to the edge of the snow-free zone.

As I passed through the LF’s gate I noticed a change in temperature; the air was getting warmer. The further I proceeded onto the site, the warmer it got—until it was very hot. I was wearing my cold-weather parka and pants (aka The Bunny Suit) and, in short order, I found myself sweating profusely. I ditched my parka and concluded my investigation. I found no intruders and nothing out-of-order. In addition to the LF being devoid of snow, the ground was bone dry and hot to the touch. In fact, everything I touched on the LF was hot.

After finishing my investigation, I exited the LF. As I approached the Peacekeeper, I noticed vehicle lights coming up the secondary road that intersects with the LF access road. I could tell they were Peacekeeper vehicles because they are so silly-looking. Once they arrived, two of the vehicles bracketed the end of the access road. I could see that the turrets were manned and each vehicle had deployed the other three members of the Fire Team into the roadside ditches.

Two more vehicles started up the access road. I walked slowly down toward them, trying to wave them back; I didn't want them to enter the dead zone. However, at that moment, everything that wasn't working suddenly came back to life. The LF site lighting came on, the vehicle lights came on, and so on.

I was now able to authenticate the secure-status of my team and the LF. Everything was good to go. Up to this point, I had been focused on doing my duty: investigating the situation, securing the LF, and ensuring the safety of my team members. I didn't give much thought to why the LF was Status Out, why the LF was devoid of snow, why it was smoking-hot inside the security fence, or why anything electronic would not function.

Naturally, the Fire Team guys wanted to know what the heck was going on. Now that I had time to reflect a little, the first thing that popped into my mind was an incident involving multiple Unidentified Flying Objects that I had witnessed in the fall of 1986, while working at the A-1 LCF. During that event, a total of ten strange-looking aerial lights had zoomed around the sky—making multiple hard-angle turns in rapid succession before instantly coming to a stop at the same moment—then racing off in all directions and disappearing into the cloud cover.

Although nobody had actually seen a UFO in the vicinity of the N-6 LF or, for that matter, anywhere in the sky on this night, I began to wonder what the hell else could have been responsible for the situation. I knew the Russians didn't have an Ion Cannon orbiting the Earth, and N-6 sure wasn't sited on a volcano or a thermal vent. There simply was no rational explanation for what we all experienced.

It was nearly time for the shift-change at N-1 (0600 hrs.), so I left the day-shift ART team at N-6, together with one of the Fire Teams, to await a missile maintenance team and others who would be dispatched from Malmstrom. I loaded the night-shift ART members into our Peacekeeper and headed back to N-1.

This day was also the end of our tour-of-duty in the missile complex for that week. We were relieved by the new security team and returned to Malmstrom. After turning in our weapons and vehicle we were ordered to report to the Security Police Group Commander. My crew and I were debriefed by him, as well as a representative from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (OSI).

I don't remember if the Group Commander asked me what I thought was responsible for the strange situation at N-6, but the OSI agent did. Being that I have no filter between my brain and my mouth (sometimes to my dismay) I didn't hesitate to tell them that I thought it could have only been caused by something extraterrestrial in origin. The OSI agent fired back immediately, saying something like, “Do you think it was related to your other experience?” I responded, “How should I know?”

After answering those questions, I remember giving them a detailed synopsis of what we experienced that night. We all had to sign non-disclosure statements and were ordered not to discuss what we had experienced with anybody without the express written permission from the Group Commander. We were sent on our way and never heard another word about the bizarre incident.

I can remember most of this as if it happened yesterday; it's burned into my brain. However, no matter how hard I try, I cannot remember the names of any of my crew members who were with me that night. Knowing what I know today about all of the UFO sightings that have occurred on or near nuclear missile sites—coupled with the amazing aerial display I had seen in 1986—I have to conclude that what occurred at the N-6 LF that night was caused by something extraterrestrial.