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two sides with globular white lights. Before me in the valley, three tiny black vessels enveloped themselves in balls of sallow yellow, and then each individ­ually propelled skywards in one solid movement. They lifted up towards the underside of a large craft, etched in what I can only describe as a weird pattern; and quickly vanished inside.

I didn't actually notice if the larger vessel stopped or not, as there was a touch of ambivalence about the whole incident. While I watched a large black shape, its small white lights still apparent slip gracefully off into the distance, I still had trouble coming to terms with what I had observed. Even as I sit here alone typing up this manuscript, I still cannot believe I saw what I saw.

As that empty, moonlit night continued to surrender its strange, clandestine secrets, I began to know what real fear is. Perhaps no longer than twenty minutes after the final incident, I heard the dull, distant clatter of helicopters.

Jack Spiller assured me they were military. "Fast attack Lynx's," he promised, as his military background exaggerated his own judgement: Or at least I thought it did. But within minutes an entire area became swamped in floodlights.

From the front of three very nervous british army helicopters, long penetrative shafts of incandescent white light literally illuminated the sector. I have never felt so scared in all my life. My heart was pumping to such an extent, I thought it might explode.

My mouth had a dryness I never experienced before, and my stomach turned as if alive with snakes. In the distance an ever stronger thump of helicopter blades disturbed this idyllic place, and Jack Spiller, with his boyish charm, said: "Chinook, SAS." I seriously thought my bladder might give way as he uttered them awful words.

A couple of moments later, a massive helicopter passed overhead, flapping our canvas hide from the power of its rotors, then submerged itself in the valley below. Through night-vision binoculars I watched it land. I witnessed the back tailgate fall open, and observed a good twenty soldiers come spewing out, weapons held threateningly between their hands, For at least an hour I lay there watching their painstaking search.

I could almost feel tears in my eyes I was so scared. When they had all finished, cleared away their kit and left, I emerged from our own position. Dawn was breaking on the yonder horizon.

The first chinks of summer light were rousing, the blackbirds were singing their familiar chorus and I was bent double behind our hide, throwing-up. I was physically sick twice in the space of about twenty minutes.

Jack Spiller stood in his full military kit, leaning on his large gun amusing himself at the soft, feebleness of this unconditioned, inexperienced townie. He might have smiled, but I had the distinct impression, those soldiers would have shot me without hesitation. I told Jack Spiller of my fears, but he just told me it added to the excitement. As we stood there, I surveyed beyond Jack, down into that valley itself.

I could see the fields of barley patterned. Before me, what had been normal serial crops one day, were now scattered. There was the familiar marks of the military helicopters, where the soldiers had busied themselves. But higher up, as the valley inclined, there was now perfectly formed patterns. They simply took my breath away as I cautiously moved forwards to investigate. There was three distinctive patterns, each with a similar, yet individual detail.

From a point central, which joined them all, they spiralled away in three curved formations - each incorporating approximately fifty individual smaller and larger circles. There had to be around a hundred and fifty similar circles, yet all interconnected form that one, single central point. I was back to the 'gravity theory'. From what I observed during the night, and what I felt apply a pressure on our camp, there seemed no other explanation. And if anyone could justify what happened with a stronger hypothesis I would be only too happy to listen.

But when anyone with a strong scientific knowledge tries to produce a solid diagnostic evaluation, we first deduce a clinical, if sometimes sceptical observation. The four craft I personally witnessed produced no engine noise to speak of.

Anyone whom has seen either a jump-jet or helicopter in hover mode will tell you to do that you need some type of technology the world does not currently possess. Therefore, if

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