“BEHOLD A PALE HORSE” Milton William Cooper And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with the beasts of the earth. The Holy Bible The Book of Revelation Chapter 6 Verse 8
The ideas and conclusions expressed in this work are mine alone. It is possible that one or more conclusions may be wrong. The purpose of this book is to convince you (the reader) that something is terribly wrong. It is my hope that this work will inspire you to begin an earnest search for the truth. Your conclusions may be different but together maybe we can build a better world.
One basic truth can be used as a foundation for a mountain of lies, and if we dig down deep enough in the mountain of lies, and bring out that truth, to set it on top of the mountain of lies; the entire mountain of lies will crumble under the weight of that one truth, and there is nothing more devastating to a structure of lies than the revelation of the truth upon which the structure of lies was built, because the shock waves of the revelation of the truth reverberate, and continue to reverberate throughout the Earth for generations to follow, awakening even those people who had no desire to be awakened to the truth.
Delamer Duverus Table Of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Introduction …………………………………………………………. 1 Foreword ………………………………………………………….. 5 Silent Weapons for Quiet Wars ………………………………. 35 Secret Societies and the New World Order …………….. 67 Oath of Initiation of an Unidentified Secret Order … 99 Secret Treaty of Verona …………………………………………. 03 Good-by USA, Hello New World Order ………………….. 109 H. R. 4079 and FEMA Federal Emergency Management Agency………………… 121 Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1988 H. R. 5210, P. L. 100-690…………………………………………. 151 Are the Sheep Ready to Shear? ……………………………. 159 Anatomy of an Alliance ……………………………………… 163 Lessons from Lithuania ……………………………………… 179 Coup de Grace ………………………………………………….. 183 The Secret Government ……………………………………… 95 Treason in High Places …………………………………………. 239 A Proposed Constitutional Model for the Newstates of America ………………………………… 251 Protocols of the Elders of Zion …………………………….. 267 The Story of Jonathan May …………………………………. 331 Documentation: U. S. Army Intelligence Connection with Satanic Church……………………………. 361 William Cooper’s Military Service Record ……………… 381 UFOs and Area 51 ……………………………………………… 397 Alien Implants …………………………………………………. 42 AIDS ………………………………………………………………….. 445 New World Order …………………………………………….. 448 U. S. Government Drug Involvement……………………….. 473 Kurzweil vs. Hopkins ………………………………………… 490 Appendix A Appendix B Appendix C Appendix D Appendix E Appendix F Appendix G INTRODUCTION Sometime ago I had the opportunity to meet William Cooper and his wife Annie. It was part of my job to verify whether this man did indeed speak the truth or was just another person seeking fame and fortune.
What I found was a rugged, bulldog, driven individual who was kind, thoughtful and tenderhearted. He was truly concerned about you and your welfare. Bill knew that people were badly informed by a society which spoon-feeds you deception until there is no distinction between fiction and reality. He sees what many other[s] see happening, and he is not afraid to do something about it. There are many who do not want you to know what Bill has to say. They have tried many times to stop him from saying it. The scars on his face and the loss of his leg are his badges of sincerity on your behalf. No one becomes popular by telling people the truth.
History records what happened to the true prophets of the past. However, some have listened to their warnings and were not caught off-guard. Others have put their heads in the sand and refused to listen. Bill has it together, and has put it together for you so you can also be one of the informed of the world. A well informed person can make the right decision. William Cooper has my vote of approval because I cared enough to find out who the man is. Now is your opportunity. 2 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE There have been many related sequential coincidences all throughout my life, incidents that by themselves would have led nowhere.
Statistically, the odds against the same or a related sequence of events happening to one individual are astronomically high. It is this series of incidents that have convinced me that God has had a hand in my life. I do not believe in fate. I do not believe in accidents. I cannot and will not accept the theory that long sequences of unrelated accidents determine world events. It is inconceivable that those with power and wealth would not band together with a common bond, a common interest, and a long-range plan to decide and direct the future of the world. For those with the resources, to do otherwise would be totally irresponsible.
I know that I would be the first to organize a conspiracy to control the outcome of the future, if I were such a person and a conspiracy did not yet exist. I would do it in an attempt to ensure the survival of the principles in which I believe, the survival of my family, my survival, and the survival of the human race, if for no other reason. I believe, therefore, that a grand game of chess is being played on a level that we can barely imagine, and we are the pawns. Pawns are valuable only under certain circumstances and are frequently sacrificed to gain an advantage.
Anyone who has studied military strategy is familiar with the concept of sacrifice. Those who have seriously studied history have probably discovered the real reason we go to war on a regularly scheduled basis. Before reading this book I advise you to play at least two complete games of chess. You must learn the rules THEY play by. You must realize objectively that some pieces are more valuable than others and that the king is the most valuable of all. You cannot learn reality if you get caught up in the fantasy that “if s not fair. ” You must come to know that the ultimate outcome of the game is the only thing that counts.
You were lied to when you were told that “it does not matter whether you win or lose, if s how you play the game. ” Winning in the world of the elite is everything. Indeed, it is the only thing. The power elite intend to win. My research has shown, at this point, that the future laid out for us may be just about impossible to change. I do not agree with the means by which the powerful few have chosen for us to reach the end. I do not agree that the end is where we should end at all. But unless we can wake the people from their sleep, nothing short of civil war will stop the planned outcome.
I base that statement not on defeatism but on the apathy of the majority of the American people. Twenty-five years ago I would have believed otherwise — but twenty-five years ago I was also sound asleep. We have been taught lies. Reality is not at all what we perceive it to be. William Cooper •3 We cannot survive any longer by hanging onto the falsehoods of the past. Reality must be discerned at all costs if we are to be a part of the future. Truth must prevail in all instances, no matter who it hurts or helps, if we are to continue to live upon this earth. At this point, what we want may no longer matter.
It is what we must do to ensure our survival that counts. The old way is in the certain process of destruction and a New World Order is beating down the door. To cling to the past is guaranteed suicide. To remain apathetic is assured enslavement. To learn the truth and then act upon it is the only means of survival at this moment. To shrug off the information contained in this book and to disregard its warning will result in the complete destruction of the Republic of the United States of America. You will never get a second warning or a second chance. Like it or not, this is it, stark reality.
You can no longer turn your head, ignore it, pretend if s not true, say “it can’t happen to me,” run, or hide. The wolf is at the door. I fear for the little ones, the innocents, who are already paying for our mistakes. There exists a great army of occupationally orphaned children. They are attending government-controlled day-care centers. And latchkey kids who are running wild in the streets. And the lop-sided, emotionally wounded children of single welfare mothers, born only for the sake of more money in the monthly check. Open your eyes and look at them, for they are the future.
In them I see the sure and certain destruction of this once-proud nation. In their vacant eyes I see the death of Freedom. They carry with them a great emptiness — and someone will surely pay a great price for their suffering. If we do not act in concert with each other and ensure that the future becomes what we need it to be, then we will surely deserve whatever fate awaits us. I believe with all my heart that God put me in places and in positions throughout my life so that I would be able to deliver this warning to His people. I pray that I have been worthy and that I have done my job.
THIS IS MY CREED I believe first in God, the same God in which my ancestors believed. I believe in Jesus Christ and that he is my saviour. Second, I believe in the Constitution of the Republic of the United States of America, without interpretation, as it was written and meant to work. I have given my sacred oath “to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic. ” I intend to fulfill that oath. Third, I believe in the family unit and, in particular, my family unit. I have sworn that I will give my life, if it is required, in defense of God, the • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE Constitution, or my family. Fourth, I believe that any man without principles that he is ready and willing to die for at any given moment is already dead and is of no use or consequence whatsoever. William Cooper August 3,1990 Camp Verde, Arizona FOREWORD William Cooper and daughter Dorothy 6 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE The one thing that I find most difficult is to write about myself. It is hard to understand why some people thirst for knowledge about me. It was never my intention to be anyone’s hero. I am certainly no great example upon which to base one’s life.
I consider myself a very average normal kind of guy. I have some pretty good points; I have some human failings. I am proud of some of my achievements, and there are things that I wish I had not done. I’m not perfect, and I am not sure that I ever want to be. But it is certain that I do not belong on anyone’s pedestal. I am a man with a message. And the message will be accepted by only a few. To those few who will understand, I am your brother. Maybe… we can change the future for the better. William Moore, in his disinformation publication entitled “Focus,” said that I am a fundamentalist preacher.
Twenty years ago that would have been a compliment, but today it implies sleaziness. That is why he said it. I am not, and have never been any kind of preacher. I am not starting a church. I am not developing a religion. I do not belong to any organizations. I do not have an entourage. There is no cult and I am not a cult leader. No one camps out around my house. People have called radio talk shows claiming to have first-hand knowledge that I am a notorious radical right-wing extremist. Others have said they have proof that I belong to a white racist organization.
Someone said that they found my name on a list of communist party members. A man in Los Angeles, always the same voice, calls when I am on radio claiming that I am an alcoholic. The truth is, most of my close friends and acquaintances consider themselves to be liberal democrats. My only political stance is Constitutional. My wife is Chinese. That rules out the racist propaganda. I fought the communists in Vietnam. I will fight them again, if necessary, but only on United States soil. I used to drink a lot of alcohol in my younger days. As I became older the booze dwindled to a trickle.
Now I do not drink much at all. Most of my friends have never seen me take a drink. Annie and I are fond of using wine in our cooking. The lies, no doubt, will continue. For the purpose of keeping everything in perspective, let’s all understand that attempts to assassinate my character will continue and in all probability will become worse. Rather than let that get in the way, I want you to believe everything bad that you ever hear about me. See if that changes anything that I have been trying to tell you. See if it negates any of the proof. I believe that is the easiest way to handle those attacks.
You who are sincerely interested in knowing will seek out me or those who are intimately close to me. Those who do are the only ones who will ever really know who and what I am. William Cooper •7 My ancestors came from England, Scotland, and Ireland. I had relatives who fought on both sides in the Civil War. And some who fought in the Indian Wars. One of my ancestors was a horse thief in Texas. I don’t know for sure, but I think he got hung for it. When I was a little boy I heard whispers that there was some Cherokee blood in the family. Every time I asked about it I was told to shut up.
I never could figure out why everyone was afraid to talk about the Indian blood. I thought, and still think, that it is something of which to be proud. I have since discovered that the old folks in my family, like the old folks in almost every family, thought there was some stigma attached to being part Indian. In the old days on the American frontier, people lived by hard rules. If you weren’t accepted by your neighbors you were more than likely to end up dead. My paternal grandmother’s family, named Vance, traveled to Texas in a covered wagon and were some of the first settlers in the area of Odessa.
My great grandfather Vance was a real cowboy who eventually became one of the first oil-field workers. My great grandmother Vance told me that one of their first homes was a dugout on the prairie. My great aunt Sister owned a photo of her father, my great grandfather Vance, standing in front of a saloon beside his friend. Both men had six-guns stuck in their belts. When she was about 84 or so she told me that my great grandfather Vance had gone off to do some work for a rancher. It was during a particularly nasty Indian uprising. My great grandmother was a newly married young woman at the time.
She rose early one morning and saw smoke rising from the direction of one of her neighbors. Soon a war party of five young braves rode up to her dugout. She told me that she was scared to death but knew if she showed it they would kill her for sure. The Indians were hungry. Great Grandma Vance made them get down off their ponies, dragged them inside and fed them. They didn’t harm her. After filling their stomachs they rode off in the direction where she saw smoke rising later that afternoon. She said that she learned later that she was the only one in the area that had not been burned out or killed.
She was a very brave woman. Great Grandma Vance died in a car accident just a short time after telling me that story. I thought it was a very strange way for her to die. She went from covered wagons to Fords and Boeing 707s. Grandma Vance saw just about everything that ever was important in this world happen in her lifetime. My paternal grandfather’s family also rode across the country in a covered wagon. They strayed a little north, however, and ended up in the Indian territory now known as Oklahoma. They were on the front line during the Oklahoma land rush and succeeded in staking out 320 acres on • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE Big Bear Creek near what would eventually become Enid. A little town sprang up not too far away called Garber. They raised a lot of kids. I remember my great grandmother cooking the biggest breakfast I had ever seen. We slept in real feather beds that swallowed us up. We ran to the outhouse in the middle of the night because we were embarrassed to use the chamber pot that Great Grandma kept handy under every bed. In the morning everyone would crowd around the wood stove in the kitchen or the coal stove in the parlor trying to get warm.
My dad had given me a . 22 rifle for Christmas and Great Grandma’s farm was the first place that I ever went hunting. I got up before the sun one morning, tiptoed downstairs, and headed out for the creek. About two hours later I saw my chance and shot a quail sitting up in a tree. I strutted proudly to the farmhouse holding that quail up for all to see. Luckily the farmhand saw me first. He burst out laughing and asked me what I thought I was doing with that sparrow. I ran off and buried that bird and never said a word to anyone. I learned later that quails don’t sit in trees.
For those who may think this to be a terrible thing, I must tell you that every boy in those days was given a rifle and taught to hunt. During hunting season many a family managed to put aside some extra money because the boys brought home meat from the hunt. That money saved was sorely needed. It was considered a duty for a citizen to own a gun in order to carry out the intent of the 2nd amendment to the Constitution. As long as the citizens owned guns the government could never become oppressive. My mother’s family came from Scotland and settled in North Carolina.
They were hardworking and thrifty folk. Most of them were poor. I never knew much more about my mother’s family. I don’t even remember anyone talking much about them. I know that my grandmother, Nellie Woodside, was forced to give up some of her children when her husband died. There was not enough money to feed all of the kids. My mother was one of those chosen to live in a children’s home until things got better. No one ever talked about my mother’s father. When I asked about my grandfather I was told, “Red was no good, and you just mind your own business. ” I got the feeling that nobody liked him.
He died before I entered this world. I was born May 6, 1943. I was reared in a military family. My father is USAF Lt. Col. (Ret. ) Milton V. Cooper. He prefers to be called Jack, the nickname given to him by the family when he was a boy. Dad began his Air Force career as a young cadet flying biplanes and retired as a command pilot with thousands of hours to his credit. I have a picture of him standing in front of an old biplane in his leather jacket and his cap with the earflaps William Cooper •9 My mother and father 10 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE just like Snoopy wears.
I can remember the pilots gathered around the kitchen table talking about the planes and telling stories. Sometimes they discussed strange things called foo fighters or UFOs. When we were lucky they got out the projector and showed Kodachrome slides. That was a special treat. By the time I was eight years old, I think I had already seen and been inside every plane the Air Force (which used to be the Army Air Force) had ever owned. I had flown in several. I had seen many of them crash and had friends who had lost their fathers. I remember one night in the Azores at Lages Field.
We were at the base theater watching a movie when the projector ground to a stop, the lights came on and a plea was made for blood donors. We knew there had been a disaster. Everyone went outside and looked down the hill at the flightline. It was literally consumed in flames. We could see men on fire running through the night. A B-29 had crashed. I forget if it had been taking off or landing; but I will never forget the scene that was spread before me on that night. No one went back to the movie even though we had only seen half. I was nine years old but felt much older.
I had seen many crashes, and I would see many more in the years to come. But I never saw anything that could ever compare to the wreckage, the fire, the devastation, or the loss of life caused by the crash of that B-29. We left the Azores a year later. As we climbed into the sky I looked out the plane window. I could still see pieces of the wreckage where it had been pushed away from the runways. It was that incident that gave me an appreciation of the dangers that my dad faced on a daily basis. I knew then how lucky we were to see him walk in the door. Aviation wasn’t safe in those days, especially for military pilots.
We all knew families that had lost someone in a crash. I didn’t always love my father. He was a strict disciplinarian. My dad did not believe in “spare the rod” and his belt was put to use frequently in our family. I was a very sensitive but willful child. Rules didn’t mean much to me until I got caught breaking them. Many times I was the focus of his anger. Like most kids, I didn’t understand. I thought he was a tyrant. Now I appreciate his upbringing. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that without his strict discipline we most probably would have turned out bad. Now I love my Dad. He is my friend.
He is an independent, gregarious, feisty, tough, confident, adventurous, sometimes overbearing, handsome, big bear of a man. My mother told me that she fell in love with him because he looks like John Wayne, and he does. I have watched him progress from one who disdained any public show of affection to a man William Cooper • 11 who is just as likely to hug you as shake your hand. On the other side, he has at times made me so angry that I could have punched him in the mouth, but I never have. If s damn hard for anyone not to like him. He is always up to some mischief, and I can guarantee you that no one is ever bored around my father.
My mother is a real Southern lady. They used to call her kind a Southern belle. She is one of the last of a dying breed. Dovie Nell (Woodside) Cooper is the type of woman that men like to dream about when they’re lonely. She is the kindest, gentlest, woman that I have ever known. I do not make that statement just because she is my mother. It’s true. She was beautiful as a young woman and she is beautiful now. My mother is one of those people who, once she likes you, can’t be driven away. She is loyal to a fault. I have seen her during the good and during the bad times. She never flinched, no matter what.
It always surprised me that she could be so tough and yet so kind, gentle, and loving all at the same time. Woe to anyone who ever harms my dad or one of her children in her presence. She is the best cook who ever stepped foot in any kitchen that was ever built. I love my mother probably more than anyone else in this world. I have a brother Ronnie and a sister Connie. They are fraternal twins two years younger than me. We were closer than most siblings when we were children because we spent so much of our life in foreign countries, where oftentimes we found ourselves unable to communicate except with each other.
We had school friends, but school was often many miles from where we lived. We had few toys. Most of them were things that mother gave us such as spools, cigar boxes, string, or anything else that we could find to keep us occupied. Every Christmas was a delight because we always got some REAL toys. Ronnie and I had a propensity to see how things worked, however, so they never lasted long. Everything we wore, including shoes, was ordered from the Sears catalog. It was the wish book, and we never tired of looking through it. We alternately loved each other, hated each other, fought each other, and defended each other, as I guess all kids do.
Ronnie, his wife Suzie, and their daughter Jennifer live in Garber, Oklahoma, where Ron sells John Deere farm equipment. Ron ; Suzie built t h e i r house with their own hands. As far as I know they intend to live in that house until they die. Ronnie served as an officer in the Army. In Vietnam he earned the Silver Star. We haven’t seen each other since 1976 after he came to visit me in the hospital after I lost my leg. Nevertheless I love him and I miss him a lot. Neither one of us can afford to travel much unless it’s business, but one of these days soon I’m going to surprise him unless visit.
Connie has shown me pictures and Ron looks just like my 12 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE great grandfather. Almost every picture I’ve seen shows Ron in chaps, a Stetson, boots, and either near or on a horse. I guess that is about how it should be, as Ronnie always wanted to be a cowboy when he was a child. Connie has really turned out to be a fine woman. When she was little I sometimes liked her and sometimes didn’t. Little boys don’t usually have much use for little girls. Since we only had each other to play with, however, Ronnie and I loved her a lot; but little boys just can’t ever admit anything like that.
I remember Connie always followed me everywhere I went. I couldn’t get rid of her no matter how hard I tried. Her devotion and loyalty made me love her all the more. Of course I pretended that she was a pain in the ass. As we grew older and began to realize that there was a really big difference between boys and girls Connie began to take on an air of mystery. From that time until I was about 18 she baffled me completely. I remember when she was around 13 or so she would throw temper tantrums when she got angry. She would stomp her feet, scream, run to her room and then slam the door.
Ronnie and I thought it was a great show but couldn’t for love or money understand why she did it. When we asked mom she would just shake her head and say, “Hormones. ” William Cooper, brother Ronnie, sister Connie William Cooper • 13 Connie grew up to be a beautiful woman and eventually married her high school sweetheart, Gus Deaton. They had two beautiful children, Janice and Chrissie. Janice is very much like Connie, loving and loyal. Chrissie is different. She’s a redhead who loves to party. I guess Chrissie represents a freedom of spirit more than anything else.
Connie’s marriage deteriorated and no one could figure out what was happening until Gus was diagnosed as having brain tumors. It was tragic. Everyone really loved Gus. As his disease progressed and he began to do crazy things, people just drifted away. I have always nurtured a very special love for Chrissie. She never deserted her father. When no one else could stand to be around him, Chrissie chose to go and live with him “so he won’t be lonely,” she said. Even now I get all choked up when I think of that little red-headed girl going to live with her sick father “so he won’t be lonely. His behavior was such that no one else could stand to be around him. At least that is what I’m told. It wasn’t Gus’s fault that he became ill and I’ve always felt it just wasn’t fair to Connie, the children, or Gus. I’ve since learned that life is seldom fair. Connie eventually remarried and moved to Austin, Texas, where she has established herself as a valuable employee of a large bank. Her husband is an executive for McGraw Hill. His name, coincidentally, is Ron. We all really like Ron McClure, especially Dad, who has formed a close friendship with him. My sister has really blossomed into a wonderful woman.
She has become one of my dearest and closest friends. She has grown to be so much a part of me that even now I sometimes get a feeling to look behind me to see if that little girl is still there. I feel a great loss when I see that if s only Sugarbear, my faithful dog; but then, I love him too, so can’t complain. I graduated in 1961 from Yamato High School in Japan. That fall I enlisted in the Air Force. I really wanted to go into the Navy but I had always had a tendency toward car sickness and seasickness. I attended basic at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, and Technical School for Aircraft ; Missile Pneudraulics at Amarillo Air Force Base.
Upon completion I was ordered to the 495th Bomb Wing of the Strategic Air Command at Sheppard Air Force Base just outside Wichita Falls. The name was later changed to the 4245th Bomb Wing — don’t ask me why. In just a short time I had gone from a skinny kid who didn’t know much about anything, even though I thought I did, to an airman who had a Secret(! ) security clearance and worked on B-52 bombers, KC-135 refueling aircraft, and Minuteman missiles. I saw REAL atomic bombs. I worked around them on a daily basis. Because of that I had to wear a dosimeter just in case I was exposed to 14 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE radiation.
In those days we were the elite of the Air Force and we knew it. I received a Letter of Commendation for my work. In due time I was awarded the National Defense Medal and the Air Force Good Conduct Medal. (Actually, I think everyone was awarded the National Defense Medal so that no one would be embarrassed standing in formation with nothing on their chest. ) It was during this time that I met a couple of sergeants who kind of adopted me. We went out to the clubs together and usually ended up chasing women and drinking a lot of beer. They told me several stories about being attached to a special unit that recovered crashed flying saucers.
Sgt. Meese told me that he had been on one operation that transported a saucer so large that a special team went before them, lowering all telephone poles and fence posts. Another team followed and replaced them. They moved it only at night. It was kept parked and covered somewhere off the road during the day. Since we were always half-tanked when these stories came out, I never believed them — sergeants were known to tell some tall tales to younger guys like me. On November 22, 1963, I was on duty as CQ (Charge of Quarters) for the Field Maintenance Squadron.
Most of the men were out on the flightline working, the barracks orderlies had been assigned their tasks, the first sergeant was gone somewhere, and I was alone. I turned on the orderly room TV to watch the live broadcast of the President’s motorcade in Dallas. I was not prepared for what I saw. I stared in disbelief as the events unfurled in front of my eyes. I knew that something had happened, but what? I had seen and heard the assassination, but my mind was not accepting it. I kept staving at the set to discover what it was that had happened when slowly the realization crept over me. A numbness spread up my arms and legs.
I saw what had happened! The hair stood up on the back of my neck and a chill went down my spine. President Kennedy had been shot right in front of my eyes! At that point huge tears began to stream down my face. Waves of emotion rushed through my body. I felt that I had to do something, so I picked up the direct line to the command center. I choked back the tears. When the command duty officer answered, I told him that the President had just been shot in Dallas. There was a pause, and he asked me, “How do you know he has been shot? ” I told him that 1 had watched it on television and then hung up the phone.
I was numb all over. A few minutes later the command duty officer called back and ordered a red alert at DEFCON TWO (Defense Condition Two meant war was imminent). The roar of jet engines could already be heard as the alert crews taxied their planes toward the runway. I was scared shitless as I ran from William Cooper • 15 barracks to barracks routing out the night shift and those who had the day off. We had been told that we had about 15 minutes to launch all of our planes before the first atomic bomb would hit us in the event that the Russians launched an attack. I didn’t even lock up the orderly room.
I just jumped in the first car I saw, rode to the SAC compound/ and reported to my red alert duty station. For the next three days I slept under the belly of a B-52 bomber staring at the Armageddon that hid just inside the closed bomb-bay doors. We thought the shit had finally hit the fan. It was a great relief when the alert was ended. I left the Air Force with an honorable discharge in 1965. In December of the same year I joined the Navy. I had always loved the ocean. I had wanted to be a sailor since I was a little boy. Seasick or not I made up my mind to follow my dream.
I was sent to the Naval Training Center in San Diego for boot camp. Because of my prior Air Force experience I was made the Recruit Chief Company Commander. I was allowed to keep my same rank and pay grade. We had a good bunch of guys in my company and we had a great company commander. Chief Campbell, chief electricians mate. He turned the company over to me. The chief was a good man. He was only interested in teaching us what we needed to know and in keeping us out of trouble. Unlike most boot camp instructors, Chief Campbell had no axe to grind and wasn’t trying to prove anything to himself or anyone else.
He was truly our friend. During boot camp I volunteered for submarines (my sense of adventure was very strong). I was accepted, and upon completion of basic training, was ordered to the USS Tiru (SS-416) at the submarine base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Spitfire and damnation, no one could possibly be that lucky! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read my orders. Here I was fulfilling my dream of being in the Navy. I got exactly what I asked for the first time that I asked for it, which was extremely rare in any branch of military service. And to top it all off, I was being sent to Hawaii, the land of tropical paradise.
I was in seventh heaven. I landed in Hawaii with no time to play and took a cab directly to the sub base. My submarine was nowhere to be found. I kept asking people until I found someone who told me that my boat (subs are called boats in the Navy) was not at the sub base but in dry dock in the Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard. I hailed another cab. The cab driver dropped me off at the head of a pier that looked like it had never been cleaned up after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. It was covered with what appeared to be hoses, huge electrical cables, rusting metal of every conceivable size and shape that you can imagine.
The air was rank with the smell of diesel, welding fumes, paint, and steel. If there 16 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE is a hell on earth, I thought, this has to be it. I walked up the pier, over to the edge, and looked down into the dry dock. There, stripped of all dignity, lying naked and cut cleanly in half, was my boat, the USS Tiru. Men were scrambling all over it. They looked like ants swarming over a dead grasshopper. Brilliant flashes of light brighter than the sun drove sparks high into the air and then down in a beautiful flow to the bottom of the dock. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Someone actually expected me to go out to sea, then underwater, in what appeared to me to be a motley collection of cut-up rusting metal scavenged from some satanic junkyard, stuck together by demons with welding torches. My luck had just run out. I reported to the barracks barge moored in the water on the other side of the pier and was given a hammock for when I had the duty; then I was sent to the sub base barracks where I was assigned a rack and a locker. I wanted to go into Honolulu but quickly discovered non-quals did not rate liberty. It was getting worse.
The next few months were spent sanding, painting, lifting, and learning the boat. The men of the crew, except for the chief cook, were great. The chief cook was drunk every minute of the day and night. He didn’t like me, so I didn’t get much to eat. His dislike stemmed from my first morning when I walked into the galley and watched as the other crew members ordered their breakfast. When there was an opening I stepped up and asked for eggs over easy. That’s when the chief hit the overhead and vowed that I would never eat a meal in his mess decks. He wasn’t kidding, either.
The only time after that morning that I got anything to eat out of that galley was when the chief cook was ashore. To this day I still don’t know what I did wrong. I could have gone to the captain, but if I had done that I might as well have put in for a transfer at the same time. It wasn’t long, though, before I was able to locate where he hid his booze. I made his life miserable from that moment on. I won’t tell you what I laced his vodka with, but it wasn’t anything you’d ever want to drink, believe me. I kept that chief so sick that he was transferred off the boat for medical reasons.
I didn’t want to hurt him, but it was either get rid of him or starve to death. I made up my mind that chief or no chief I wasn’t going to go to sea on a boat that wouldn’t feed me. I didn’t relish going to sea with a drunk chief in charge of closing the main induction valve when the boat made a dive. When a submarine goes underwater certain valves MUST be closed or the boat will flood with water and everyone will drown. The main induction is the MOST IMPORTANT of those valves. It was the cook’s duty to close it, because the valve was in the galley on board the USS Tiru. I made two especially close friends while on the Tiru.
A black seaman William Cooper • 17 named Lincoln Loving and an American Indian seaman we called Geronimo. The three of us were inseparable. Lincoln was best man at my first marriage. Of the three Geronimo was the most experienced seaman, so he taught Lincoln and me. He knew everything there was to know about the boat, rope, paint, and a whole lot of other things that a man had to know to survive in the Navy. I knew the most about getting along in the military, so I taught Geronimo and Lincoln. Lincoln knew every really good spot on the Island where we could have a good time, so he led the liberty party.
Three things really stand out in my mind about the time that I spent on the Tiru. The first was an incident that occurred during a test dive while we were creeping along at about 3 or 4 knots at a depth of 600 feet off the Island of Oahu. Lincoln and I had just been relieved from watch and were in the after battery talking when we were knocked off our feet. We heard a loud CLANG forward and felt the boat lunge to port. Then we heard a sound that made our blood run cold. I could literally feel the blood drain from my face as I listened to whatever it was that we hit scrape along the starboard side of the hull.
Lincoln and I froze. We held our breath as metal screeched upon metal. I thought it would never end. No one moved, anywhere. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the boat lurched and the noise disappeared aft. If it had pierced the hull none of us would be alive today. We never found out what it was. When we returned to Pearl, divers went down to have a look. When they surfaced they reported that the starboard bowplane was damaged and the hull was gouged all along the starboard side from bow to stern. We went in for repairs. In a couple of days we were good as new, but I certainly had an entirely different perspective on life.
The second thing that stands out happened to another boat that had been out participating in torpedo attack exercises with another submarine. I remember seeing the boat entering the harbor with a large tarp over the conning tower. I could see something holding the tarp up on each side of the tower but I couldn’t see what it was. Later, Geronimo, Lincoln and I walked over where the boat was berthed and looked under the tarp. The other boat in the exercise had scored a direct hit! What we saw was a torpedo sticking completely through the sail. We started laughing.
Then we looked at each other and decided that it wasn’t so funny after all. This submarine business was not quite as attractive as I’d thought. Number three happened during a transit between the Portland-Seattle area and Pearl Harbor. I was the port lookout during the afternoon watch (1200 to 1600 hours). Geronimo was the starboard lookout. Ensign Ball was the OOD (Officer of the Deck). We were doing 10 knots on the surface and the three of us were on the bridge in the conning tower. It was a bright 18 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE day, but the sun was obscured by a low layer of clouds. It was cool.
We had a bit of fun when someone below requested permission to put a man on deck forward to get something that was needed from the waterproof deck locker. The locker was under the deck plate all the way up on the bow near the forward torpedo-room escape trunk. Geronimo and I laughed when Ensign Ball gave his approval. He really shouldn’t have, because we were running a pressure wave over the bow. When we saw who it was they had sent on deck we roared with laughter. We looked down over the side of the sail at the deck-level door just as it popped open and Seaman Lincoln Loving stuck his head out.
He didn’t look happy. Lincoln reached down and put the runner in the safety track in the deck, fastened the safety belt around his waist and, grabbing the handrail, stepped out on deck. He looked up at us with that “don’t you laugh at me” look that he did so well. It took him a few minutes to get up the nerve to let go of the handrail and begin to make his way forward against the wind and the pitching deck. Gingerly, he crept forward until he was just at the point where the pressure wave was rolling off the deck when the bow heaved free of the water on its cyclical upswing.
I could see that Lincoln was trying to time a run forward when the bow was out of the water. He made a couple of false starts, then ran slipping on the wet deck, disappearing into the access hole for the forward torpedo-room escape hatch. The bow plunged underwater and I found myself sucking air as I imagined the cold saltwater swirling around me. It wasn’t me, though, it was Lincoln. I gripped the top of the sail as I waited for the bow to swing up, hoping that Lincoln wouldn’t panic. What we saw next could have been a clip from one of those old Keystone Cops movies.
Lincoln was flailing water so hard that it looked like he had 40 arms and 40 legs. It was only then that I realized that Lincoln had joined the Navy but he didn’t know how to swim. When he finally gathered a foothold, the half-drowned seaman exploded up out of that hole like a Polaris missile and ran back to the conning tower just as fast as his wet leather soles would carry him. Ensign Ball, Geronimo, and I laughed for a good ten minutes. In fact, every time we saw Lincoln for the next two days we would burst out laughing. Lincoln didn’t think it was funny and didn’t miss a chance to slug us every time we laughed.
Lincoln went below. Geronimo and I began the unending task of sweeping the horizon from bow to stern, then the sky from horizon to zenith, and then back to the horizon from bow to stern. Again and again, and then a pause to rest our eyes and chat for a few minutes. I asked Ensign Ball to call for some hot coffee. As he bent over the 1MC, I turned, William Cooper • 19 raising my binoculars to my eyes just in time to see a huge disk rise from beneath the ocean, water streaming from the air around it, tumble lazily on its axis, and disappear into the clouds. My heart beat wildly.
I tried to talk but couldn’t; then I changed my mind and decided I didn’t want to say that, anyway. I had seen a flying saucer the size of an aircraft carrier come right out of the ocean and fly into the clouds. I looked around quickly to see if anyone else had seen it. Ensign Ball was still bending over the IMC. He was ordering coffee. Geronimo was looking down the starboard side aft. I was torn between my duty to report what I had seen and the knowledge that if I did no one would believe me. As I looked out over the ocean I saw only sky, clouds, and water. It was as if nothing had happened.
I almost thought I had dreamed it. Ensign Ball straightened, turned toward Geronimo and said the coffee was on the way up. I looked back toward the spot, about 15 degrees relative off the port bow, and about 2-1/2 nautical miles distant. Nothing, not even a hint of what had happened. “Ensign Ball,” I said, “I thought I saw something about 15 degrees relative off the bow, but I lost it. Can you help me look over that area? ” Ensign Ball turned, raising his glasses to eye level. I didn’t know it at the time, but Geronimo had heard me and turned to look. He was happy that something had broken the monotony.
I was just lifting the binoculars off my chest when I saw it. The giant saucer shape plunged out of the clouds, tumbled, and, pushing the water before it, opened up a hole in the ocean and disappeared from view. It was incredible. This time I had seen it with my naked eyes, and its size in comparison with the total view was nothing short of astounding. Ensign Hall stood in shock, his binoculars in his hands, his mouth open. Geronimo yelled, “Holy shit! What the — hey! did you guys see that? ” Ensign Ball turned, and looking right at me with the most incredulous look on his face, said in a low voice, “This had to happen on my watch! He turned, quickly pressing the override on the IMC and yelled, “Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge. ” As an afterthought he pressed the switch again and yelled, “Somebody get a camera up here. ” The Captain surged up the ladder with the quartermaster on his heels. Chief Quartermaster Quintero had the ship’s 35-mm camera slung around his neck. The Captain stood patiently while Ensign Ball tried to describe what he had seen. He glanced at us and we both nodded in affirmation. That was enough for the Captain. He called sonar, who during the excitement had reported contact underwater at the same bearing.
The Captain announced into the 1MC, “This is the Captain. I have the conn. ” The reply 20 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE came back instantly from the helm, “Aye, Aye sir. ” I knew that the helmsman was passing the word in the control room that the Captain had personally taken control of the boat. I also knew that rumors were probably flying through the vessel. The Captain called down and ordered someone to closely monitor the radar. His command was instantly acknowledged. As the five of us stood gazing out over the sea the same ship or one exactly like it rose slowly, turned in the air, tilted at an angle and then vanished.
I saw the Chief snapping pictures out of the corner of my eye. This time I had three images from which to draw conclusions. It was a metal machine, of that there was no doubt whatsoever. It was intelligently controlled, of that I was equally sure. It was a dull color, kind of like pewter. There were no lights. There was no glow. I thought I had seen a row of what looked like portholes, but could not be certain. Radar reported contact at the same bearing and gave us a range of 3 nautical miles. The range was right on, as the craft had moved toward the general direction that we were headed.
We watched repeatedly as the strange craft reentered the water and then subsequently rose into the clouds over and over again until finally we knew that it was gone for good. The episode lasted about 10 minutes. Before leaving the bridge the Captain took the camera from the Chief and instructed each of us not to talk to anyone about what we had seen. He told us the incident was classified and we were not to discuss it, not even amongst ourselves. We acknowledged his order. The Captain and the Chief left the bridge. Ensign Ball stepped to the 1MC and, pressing the override switch, announced, “This is Ensign Ball.
The Captain has left the bridge. I have the conn. ” The reply, “Aye aye sir,” quickly followed. Those of us who had witnessed the UFO were not allowed to go ashore after we had berthed in Pearl. Even those of us who didn’t have the duty were told we had to stay aboard. After about two hours a commander from the Office of Naval Intelligence boarded. He went directly to the Captain’s stateroom. It wasn’t long before we were called to wait in the passageway outside the Captain’s door. Ensign Ball was called first. After about 10 minutes he came out and went into the wardroom. He looked shaken. I was next.
When I entered the stateroom, the Commander was holding my service record in his hands. He wanted to know why I had gone from the Air Force into the Navy. I told him the whole story and he laughed when I said that after putting off the Navy for fear of chronic seasickness, I hadn’t been seasick yet. Suddenly a mask dropped over his face, and looking me directly in the eyes he asked, “What did you see out there? ” WilliamCooper • 21 “I believe it was a flying saucer, sir,” I answered. The man began to visibly shake and he screamed obscenities at me. He threatened to put me in the brig for the rest of my life.
I thought he wasn’t going to stop yelling, but as suddenly as he began, he stopped. I was confused. I had answered his question truthfully; yet I was threatened with prison. I was not afraid, but I was not very confident, either. I figured I had better take another tack. Eighteen years with my father and four years in the Air Force had taught me something. Number one was that officers just do not lose control like that, ever. Number two was that if my answer had elicited that explosion, then the next thing out of my mouth had better be something entirely different.
Number three was, that his response had been an act of kindness to get me to arrive at exactly that conclusion. “Let’s start all over again,” he said. “What did you see out there? ” “Nothing, sir,” I answered. “I didn’t see a damn thing, and I’d like to get out of here just as soon as possible. ” A smile spread over his face and the Captain looked relieved. “Are you sure, Cooper? ” he asked. “Yes sir,” I replied, “I’m sure. ” “You’re a good sailor, Cooper,” he said. ‘The Navy needs men like You’ll go far with the Navy. ” He then asked me to read several pieces of paper that all said the same thing only with different words.
I read that if I ever talked about what it was that I didn’t see, I could be fined up to $10,000 and imprisoned for up to 10 years or both. In addition I could lose all pay and allowances due or ever to become due. He asked me to sign a piece of paper stating that I understood the laws and regulations that I had just read governing the safeguard of classified information relating to the national security. By signing, I agreed never to communicate in any manner any information regarding the incident with anyone. I was dismissed, and boy, was I glad to get out of there.
Not long after that incident I devolunteered from submarines. I was transferred to the USS Tombigbee (AOG-11). The Tombigbee was a gasoline tanker. It was more dangerous than the sub. The Captain was crazy and the crew was a combination of idiots and misfits. I once had to draw my pistol while I was petty officer of the watch to prevent an officer from being attacked by a seaman. The Tombigbee collided in the dead of night with a destroyer in the Molokai channel and several men died when the destroyer was almost cut in half. Every day aboard that ship was exactly like a scene right out of Mr.
Roberts. I struck for quartermaster (navigation specialist) and managed to advance to the rank of second class petty officer despite the obvious 22 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE obstacles. I made two WESTPAC tours aboard the Tombigbee. They included a total of 12 months off the coast of Vietnam. We came under machine-gun fire while anchored off Chu Lai. We had to do an emergency breakaway and leave the harbor. All we needed was one tracer round in one of the tanks, and KA-BOOM, it would have been all over. The Viet Cong gunner probably got busted because the stupid jerk missed the whole damn ship.
HOW CAN YOU MISS A WHOLE SHIP? The only other time I felt threatened was when we went up to a small outpost at the DM2 called Cua Viet. It was a vision right out of hell. Cua Viet sat on the southern bank at the river mouth of the Thack Han river. We rode at anchor and pumped fuel ashore through a bottom lay line. Every night we could see the tracers from fire fights raging up and down the river and along the DMZ. It was a real hot spot. Every once in awhile Viet Cong or NVA rockets would slam into the camp. We would perform an emergency breakaway and put to sea until the all clear was sounded.
Everything was cool until our whacko Captain decided we were going into the river mouth. Did you ever try to put a pencil through the eye of a needle? Thaf s about comparable to what we did. I’ll never know how we got that big ship through the narrow mouth of that river with no navigational references whatsoever. We dropped anchor midchannel and the Captain backed the ship right up to the beach and dropped the stern anchor into the sand. There we sat, a great big target full of gasoline. We were helpless in the mouth of a narrow river, with three anchors out, right in the middle of one of the hottest combat zones in Vietnam.
That night several men in the crew wrote letters to the Chief of Naval Operations requesting an immediate transfer. No one slept. I don’t know why the enemy didn’t send in the rockets, but they didn’t. I knew then that God must keep a special watch over fools. The next day we set to sea and started for Pearl. The Captain was relieved for incompetence later that year. Then I was transferred to school. I didn’t know what school I had drawn. It turned out to be the Naval Security and Intelligence School for Internal Security Specialist (NEC 9545).
The general training prepared me to set up security perimeters, secure installations and buildings, and safeguard classified information. My training included special weapons, booby-trap identification and disarming, the detection of bugs, phone taps, transmitters and many other subjects. I was specifically trained to prepare and conduct Pacific-area intelligence briefings. From the day I reported to school in 1968 until I left the Navy I worked off and on for Naval Security and Intelligence, Upon graduating I was transferred to Vietnam. I had volunteered William Cooper • 23 ver a year before because I figured that my chances were better in the war than they were on that screwed-up gasoline tanker. This was the first good news I’d had since leaving boot camp. I really wanted to fight for my country. I wasn’t to find out what a real fool I was until a few years later. I landed at Da Nang and was bused to Camp Carter, the headquarters for Naval Security and Intelligence in I Corps. I was interviewed by Captain Carter, the commanding officer. The names turned out to be a coincidence. Captain Carter asked me if I thought I would make a good patrol boat captain, and I told him that I would.
What else could I tell him? I thought he was joking when he told me I would have command of a boat and crew. He wasn’t, and I did. Lt. Duey at the Harbor Patrol, a division of Naval Intelligence, allowed me to hand-pick a crew. He gave me first choice of four 45-foot picket boats that had just been unloaded from the deck of a freighter. I and my new crew spent three days going over every inch of that boat. We adjusted and fine-tuned everything. We sanded and painted. One of the seamen even hung curtains in the after cabin. We checked and double-checked the engines. My gunners mate, GMG3 Robert G.
Barron, checked out weapons and we began to arm our vessel. I’ve got to tell you the truth — just looking at all those guns scared the shit out of me. I vowed right then and there that I would be the best damn captain that ever commanded a combat vessel in wartime. I learned to exist an only 2 or 3 hours of sleep out of 24 and never ate until I knew that my crew had been fed. We spent a lot of spooky nights patrolling the Da Nang harbor and river. One night a rocket hit the ammo dump at the river’s edge near the Da Nang bridge, and it really looked as if the world was coming to an end.
Another time we engaged the enemy in the cove at Point Isabella near the marine fuel farm and probably saved their butts. That engagement was reported in The Stars and Stripes, the armed forces newspaper in Vietnam. The worst moments came, however, not from Charley but from mother nature. A full-blown typhoon roared across the Gulf of Tonkin. To save the boats we put to sea. The angels must have been laughing. What a sight we must have made! I maneuvered our boat in between two giant cargo ships riding at anchor off Red Beach and learned quickly what fear was really all about.
The wind was blowing so hard that none of us could go on deck. That meant that the two of us in the pilot house were stuck on watch and the men trapped in the after cabin had to man the hand pumps. The windows in the pilot house blew out and the rain felt like knives hitting our skin. Water poured in, and I prayed that the men on the pumps would not become exhausted. I could just barely make out the two tankers. I could tell they were in more trouble than we. When we were on the crest 24 • BEHOLD A PALE HORSE of the mountainous waves we looked down onto the top of the ships.
When we were in the trough we seemed to be in danger of their crashing down upon us. One of the freighters snapped a cable and steamed slowly out of the harbor. The next morning the storm calmed and we moved into the river. Debris was floating down and we had to play dodge-the-tree-trunks until we spotted a sheltered pier in front of the Press Club. We carefully pulled the boat alongside, tied fast to the pier, then collapsed from exhaustion. After awhile we drew straws to see who would remain on watch with me. The rest went into the Press Club. After a couple of hours the crew returned and we went in.
It was like nothing was going on outside. Reporters sat around drinking or eating. All around flowed conversation and laughter. We ordered a huge meal, signed Lt. Duey’s name to the check, then went out to the boat. I don’t know whose name the other guys signed, but none of us had any money. I don’t even know if Lt. Duey ever got the bill. I do know that it was one of the best damn meals that we ever had in that country. The next two days were spent in repairing the boat, cleaning the weapons, and checking everything. Then we went to the club, got stone drunk, and slept for damn near a whole other day.
Bob Barron volunteered for Cua Viet. I begged him to stay with us. Maybe we could all go up later together. He couldn’t wait; he had to have action. We promised each other that if one of us bought the farm the other would drink a bottle of scotch in memory, then break the bottle on the rocks. Don’t ask me what that was all about. Men who think they might die at any given moment do stupid things and I was no different than most. About three weeks later we learned that Bob’s boat had gone on TWO LIMA patrol on the Thack Han River one night and had never returned. No radio transmissions were ever heard.
And for awhile no bodies were found. Then one by one they popped to the surface along the bank. It was a long time before we ever found the boat. When we did it was twisted up like a pretzel. I say “we,” because after I drank the bottle of scotch and broke it on the rocks, I forced the issue and was transferred to the Dong Ha River Support Group at Cua Viet. It was now a personal war. They had killed a part of me. Bob had been my friend. His name is on the Vietnam Memorial. My boat engaged the enemy more times than any other boat that ever patrolled that river. We kept the enemy off the river and I never lost another man.
I was awarded the Naval Achievement Medal with Combat V, the Naval Commendation Medal with Combat V, and the Combat Action Ribbon. Our whole organization was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation, the Naval William Cooper • 25 Unit Citation, and each of us accumulated various other minor awards, ribbons, and medals. On a Patrol Boat One thing I didn’t like about Vietnam was that it was very difficult to maintain unit cohesion and morale when you had proven and trusted men leaving all the time at staggered intervals and green, unproven men arriving to take their place.
I noticed that I felt like I was deserting my crew when I was rotated home. I tried to extend my tour of duty, but they had already decided to phase out our forces and turn the war over to the Vietnamese. If I had extended a month earlier, I was told, I could have stayed. My attitude at that point was a smoldering “SCREW IT! ” The whole time that I was in Vietnam and especially on the DMZI had noticed that there was a lot of UFO activity. We had individual 24-hour crypto code sheets that we used to encode messages, but because of the danger that one of them could be captured at any time, we used special code words for sensitive information.
UFOs, I was told, were definitely sensitive information. I learned exactly how sensitive when all the people of an entire village disappeared after UFOs were seen hovering above their huts. I learned that both sides had fired upon the UFOs, and they had blasted back with a mysterious blue light. Rumors floated around that UFOs had kidnapped and mutilated two army soldiers, then dropped them in the bush. No one knew how much of this was true, but the fact that the rumors persisted made me tend to think there was at least some truth William Cooper • 27 Briefing Team the followin