The Giant Claw (1957) - full transcript

Once, the world was big
and no man in his lifetime could circle it.

Through the centuries, science has made
man's lifetime bigger and the world smaller.

Now the farthest corner of the Earth is
as close as a pushbutton.

And time has lost all meaning

as manmade devices speed many,
many times faster than sound itself.

Here, near the top of the world,
free men struggle with the elements

to create some measure of defense
to protect that self-same freedom.

Distant Early Warning radar,

sensitive electronic devices to detect
the presence of objects in the sky,

including bombing planes
and guided missiles

and rain clouds and homing pigeons.



New radar installations must be calibrated
by the flying of controlled test flights

to check the accuracy of the equipment
and to chart a detection profile of the area

in order to pinpoint
blind spots the radar cannot penetrate.

Bravo 8035. Angels 9.

Bravo 7540. Angels 9.

Bravo 7045. Angels 9.

Test Flight. Test Flight. This is
Snowman Three. Give me a reading. Over.

Snowman Three, this is Test Flight.

Flying vector, 340 degrees from IP.
Angels 10. Speed, 400.

How do you read me? Over.

Everything checks but the altitude, Mitch.
We read you at Angels 9.

Altimeter reads 10,000 on the nose.

Better check the level
on the antenna mount.

Roger.



How about Mademoiselle Mathematician?

She got enough numbers to feed
into her machines yet?

Do you have all the information
you need, Miss Caldwell?

One more run, please. Low level coming in.

One more, Mitch. Vector 105 degrees, low.

Roger. Turning 180 degrees, low approach.

This is Test Flight, over and out.

I didn't know pilots were allowed
to do things like that.

Not Air Force pilots, you're right.
But Mitch is an electronics engineer.

He may work for the government,
but, ma'am, he kinda makes his own rules.

So does a three-year-old child
until his mother spanks him.

- Mother, dear mother, I'm ready if you are.
- I must have left the switch on.

An electronics engineer. A radar officer.

A mathematician and systems analyst.
A radar operator. A couple of plotters.

People doing a job, well, efficiently.
Serious, having fun. Doing a job.

Situation, normal for the moment.

Date, the 17th of the month.
Sky cloudy, overcast. Visibility limited.

Time, 1332 hours.
A significant moment in history.

A moment when an electronics engineer
named Mitchell MacAfee

saw something in the sky.

Something that was almost the beginning
of the end of life on this Earth.

MacAfee reported instantly by radio
the sighting of a UFO,

an unidentified flying object.

The radar officer replied
that it was impossible.

According to the radar scope,
except for Mitch's plane,

there wasn't a single, solitary object
of any nature whatsoever.

Nothing in the sky
for a radius of hundreds of miles.

MacAfee didn't care what the radar showed
or didn't show.

He knew what he saw with his own eyes.

And he was determined to get a better look.

MacAfee turned, and so did the unidentified
flying object heading toward him.

There was no mistaking the urgency
in MacAfee's voice.

Something, he didn't know what,

but something as big as a battleship
had just flown over and past him

at speeds so great
he couldn't begin to estimate it.

In national defense,
it's better to be safe than sorry.

The alert was sounded
to scramble interceptors.

- Well?
- Well, what?

Now, let's not play games, Major.
Did your men find it?

Mr. MacAfee, if you were in uniform,
I'd have you under arrest

and facing general court martial charges.
Unfortunately, you're a civilian.

- And I can't touch you.
- What are you talking about?

But I can send in a report in on you
and I will.

By the time I get through with you,
Mr. Electronics Engineer,

you'll be lucky if they let you test
batteries for flashlights.

Look, Major Bergen, I was flying
a final calibration flight.

I spotted a UFO, I reported it.
Does that make me a criminal,

a traitor to my country,
or some kind of a psychopath?

MacAfee, you're an electronics man,
an expert on radar.

- Sure, that's what they pay me for.
- If there was something in the air,

something flying that you could see,
would radar pick it up?

- Well, yes, but...
- Would radar pick it up? Yes or no?

- Yes.
- There were three radars on you.

Every minute you were in the air and not
one of them, not one, saw anything but you.

- Look, Major...
- You were told this. You knew it.

Nevertheless, you persisted
with your little joke.

- Easy now, Bergen.
- You continued to yell wolf

until somebody pushed the panic button
and scrambled a flight of interceptors.

Great. Great. So your buzz boys flew
around, they couldn't find anything,

so now you're mad and want me to pay
for the fuel they burned up

or the time they wasted
or something else real smart.

The flight was scrambled and dispersed
to cover as wide an area as possible.

And thanks to your not-so-funny
false alarm, Mr. MacAfee,

one of those planes didn't come back.

Plane and pilot, both are missing.

Major Bergen. What?

Yes. Yeah. Yes. Call out the stand-by crews.

You better reshuffle your duty rosters.
There'll be plenty of sweat on this one.

Look, Major, I'm sorry about the pilot,
but that was no false alarm.

Oh, come off it, Mitch. You've done
enough harm with your flying battleship.

- Just let it...
- Just a moment, Miss Caldwell.

That call. A Transpolar Airlines plane
is reported overdue and missing.

- Oh, no!
- Sixty passengers and a full crew aboard.

Got a distress call from the pilot,
then nothing. No more contact.

- Engine trouble?
- No.

The pilot yelled something about a UFO.
Then the radio went dead.

- And our radars?
- Nothing. Nothing but the Transpolar plane.

Alone in the sky.

Well, we're finished up here, Major.

- You got transportation ready?
- Plane and pilot in the field.

- Fly you straight through to New York.
- Thanks. Let's go, Sally.

Hang on. I'll be back in a minute.

Hi, Pete. Getting too rough
to work back there.

I thought the poop on the weather was
we'd have it soft all the way into New York.

- Seems to be a local front, Mitch.
- How about flying over it?

Can do. Wait till I call in.

This is Air Force Zebra Love 7979 calling
New York International Airport. Over.

Zebra Love 7979.
This is New York International Airport. Over.

Altitude 8,000, air speed 250.

Meeting unexpected storm activity,
Adirondack region.

Request permission to change altitude
to 12,000. Over.

Zebra Love 7979. Permission granted. Over.

Zebra Love 7979. Roger. Out.

- Like I said, no sweat.
- Thanks, Pete.

I'll put in a good word for you
with the Major.

Oh, thanks loads.

Well, I won't know until I run it
through the computer,

but it looks like the profiler that dips here
like this for an extensive blind spot.

Yeah.

Well, either that antenna is really tilted

or we've got a topographical high spot here
we didn't figure on

that's shading the whole strip.

- Could you get that relief map?
- Oh, yes. Right here.

Mitch. Mitch. Come up here!

- What gives?
- Sit down, Mitch.

- Well?
- Something might be coming up.

- Such as what?
- Unidentified flying object.

- Flew right over us.
- Not you, too.

Oh, save the cracks.
I've already called it in to International.

Mitch, I sure enough saw
something like a cloud.

Only it was moving too fast for any cloud.
Right at our course from northeast.

Two bits it never showed up
on a single radar scope.

- What?
- Never mind. I don't see anything but sky.

Neither do I, now.
I lost it when it got right overhead.

Where'd that come from?
We don't register a hatful of wind.

Brother, that was more than a hatful.

- Are you all right?
- I think so. How about you?

I'm okay. Pete's in bad shape. Let's go.

Down! It's going to blow up.

What happened? It felt
like something collided with us up there.

Yeah. The flying battleship
that wasn't there.

- Hello! Hello!
- Here. Over here.

It's good applejack. I make it myself.
Fine for the snakebite.

Hello, Pierre. Mr. MacAfee?

That's right.

That the pilot?

Yeah.

Okay, boys.

They made a reservation for you
on a commercial flight into New York City.

Sending a car to take you
and the young lady to the airport.

What about the wrecked plane?

We've got orders to seal off the area.
Real hush-hush.

What happened? You tangle
with a flying saucer or something?

Oh, nothing so domestic as a flying
saucer, Officer. Just a flying battleship.

Well, have a good time
with your flying battleship.

Your car will be here soon.

- Where's the plane, Pierre?
- North 14, past the road.

Let's go, boys.

Hello? Oui, this is
the farm of Pierre Broussard.

Who? Oh, one moment.

A General Van Buskirk for you,
Mr. MacAfee.

I feel another snakebite coming on.
More medicine.

Well, flying battleship, pink elephant.
Same difference.

You really should try buttermilk instead.

I said it looked like a battleship,
not that it was a battleship.

I should have called it
an overgrown adding machine.

Then at least you would've believed me.

General Buskirk? MacAfee here.

Yes, sir. I am aware
that the pilot called in a UFO.

No, I didn't see anything myself this time.
Neither did Miss Caldwell.

Oh, the radar picked up
nothing but our plane in the area.

Well, I was kind of expecting that too.

Joke? False alarm?

Look here, General, what kind of an infantile
jackass do you take me for? I tell you that...

Thank you.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

I understand, sir.

When the shepherd cried wolf,
they believed him. The first time at least.

Civil Aeronautics Board is sending up
an investigating team

first thing in the morning.

So is the Air Force,
as soon as the CAB is done.

When we get to New York, we're to keep
ourselves available for questioning.

This glass must have a hole in it.
Keeps disappearing.

- How's the jug holding up, Pierre?
- You like Pierre's applejack, oui?

Ah, perfect antidote for snakebite, thunder,
lightning, and disbelieving generals.

Fill her up, Pierre.

- What's that?
- Something scared the animal!

It's Pierre!

Over here.

Easy, Pierre, easy. You're safe.
You're in the house.

- Carcagne! It was the carcagne! I saw her!
- What's a carcagne, Pierre?

- Come on, tell us about it.
- It's the devil in the storm.

With the face of the wolf
and the body of the woman with wings.

- Bigger than I can tell.
- You probably saw an eagle, Pierre.

- Oh, no! It was la carcagne! La carcagne!
- Oh, I remember now.

I read it somewhere. It's a superstition,

a legend that the French Canadians started
and came across the border with.

Yeah. It vaguely rings
a small bell with me, too.

It was probably just the lightning
and the storm, Pierre.

- You just imagined the whole thing.
- No! No! I saw la carcagne!

Here. Take another swallow of this.

Come in.

What's the matter with Pierre?

He thinks he saw
something weird in the sky.

I saw her. I saw la carcagne!

- He can't get it out of his head.
- Yeah, I know.

I live up this way myself.

There's a lot of the old folks
around here believe that yarn.

But this is the first time I ever heard
anybody claim he really saw the old witch.

- You come to take us to the airport?
- Yeah. Car outside.

- Oh, I hate to leave him like this.
- Oh, don't worry, ma'am.

Joe here will stay with him.
But we'd better hurry.

- They're holding that plane for you.
- Come on, Sally.

They're holding a plane for us,
we'd better get with it.

We haven't even thanked him.

I'm afraid the social amenities won't mean
very much to a man in Pierre's condition.

He's right, ma'am. You'd never get through,
the way he's scared stiff right now.

Scared? So he thought he saw a big bird.

Why should that paralyze him so
with fright?

- Didn't he tell you?
- Tell us what?

The legend. According to the story they tell,
if you see this big bird,

it's a sign that you're going to die real soon.

- That plane's waiting. We'd better go.
- Okay, Sergeant.

"The kiss you take is better than you give."

A many-faceted creature, this Mr. MacAfee.

First engineer and pilot
and now lover and poet.

Oh, the line of poetry was
from Shakespeare.

I know, but where
did that impulse come from?

- Left field, maybe.
- I like baseball.

Or maybe just sitting next to a pretty girl.
That's enough in itself, sometimes.

Even sitting next
to Mademoiselle Mathematician?

Or should we stick
to the baseball reference?

There are figures and there are figures.

Inescapable logic, corny but true.
You almost overwhelm me.

Almost?

Well, let's finish the job.

Look at that moon.

Speaking of baseball and left field,

somebody warned me
that you make up your own rules.

- Whoever said that's no friend of mine.
- But he's a friend of mine.

Sabotage!

Oh, much too dramatic.
Let's stick to baseball and say instead,

- "Out, trying to steal second."
- Back to the bush leagues, finished.

A quitter. I knew it. No fight, no spirit.

Of course, the umpire could always
reverse her decision.

No, no short cuts. Must follow the pattern.

First the minor leagues,
and then the major leagues.

- I stick to the rules, Mitch. Sorry about that.
- Why be sorry? You can always...

Pattern.

- Pattern.
- What's the matter?

Pattern. I need one of your maps.

The orthographic projection,
the pole to equator.

- Give it to me, will you?
- Well, sure.

I think I have it here somewhere.

Ah. Here it is.

What's that?

Open your map.

Now, where I sighted the UFO.

Where the search plane disappeared.
The Transpolar airliner.

Our plane at Pierre's.
And finally the Navy patrol plane.

- Well, you were muttering about a pattern.
- Well? See it?

Well, no. No straight line, no curve, nothing.

Wait.

A pattern.
A perfect pattern in time and distance.

Each incident, each cross,
later than the one before.

Each one further out in the spiral
from the center.

You mean, something in the air flew
a pattern like that?

Yeah. Something I saw.

Something that flew over
and past me in the air.

Well, it would have to be traveling
at incredible speed to cover

- all the distance in the time involved.
- Yeah, it would.

Something that seemingly destroyed four
planes and barely missed you the first time.

Yes.

Something like your flying battleship?

- Okay, forget the whole thing.
- Oh, well, now, Mitch. Be reasonable.

Why that pattern,
just to knock down a few scattered planes?

And what? A meteorite? Impossible!
A guided missile?

Well, that would stop with the first
plane it hit.

And who would launch it?
And for what reason?

No, Mitch, coincidence, yes. But pattern, no.

Here's your map.

Well, you are a child. Mitch, think!

If there was anything flying
this kind of a pattern,

why, it would be tracked
by dozens of different radars.

And none of them spotted a thing, so what?

Well, maybe it was Pierre's carcagne,

"with the head of a wolf and the body
of a woman, with wings as big as I can tell!"

- There's no need to be sarcastic.
- Look, would you two mind being quiet

so the rest of us can sleep? Thank you.

Sorry. Maybe I was being childish.

Mitch MacAfee, flying Sherlock Holmes.

I think you did make better sense
with your poetry

than you did
with your detective deductions.

- I know another poem.
- Oh?

"Be plain in dress and sober in your diet.

"In short, my deary, kiss me, and be quiet."

Date, the 18th of the month.
Sky clear, light clouds. Visibility unlimited.

Time, 0815 hours.

A CAB plane flies toward the scene
of the previous day's crash

involving Mitchell MacAfee.

On board, four members of the
Civil Aeronautics Board investigating team.

And a pilot.

Time, 0816 hours.

Another significant moment in history.

Once more a frantic pilot radios in
a report on a UFO. A bird.

A bird as big as a battleship, circling
and preparing to attack the CAB plane.

Stop leaning on the buzzer. I'm coming.

Mr. MacAfee?

- Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
- General Buskirk's respects, sir.

- He'd like to see you right away.
- Oh, have a heart, Captain.

I got in late last night.
I just about fell asleep when you woke me.

- Sorry, sir, the General says it's urgent.
- So is my sleep!

My orders are to bring you
to the General's office at once.

Even if I have to take you
into protective custody.

Okay, Captain, don't get in a tizzy. You keep
your shirt on, I'll go get my pants on.

My sighting. The search plane,
the Transpolar airliner, our plane at Pierre's

and the Navy patrol plane. Too much,
and it fits too well, to be just coincidence.

There have been two more
since the Navy plane.

A private plane here last night and a CAB
plane with four passengers and a pilot here.

All following your theoretical pattern
smack dab on the nose.

No radar tracks, I suppose?

As usual, since you started
this crazy nightmare, nothing.

Except about the planes.

Did the pilots report anything?

Not a word from the pilot
of the private plane.

But the CAB pilot reported a UFO.

- Did he say what it was?
- Yes. A bird.

A bird as big as a battleship circled
and attacked the plane.

- Believe me, Mr. MacAfee, this is no joke.
- Oh, no.

That plane was completely destroyed.

And all five men on board seem
to have completely disappeared

from the face of the Earth.

Now, you're an electronics expert.

Could there have been anything that big up
in the sky and not be picked up by radar?

Impossible! But I saw it myself.

Yes. Three men reported they saw
something and two of them are now dead.

Well, that makes me chief cook and bottle
washer in a one-man bird watcher's society.

Mr. MacAfee, this is vitally important.
Did you get a good look at it?

No, it was just a blur as it went past.
How I wish I'd had a camera with me.

Camera! General Buskirk, before I went out

on this radar assignment with Mitch, I was
doing Earth curvature calibration work.

Well, how does that help us on this?

Well, we used film strips photographed
from inside test rockets

and from fixed cameras
and observation balloons.

- Sally, maybe you've got it!
- If those balloons are still up,

there's a bare possibility they photographed
this thing, whatever it is.

General Edward Considine, Pentagon.
Priority, fast!

Something's coming up now.

Kill it!

This film and all the information pertaining
to it and the bird are classified

as top secret.
Notify all agencies and personnel involved

who have handled the project
or will handle it.

Yes, sir.

- Johnson!
- Yes, sir?

Put the entire command
on combat readiness right away.

Notify the Pentagon and have them tell
General Considine I'm on my way.

Yes, sir.

Colonel Tyler at the field? Line one, please.

Oh, Nate. Nate. Buskirk here.
Warm up my plane.

And file a flight plan for me
to National, Washington. Right.

We're coming now.
Two extra passengers. Okay.

You two are coming with me to Washington.
Miss Caldwell. Mr. MacAfee.

It's some sort of bird all right.

There's no question of that.

Miss Caldwell, is it possible that this bird
has been flying in blind spot areas

- that our radar can't pick up?
- No, sir. I checked carefully.

At least ten different radar sites
should have tracked it.

Mr. MacAfee, could speed or altitude
affect the ability of our radar to pick it up?

No. There's no scientific
or any other kind of reason in the world

why our radars don't track it.
They just don't. Period.

Then what you're saying in essence, is that
black is white and two and two make six.

Look, General, I didn't invent this flying
nightmare, I just saw it and reported it.

The General understands, Mr. MacAfee.
He's not blaming you for anything.

Relax, man.

Relax? When do we stop relaxing
and start doing something?

Good sense isn't confined exclusively
to civilians, Mr. MacAfee.

We know how to take care of ourselves
and the country.

Easy, Van, easy. Take it easy.

There's a general air alert on
this very minute, son.

Hundreds of planes from every command

are combing the skies,
searching for this overgrown buzzard.

- We'll find it all right. Never fear.
- And when we do, General. Then what?

Yes? Good! Where?

Okay, this is official now.

Pass 'em the word to shoot it down.
No questions, no games, no stalling.

Just shoot it down. Yes.

Get me a tape on all air-to-ground
and air-to-air channels,

and pipe it through a hotline to me here.
One of our squadrons just spotted it.

I've ordered them to attack
and shoot it down.

Our planes are armed with cannon,
machine guns and rockets.

This should be the end of the big bird
who was there but wasn't.

You'll be able to hear it as it happens.

This is Easy Baker squadron leader.

- Target below and to the side. See it?
- Yow! Holy Toledo!

I've seen some mighty big chicken hawks
back on the farm,

but, man, this baby takes the cake.

Honest to pete, I'll never call
my mother-in-law an old crow again.

This is Easy Baker squadron leader.

Peel off on signal.
One pass and then you're on your own.

This is Easy Baker squadron leader.

It's got one of the planes.

I must be losing my marbles.

This isn't for real.
Bullets, rockets, nothing touches it.

Easy Baker squadron leader.

Charlie hit the silk
when the bird got his plane and now it...

Charlie's gone. Chute and all.

It don't make sense.

Like we're hitting a battleship
with a slingshot.

It's going after another plane. Look out!

Easy Baker squadron leader.
Mission's a washout.

We're going to head for... No!
It's coming after me! No! No!

Machine guns, cannons, rockets,
nothing touched it.

- Those pilots...
- We'll find it, all right, never fear.

The end of the big bird.

You were right, Miss Caldwell,
when we find it, what then?

Phase two off standby, operational.

- Notify the Joint Chiefs.
- Yes, sir.

It doesn't make sense.
It's just a bird, a big bird.

- Guns. Cannons. Rockets. It's just a bird.
- Sure, it's just a bird.

Ten million dollars worth of radar
can't track it.

Enough firepower to wipe out a regiment
can't even slow it down.

Sure, it's just a bird.

Well, what are we going to do,
just sit around here and weep?

- Oh, climb off our backs, MacAfee.
- We're not crying, MacAfee,

and we're not running away.
But it's hard to come up with answers

when you don't even know
what the question is.

Being flip doesn't help any.

I'm not criticizing either of you
or the Air Force

or those guys who just died
trying to shoot that thing down.

I'm not being flip,
and I'm not wisecracking.

I'm just scared. We all are, I guess.

So let's face that and then try
and do something about that bird.

- Any suggestions, MacAfee?
- Sure, electronic spitballs!

- Van.
- Close, General, close.

Only not electronic spitballs,
atomic spitballs.

- Yes?
- Phase two operational.

- All units alerted and ready.
- Good.

Call for you.
Dr. Karol Noymann at the research lab.

I'll take it on two.

This is General Considine, Dr. Noymann.

Say that again? Good, good.

You stay where you are. I'll be right over.

Research lab's been kept right up to date.

They've been working on the wreckage
of that CAB plane

- and the plane that you two cracked up in.
- Find anything new, Ed?

They think they've figured out
what that bird is and where it came from.

About those atomic spitballs.

An hour before your plane landed
in Washington,

I ordered guided missiles
with atomic warheads made ready

for every launching site in the country

where the fallout pattern
makes it safe to explode them.

The order you heard me give
to make phase two operational

was an order to fire those missiles
the moment that bird is spotted anywhere!

- General, I'm sorry, I guess I...
- Don't apologize, son, I admire your spunk.

And you keep climbing on our backs
whenever we've messed up any of the detail.

- Van?
- Sorry, Mac.

- I guess we're all trying to do our best.
- You two better come along.

You're up to your ears
in this thing anyway.

Come on, let's go.

The atom is the basic building block
of all matter.

The atom this model represents
is like every atom as we know it.

The nucleus is positive.
The electrons are all negative.

In this respect, it has been maintained
that all atoms are alike.

But this is wrong, all wrong!

According to the law of electrodynamics,
all nature is symmetrical.

It is in balance. And if there is matter,
then there must also be antimatter,

a symmetrical mirror image.

Now here we have a positive nucleus,
negative electrons.

In the reverse, we must obviously have
a negative nucleus with positive electrons.

Science has proved that this is so,
not in this Earth nor in this solar system

but somewhere in the universe
there are stars, planets,

whole galaxies made up of antimatter.

Well, do you mean to say, Doctor,
that this bird is made of antimatter?

That it's reversed, inside out,
a mirror image, as you call it?

Just a minute, General.

Doctor, it's been proven
that antimatter exists,

but it's also been proven that whenever
it comes in contact with ordinary matter,

they annihilate one another, blow up.

Why didn't the bird explode when it was hit,
or when it touched something?

Well, you are both right and wrong.
The bird itself is not antimatter.

But the bird unquestionably radiates
some sort of force, an energy screen,

some invisible barrier.
And that energy screen is antimatter.

Guns, cannons, rockets,
no wonder nothing touched it.

Stuff hit the antimatter screen
and blew up before it could get close.

- Mitch, this explains the failure of the radar.
- Yeah.

No reflecting surface. The radar waves
wouldn't bounce off, they'd slide around.

So with no echo, no tracks.

Dr. Noymann, a couple of questions.
All this isn't just guesswork on your part?

No, it is not guesswork, General.

Evidently, this bird is able to open
that antimatter screen

to use its beak, its claws,
its wings as destructive weapons.

Now, here is part of the wreckage.

Examination by a staff of scientists has told
us the whole incredible story.

It has been checked and double-checked.

- Is there anything else, General?
- Yes, Doctor.

Where did this bird come from?

Here is a piece of feather from the bird,
found in the wreckage.

At least, we call it a feather,
we don't know what it is.

Only what it looks like.
It has defied chemical analysis,

the electroscope, every conceivable test.

It contains no substance
known on the Earth today,

no element recognizable by man.

- Finding that out was expensive.
- Well, how so?

We had several of these feathers,
this is the only piece left.

As a last resort, we tried testing them
in electronic analyzers.

Look.

That bird is extraterrestrial.

It comes from outer space,

from some godforsaken antimatter galaxy

millions and millions of light years
from the Earth.

No other explanation is possible.

Van will fly you two back to New York.

I'd appreciate it if you'd hold yourselves
in readiness and, of course, you understand

that everything that you've seen and heard
is classified.

My command is ready, Ed, and waiting
at the end of a hotline. Just phone.

Just phone, Van? Well, I'll need help,
all the help I can get. We all will.

The only trouble is
that the last time I talked to a chaplain,

there wasn't any telephone line
to the one and only place

where we can get the kind of help
that we need.

General Considine.

This is an emergency.
Get me the Secretary of Defense.

Up to now,
only one man had seen the bird and lived.

Among those who knew of it,
its existence was a closely guarded secret.

But even as arrangements were made
for an emergency meeting of the President,

the Cabinet, the National Defense Board,
and the Joint Chiefs of Staff,

even then, the bird revealed itself
to the world at large

and complacency quickly turned to panic.
Panic, terror, and horror.

No corner of the Earth was spared the terror

of looking up into God's blue sky
and seeing, not peace and security,

but the feathered nightmare on wings.

Oh, come in.

Well, I worked half the night running your
figures through the calculating machine.

- Hope the results are what you want.
- Good. Thanks.

Mitch?

Oh. Thank you.

Oh, really. For two days and a night now,
ever since we got back from Washington,

you've had your nose buried
in all those papers, figuring, calculating.

- Mitch, you've got to stop to sleep and eat.
- I've been busy.

What you're working on have
anything to do with the bird?

To destroy the bird?
Well, will it work, Mitch?

I don't know.

I honestly haven't the faintest, foggiest idea.

It's one of those cock-eyed concepts
that you pull down

out of cloud eight somewhere
in sheer desperation.

Said anything about this
to General Buskirk or General Considine?

And have them gently remind me
to stay in my own backyard? No, thanks.

What's the difference? There's only
a million-to-one chance it will work.

It's just something to do instead
of this deadly sitting around and waiting.

Mitch, I've been thinking about the bird, too.

Yeah, you and everybody else in the world.

Ever stop to wonder
why the bird came here?

Could it have been for food?

I mean, does the bird eat,
in the sense that we understand eating?

Well, Dr. Noymann says
that it absorbs energy

from the things it destroys,
including humans,

sort of a molecular osmosis.

Could it have come here to rest?

- If it did, it sure as shooting isn't.
- Right.

So far as we knew the bird just kept flying
around the Earth,

always flying, never stopping.

Well, that's what bothered me,
so I called General Buskirk.

Mitch, remember Pierre Broussard,
at the farm?

Yeah, him and his la carcagne,
or whatever he thought he saw.

It just goes to prove what they always say,
truth is stranger than fiction.

Well, this was no fiction.
Pierre did see something, he saw the bird.

12,000 feet up at night in a storm?

- No. The bird came down to Earth.
- But you just finished saying...

Well, General Buskirk told me
they found the mark of a giant claw

on a field next to Pierre Broussard's farm,
and I know why.

The bird came here to build a nest.

Nest.

Eggs.

More birds.

It's got to be true.
There's just no other reason for it.

General Buskirk. MacAfee calling.
This is urgent.

Baby, gather up those papers for me,
will you please? Take these, too.

General Buskirk? MacAfee.

Now, please don't argue or ask for reasons.
I'll explain later. It's desperately important.

I need a fast plane, and then a helicopter.

Please, please, General, believe me.
I know what I'm doing.

Yeah, at Broussard's place, the farm.

Right. We're leaving right now.
Sally's with me. Yes.

We'll go straight to the airport.

We interrupt this program
for an important announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen,
speaking from Washington,

Lieutenant General Considine,
United States Air Force.

We are faced with a crisis,

a crisis for which all the nations
of the world,

in unprecedented cooperative action,
have found as yet no solution.

Until we do, we shall not rest.

We have tried every weapon in the arsenals
of the mightiest armies on Earth.

They have proven worse than useless.

Atomic, hydrogen weapons,
capable of wiping cities,

countries off the face of the Earth,
are completely ineffective

against this creature from the skies.

Two days ago, all aircraft were grounded.

Deprived of its source of food or energy,
however the bird survives,

the bird began a series of attacks
on the ground,

in a fantastic orgy of destruction
never before seen.

Nothing has been safe
from attack by the bird,

cattle, horses, fields, homes, trains,
all manner of transportation.

It has become obvious
that the bird is attracted by movement.

Accordingly, your government
and all the governments of the world

have declared a state of emergency
and instituted martial law.

In addition to grounding all aircraft,
all surface transportation,

cars, trucks, buses, trains, ships at sea,

all such traffic must be halted at once.

The movement of food
and essential supplies

will be handled by the armed forces.

Blackout conditions will be observed
from sunset to dawn

every night until further notice.

Movement of any sort on the streets
or highways during the daylight hours

must be held to an absolute minimum

and only where
it has been authorized as essential.

You have just heard General Considine
speaking from Washington. Stay tuned...

Mitch!

Well, that plane is waiting for us.
We've gotta get up to Pierre's place.

There it is!

We'd better land
before that decides to do it again.

The guns.

Two Weatherby.378 Magnums,
they'll stop anything.

Anything, Mitch?

Well, anything but the bird,
but we're looking for eggs.

Without antimatter energy screens,
you hope.

- La carcagne?
- No, Pepe, not la carcagne,

a million times worse.

Let's get out of here.

It looks like the nest, all right.
No sign of any egg.

Well, it might be somewhere down in there.

Only way to find out is
to go down there and look.

La carcagne!

An egg!

You shoot gun, make the big noise.
La carcagne come and we all die.

We have to get that egg, Pierre,
it's our only chance.

Pierre, he not stay.

Pierre! Come back!

I'm from Montana.

Pierre and his la carcagne.

- He was right. Seeing it did mean his death.
- Yeah.

I'll alert Washington.
They'll get out search parties.

Everywhere in the world,
wherever the bird has been sighted,

just on the off chance
that there might be more eggs,

so they can be found and destroyed.

That much we can do.

Well, let's get back to the city.

With that bird around,
it's too dangerous to fly.

We'll leave the chopper
and take Pierre's car.

He won't be needing it.

- Come on, Brad, make this thing go.
- Yeah, come on.

Let's get some speed on this.
Oh, man, he ain't moving at all.

Come on! Come on!

- Some maniac driving with lights and fast.
- Maybe he didn't hear the proclamation.

I'll flag him down when he tries to pass.

- Hey, daddy-o, get that tin can off the road.
- Come on, man.

- Hey, man, who's afraid of the big bad bird?
- Turn out your lights! Get off the road!

Don't worry about us,
we've got salt for its tail.

Hey, watch out for that salt,
don't get it in the carbs!

Come on, let's go!

Crazy kids!
They don't know what they're doing!

- Dig you later, 'gator.
- Hey, daddy-o, don't call us, we'll call you.

- They boy is badly hurt, but he's alive.
- The girl's unconscious.

There's a town up ahead with a hospital.
We'll take them there.

You and I are going in
to Washington tonight.

I'll bring the car over here for the kids.

Miss Caldwell, MacAfee, I'm a busy man.

I hope this isn't
some sort of crackpot wild goose chase.

You and me both, General.

Well, it's your dime, boy.
What is it you want to show me?

- How to shoot the bird out of the sky.
- Some new type of weapon?

No, with regular guns, bullets and bombs.
Anything you want.

MacAfee, I told you that I haven't got time...

Listen, General. This idea of mine may prove
to be as phony as a $3 bill,

- but I still think it's worth a listen.
- Well, go ahead.

Now I don't care
whether that bird came from outer space

or Upper Saddle River, New Jersey,

it's still made of flesh and blood
of some sort

and vulnerable to bullets and bombs.

If you can get past
that antimatter energy screen.

Right. That's exactly what I think,
what I hope I've figured out how to do.

I've just invested a dime of my own, boy.
Keep talking.

Now, this is a blow-up I had made
of a bubble chamber photograph.

The chamber was bombarded
with high-speed particles.

Result, a photograph of a trail made
by what is known as a mu meson.

But notice this hole, this gap right here.

This gap is one of the most exciting
and significant recent discoveries

in all science.

You probably know about it, Dr. Noymann.

Yes, yes. The formation
of a temporary mesic atom,

the mu meson with a hydrogen nucleus.

Right. But mu mesons
are 210 times heavier than electrons.

Which means that in a mesic atom,
the electrons revolve around a nucleus

at just a small fraction
of the ordinary distance in a normal atom.

I know you don't understand all this,
General, but stick with me.

Now, the mesic atom is extremely small,

small enough to sift through
the electron defenses of the ordinary atom

- and fuse with its nuclei.
- Atoms of matter or antimatter.

Right, Doc! Now if this thing of mine works
and we can get close, real close,

and bombard that bird's antimatter
energy shield with a stream of mesic atoms,

I think we can destroy that shield.

The bird would be defenseless then
except for beak, claws and wings.

You could hit it with everything
but the kitchen sink.

We've got kitchen sinks to spare, son.
Do you think you can do it?

Well, I've kicked around some ideas.
I'm not sure they'll work,

- but it's certainly worth a try.
- Well, what do you need?

This lab, Dr. Noymann and his staff,
Sally here to help with the math,

and a blank check
for supplies and equipment.

It was yours before you finished
asking for it.

MacAfee, time is running out.
Today, tomorrow, a week from now maybe...

Besides I'd hate to lose that dime
I've got invested in you. Good luck, son.

- Well, anybody ready for some work?
- Work or maybe some magic.

- What we need is a miracle!
- Here it is. A miracle.

A dime's worth of miracle.

This weapon would have to create
mesic atoms,

not as rare and isolated
laboratory phenomena,

but in tremendous quantities,

eject them through
some aiming and propelling device

so they could travel indefinite distances
through the air

to arrive with sufficient speed
and in sufficient numbers

to bombard and destroy
an antimatter shield.

Truly a miracle of science.

Especially since the scientific
total life expectancy for a mesic atom,

up to now, measured in laboratories,
had been one two-millionth of a second.

Failure.

Failure...

...after failure...

...after failure.

And while a handful of dedicated people
struggled to achieve the impossible,

panic spread to all corners of the Earth.
Panic and nightmare terror.

Easy.

Mitch.

Easy, son, easy. You did your best.

We can't have you killing the patient
trying to cure the disease, now, can we?

A magnificent effort, Mitch, magnificent.

It's unfortunate it was doomed to failure
from the start.

Oh, great.

Now if somebody will just deliver
the eulogy,

the deceased can be safely laid away to rest.

What's the matter with you,
are you all nuts or something?

Mitch, are you all right?

Sally, how long has it been
since the explosion?

About an hour and a half,
two hours, I guess.

- Oh, we're wasting time.
- Easy, son, easy.

- Is that bird still in the air?
- Why, yes.

- You still want to shoot it down?
- Why, yes, yes, sure.

Well, then, for pete's sake, let's get with it.
General Buskirk has had a plane

waiting in that field outside of New York
ever since we started the experiments.

We've got to get the equipment installed
on that plane.

Mitch, the apparatus didn't work.
The experiments failed.

Mitch, please lie down in bed.
You were hurt in that explosion.

Of course, you don't know.
The explosion was no accident.

I did it on purpose.
I used the mesic atom projector.

What?

Well, sure. We had the basic wiring
all fouled up.

It was a simple matter of adjusting
the polarity

on the main condenser terminals.

I figured it out while you two were asleep,
set it up right and tried it.

- Now wait a minute, MacAfee.
- Mitch!

Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me
that that machine of yours works?

- Sure.
- What kind of plane has

- Buskirk got waiting for you?
- An old, stripped-down B-25.

Good. Maneuverability instead of speed.

Yeah, the whole operation may depend on
being able to turn on a dime.

Well, then what in blazes are we waiting for?

Well, that's what I've been talking
about for 10 minutes.

Get me my pants, will you, General?
Oh, Sally, get out of here.

We've installed the ejector nozzle
in the tail of the plane,

- pointing to the back.
- Rewiring the plane's generating system,

plus an added bank of batteries,
should give us more than enough power.

Now, weight's a problem. How many people
will you need to operate this machine?

The doctor, myself and a calculator.

Have you got someone coming up here
for Sally to brief in a hurry?

- I don't want her on that plane.
- He's coming in from the city now.

One question. Why do you aim that gimmick
from the tail and not from the nose?

Too dangerous in the nose. We might fly
into our own mesic bombardment

- and destroy the plane.
- Chances are, once we locate the bird

and we're up in the air,
the bird will chase us.

- And if it doesn't?
- We'll attract its attention somehow.

- Sandwiches and coffee.
- Thank you.

The bird's been sighted
heading for New York City.

- How long will it take you to finish?
- An hour and a half or two.

- Still got to connect the thing up.
- No, that's too long.

We've got to take off in 15 minutes.
You'll have to finish in the air.

What about the calculator to replace Sally?

Sorry, MacAfee,
we haven't got any time for that.

- General...
- Van, you'll fly, I'll back-stop you.

- Clear the field for a takeoff.
- Right.

Well, what are we waiting for?
Get the rest of your stuff on board.

There it is now,
attacking the United Nations building.

Make a pass at it.

The bird's after us, chasing us.
How are you doing?

- Ready in a minute.
- Well, fast, boy, fast.

For God's sake, hurry, man!
It's catching up with us fast.

Got it! Close those circuits.

It's all yours, General.

Steady.

Steady.

Fire rockets.

We got it.