Corso's Day After Roswell, what the memoir claims and where each claim sits

THE BOOK

The Day After Roswell, by Col. Philip J. Corso (Ret.) with William J. Birnes, Pocket Books, New York, 1997; reissued by Gallery Books in 2017. An introduction, seventeen chapters, an afterword with a postscript, and three appendices: the summary volume of the Army’s 1959 Project Horizon lunar outpost study, General Nathan Twining’s memorandum of 23 September 1947 on “flying discs,” and Air Force Regulation 200-2 of 1954 on UFO reporting. Quotations and page references below follow the 2017 edition.

What the book is

The Day After Roswell is a memoir, published in the last full year of its author’s life, that makes one large claim assembled from four smaller ones. First, that something non-human crashed in the New Mexico desert in the first week of July 1947 and that the Army recovered wreckage and bodies. Second, that Corso personally saw one of the bodies two nights later, in a crate at Fort Riley, Kansas. Third, that in 1961, as a lieutenant colonel newly arrived at the Foreign Technology desk of Army Research and Development, he inherited a locked file cabinet holding artifacts from the crash. And fourth, that he and his commanding officer, Lt. Gen. Arthur Trudeau, then deliberately fed those artifacts into American industry: “Today, items such as lasers, integrated circuitry, fiber-optics networks, accelerated particle-beam devices, and even the Kevlar material in bulletproof vests are all commonplace. Yet the seeds for the development of all of them were found in the crash of the alien craft at Roswell and turned up in my files fourteen years later” (p. 4).

Around that spine runs a second argument. Corso holds that the Cold War was real but doubled as budgetary cover for building a planetary defence: “In short, the Cold War, while real enough and dangerous enough, was also a cover for us to develop a planetary tracking and defense system that looked into space as well as into the Soviets’ backyard” (p. 132). On this reading the arms race, the U-2 and Corona programmes, the space race and finally the Strategic Defense Initiative all carried a second agenda, and the absence of open conflict is the proof that the second war was won: “We both knew who the real targets of the SDI were, and it wasn’t a bunch of ICBM warheads” (p. 292).

The book is testimony. It contains no documents its author obtained and published for the first time, no photographs of the artifacts, and no interviews he conducted; its three appendices reproduce documents already in the public record. What it offers is the word of a named officer with a documented career, which is the route the site files as a first-hand account, evidence tier 1. The tier rates the route, not the claims. The career is real, the appendices are real, and the load-bearing claims rest on memory alone; the sections below keep those layers apart.

Who wrote it

Philip J. Corso was born in 1915 and served in the Army from 1942 to 1963. The outline of the career is documented and not in dispute: intelligence officer in Rome during and after the Second World War, staff service under MacArthur during the Korean War, a period on the National Security Council staff during the Eisenhower administration by his account, command of an antiaircraft guided-missile battalion, formed by his account at Red Canyon, New Mexico, and led in West Germany, and from mid-1961 a posting to Army Research and Development in the Pentagon under Lt. Gen. Arthur Trudeau: staff officer at the Foreign Technology desk until July 1962, its chief for the final three months of that assignment, then the Plans Division of the same office until he retired, a lieutenant colonel, in March 1963. After retiring he joined Senator Strom Thurmond’s staff as a military affairs consultant, and, by his own account, in 1964 worked as an investigator for Senator Richard Russell during the Warren Commission. He died in July 1998, a year after the book appeared.

William J. Birnes, the co-writer, is an author and publisher who later edited UFO Magazine. The book is written in Corso’s first person throughout.

The book was published in July 1997, on the fiftieth anniversary of the Roswell events, spent four weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, not consecutively, and peaked at number twelve. Its publication carried one complication that arrived before the book did: the jacket and copyright page credited a foreword by Senator Strom Thurmond, Corso’s former employer, and in early June 1997, a month ahead of publication, Thurmond publicly repudiated it, saying he had written it for what he understood to be a straightforward military autobiography, that he knew of no cover-up of the kind the book describes, and that he did not believe one existed; his office withdrew permission to use the foreword in subsequent printings. The 2017 reissue still carries the line “Foreword copyright 1997 Senator Strom Thurmond” on its copyright page and prints no foreword.

How the book is built

The seventeen chapters fall into three registers. Chapters 1 to 3 are narrative: the crash and retrieval outside Roswell, told in scene with named witnesses; the night of 6 July 1947 at Fort Riley; and the inventory of the file cabinet in 1961. Corso labels the first of these plainly: “These are the stories as I heard them, as people later told them to me. I wasn’t there at Roswell that night. I didn’t see these events for myself” (p. 25). Chapters 4 to 9 shift into institutional history: Twining’s memo, the working group Corso says President Truman convened in September 1947, the strategy of managed ridicule, and the rereading of the Cold War. The reconstructed White House meetings of chapter 5 are credited to a KGB source, and Corso states in the same chapter that he was at Fort Riley when they took place.

Chapters 10 to 16 are the harvest, roughly one technology per chapter: night vision, Project Corona, Project Horizon, the integrated circuit, the laser, the antimissile missile, fibre optics and supertenacity fibres, and the particle beam by way of Nikola Tesla’s seized papers. Each follows the same three-beat structure: here is the artifact, here is the scientist or contractor it went to, here is the product. Chapter 17 and the afterword close the loop: the seeded technologies become the Strategic Defense Initiative, and the afterword defends the possibility of long secrecy by the example of Operation Shamrock, the real cable-interception programme that ran from the 1940s until 1975.

Two features of the method are worth naming because they recur. The first is that the mechanism Corso describes is designed to leave no trace, and he says so with approval: “Farm it out to wherever you want it developed. Offer your defense contractor the right to patent it. Never tell them where you got it or what its origin might be” (p. 145), and, of the contractors, “As far as the world will know the history of the patent is the history of the invention” (p. 97). The second is a pattern of concession: the book states a technology’s documented human prehistory, concedes that it predates 1947, and argues that the crash supplied a decisive step anyway. It does this with the transistor, conceding that William Shockley was already working on a version of it as early as 1946, and with the microwave oven, dating the theory to 1945 and the first commercial Raytheon units to 1947, before, in its own words, any dissemination of material from the crash. Readers will differ on whether the concessions are scruple or inoculation; the note records that they are there.

The chain of the argument

The crash. On the night of 4 July 1947, by the account Corso relays, and the book itself flags the date as unstable, giving 4 July “though the dates may differ depending on who is telling the story” and noting in the introduction that reports place the crash on 2 or 3 July as against the 4th, radar at the 509th’s field, White Sands and Alamogordo tracked an object that flared and vanished; a retrieval team found a delta-shaped craft nosed into an arroyo some thirty-seven miles northwest of Roswell, with small bodies around it, one of them shot by a sentry; the debris was crated to Fort Bliss, the flying saucer press release was retracted on Gen. Roger Ramey’s orders with Maj. Jesse Marcel posing beside balloon debris, and the material moved on to Wright Field in Ohio, with one convoy resting overnight at Fort Riley, Kansas.

The crate. Corso, then a major a few months back from Italy, was post duty officer at Fort Riley on the night of Sunday 6 July 1947. A sergeant he knew from the base bowling team called him into an off-limits veterinary building where the convoy’s cargo was stacked, and in an already-opened crate he found “a thick glass container” in which a four-foot figure with a bulb-shaped head and six-fingered hands floated in “a thick light blue liquid, almost as heavy as a gelling solution of diesel fuel” (p. 34), together with “an intriguing Army Intelligence document describing the creature as an inhabitant of a craft that had crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico, earlier that week” and a routing manifest to Wright Field and the Walter Reed morgue (p. 35). This is the book’s one first-person Roswell claim, and everything downstream depends on it.

The cabinet. In 1961 Trudeau, by Corso’s account, handed him a four-drawer cabinet and told him to research “the Roswell file” before writing summaries. The inventory, laid out in chapter 3: clear flexible filaments that carried and split light; matte gray wafers “the size of a twenty-five-cent piece” with etched circuitry; two-piece elliptical eyepieces as thin as skin, through which Walter Reed pathologists watched sentries glow in a dark corridor; a foil-like cloth that “you could not fold, bend, tear, or wad up but that bounded right back into its original shape without any creases” (p. 49); “a short, stubby, internally powered flashlight device that threw a pencil-thin, intense beam of light for a short distance that could actually cut through metal” (p. 195); and a sensor headband no one could power. On the craft itself: “No controls, no protection, no power supply, no fuel: these were the riddles I listed” (p. 118).

The seeding. The method, worked out with Trudeau in chapter 6, was to write each artifact up as ordinary “foreign technology,” feed it into an existing defence contract through a trusted scientist or laboratory, and let the contractor patent the result. “Just don’t call it extraterrestrial; call it ‘foreign technology’ and throw it into the hopper with the rest of the mundane stuff the foreign technology officers were supposed to do” (p. 69). The claimed placements: the night viewer to Fort Belvoir’s existing programme and onward to industry; the silicon wafers, via Hermann Oberth and Wernher von Braun’s account of 1947 briefings, to Bell Labs and the lineage that became the integrated circuit; the cutting device into the laser programmes, with Hughes Aircraft briefed at Fort Belvoir in late 1961; the filaments toward Bell’s optical fibre work; the cloth toward the research that yielded Kevlar; the headband toward brain-wave guidance; Tesla’s seized papers plus the craft’s vulnerability to lightning toward the particle beam.

The war. The frame around all of it is a two-front Cold War: “a war against the Communists… and, as unbelievable as it sounds, a war against extraterrestrials, who posed an even greater threat than the Communist forces” (p. 5). Overkill arsenals, the U-2, Corona, Project Horizon’s fortified moon base and finally the Strategic Defense Initiative are all given a second, unstated target, and the strategy of secrecy is put in Twining’s mouth: “a case where the cover-up is the disclosure and the disclosure is the cover-up. Deny everything, but let the public sentiment take its course. Let skepticism do our work for us until the truth becomes common acceptance” (pp. 81 to 82).

The parts a reader can check

The book’s three appendices are real documents, and several of its exhibits sit in the public record.

Project Horizon is real. The Army did produce Project Horizon, Volume I: Summary and Supporting Considerations, dated 9 June 1959, a study for a manned military outpost on the moon prepared under the Army Ballistic Missile Agency, with Trudeau’s covering letter as Chief of Research and Development. It was declassified decades ago and Appendix A reproduces it at length: a twelve-man outpost, first manned landing April 1965, about six billion dollars over eight and a half years. A reader can check the book’s use of it against its text in the same volume: the study argues throughout from Soviet competition, and contains no extraterrestrials.

The Twining memo is real. The Air Materiel Command letter of 23 September 1947 to Brig. Gen. George Schulgen, reproduced in Appendix B, is a genuine document in the public record, and it is striking: the phenomenon “is something real and not visionary or fictitious,” with a recommendation for a priority, a security classification and a code name. The same memo records “the lack of physical evidence in the shape of crash recovered exhibits which would undeniably prove the existence of these objects.” The book quotes the memo at length and reads that line as deliberate cover, a story written to take Twining out of the loop of firsthand reporting; the reader has both the line and the reading in the same volume.

The working-group roster can be set beside a famous list. Chapter 4 names the twelve men Corso says Truman convened in late September 1947, Hillenkoetter, Bush, Forrestal, Vandenberg, Bronk, Hunsaker, Souers, Gray, Menzel, Montague, Berkner and Twining, and adds that this group “became the nucleus for an ongoing fifty-year operation that some people have called ‘Majestic-12’” (pp. 63 to 64). Those twelve names match, one for one, the roster in the disputed Majestic-12 briefing papers that surfaced in UFO circles in 1984, thirteen years before the book. The book cites no source for the list and does not mention the papers beyond that clause; a reader can put the two rosters side by side and consider what the match means, an independent confirmation or a borrowing, since the names carry the memoir’s central institution either way.

Appendix C is a real regulation under a misleading heading. It is titled “General Twining’s Report” but reproduces Air Force Regulation 200-2 of August 1954, on UFO reporting channels and the release of information, itself a real and frequently cited document.

The report behind the hiding place is on this site. The December 1948 Air Force Intelligence study the book cites as the moment UFOs were filed under “foreign technology,” Analysis of Flying Object Incidents in the U.S., Air Intelligence Study No. 203, is published in full as PURSUE Release 04 records DOW-UAP-D093 and D094, with a briefing at Some object has been seen. It is the one load-bearing document in the book’s paper trail that a reader can open without leaving this site.

Operation Shamrock is real. The cable-interception programme the afterword leans on was exposed by the Church Committee in 1975 after roughly three decades of operation. The afterword’s use of it is the book’s most careful argumentative move, and states its own limit: “Does Shamrock mean that UFOs exist? Of course not. But it does reveal the capability of the U.S. government to keep an ongoing operation secret from even the president of the United States” (p. 299).

The programme history is broadly accurate. Projects Sign, Grudge and Blue Book existed under those names; Blue Book ran from 1952 and was terminated on 17 December 1969 after the Condon Report; the Robertson Panel met in January 1953; Projects Moon Dust and Blue Fly existed as retrieval and transport channels for objects of foreign origin. The book’s dates for these are, in the main, the standard ones.

The career is real, and the service record has been public since weeks after publication. Corso’s Army record, released under the Freedom of Information Act in August 1997, confirms Italy, Korea, the air-defence battalion command in Europe and the Pentagon posting, and it also puts dates against the book’s opening line. The introduction begins with “two incredible years” spent “heading up the Foreign Technology desk” (p. 1); the record shows one year as a staff officer in the division and three months, April to July 1962, as its chief. The Thurmond employment is documented; the Warren Commission work rests on Corso’s own account; and Red Canyon appears in the book but not by name in the released record. What the reader cannot check is what he did inside those postings, which is where the book’s claims live.

The Thurmond episode is checkable publishing history. The senator’s statement disowning the foreword was reported a month before the book appeared, and the 2017 edition’s copyright page can be compared with its contents by anyone holding the book.

Where the book’s own evidence sits

The book presents its material at a fairly uniform level of confidence. Sorted instead by how far each layer can be checked from outside:

The reproduced documents, strongest and narrowest. Horizon and the Twining memo are the best paper in the book, and both cut in more than one direction. Horizon shows the Army really did plan a fortified moon base on the schedule and budget the book describes; its text argues entirely from Soviet capability, so the extraterrestrial motive arrives from outside the document. The Twining memo shows a senior officer in September 1947 treating the discs as real and worth a code name; the same page records the absence of crash-recovered physical evidence ten weeks after the Roswell retrieval the book describes. The book reads that as camouflage written by a man hiding his own inventory. The document itself supports either reading and settles neither.

The institutional texture. The book’s descriptions of how the Pentagon worked, how budgets moved, how compartmentation functioned, how a desk officer could feed a project into an existing contract and vanish from its history, are detailed and internally consistent, and they are the material Corso was in a documented position to know. This is the layer of the book that reads least like invention, and it is also the layer that carries no extraterrestrial content of its own.

The Fort Riley night. The hinge claim has, by its nature, no corroboration: one witness besides Corso is named, M.Sgt. Bill Brown, who was dead by publication; there is no document, no photograph, and no second account. The narrative is vivid and specific. Specificity is a property shared by accurate memories and constructed ones, and nothing outside the book distinguishes them here.

The seeding mechanism. As described, the operation’s purpose was to erase its own trail: no memos, no receipts, contractors never told the origin, patents filed in their own names, and Corso’s stated rule that his reports were written for Trudeau alone. The book offers the resulting absence of records as consistent with the account, and adds that the only visible distortion would be “what might seem like a sudden acceleration in the development program itself shortly after 1961” (p. 147). A claim built this way cannot be confirmed or refuted from the record it describes; readers will differ on whether that is tradecraft or convenience, and the note records the structure.

The technology transfer claims against the dated record. Each of the headline technologies has a documented development history, and the dates are checkable. The point-contact transistor first worked at Bell Labs under John Bardeen and Walter Brattain on 16 December 1947 and was shown to the laboratory’s management on 23 December, and Shockley had organised the Bell solid-state physics group in early 1945 with the stated goal of replacing the vacuum tube; the book’s own text concedes the 1946 work and argues that the wafers accelerated what followed. The book’s transistor is also the wrong material: chapter 12 describes the first junction transistor of 1948 as “a microscopically thin silicon sandwich,” and the postscript relays the American Computer Company’s account of the transistor that “magically seemed to appear at Bell Labs” after September 1947 as “composed of silicon doped with trace amounts of arsenic” (p. 302); the 1947 point-contact device and the first junction transistors were germanium, and the silicon transistor arrived in 1954. The integrated circuit is credited to Jack Kilby at Texas Instruments in 1958 and Robert Noyce at Fairchild in 1959. Active infrared night vision was fielded in combat in 1945, by the United States at Okinawa from April and by Germany in small numbers in the war’s final months, a prehistory the book itself uses as its cover story. Theodore Maiman demonstrated the first working laser in 1960 at Hughes Research Laboratories in Malibu, within a theoretical lineage running from Einstein’s 1917 paper through Townes and Schawlow; the book places Maiman’s laser at Columbia University. Kevlar came out of Stephanie Kwolek’s 1965 discovery of liquid crystalline polymer solutions at DuPont and reached the market under that name in 1971. Low-loss optical fibre followed Charles Kao’s 1966 analysis and Corning’s 1970 fibre at about 17 decibels per kilometre; Kohler’s thirty-year timetable, as the book reports it in early 1962, points not at Corning but at the early 1990s, which is roughly when fibre did come to carry most long-distance telephone traffic. None of these histories contains a visible discontinuity that requires an outside input, which is also what the book’s own mechanism predicts the record would look like; the reader is left to weigh which way that cuts.

The details challenged by named critics. Philip J. Klass, reviewing the book in January 1998, catalogued errors including the location of 8th Air Force headquarters, which in July 1947 was at Fort Worth Army Air Field rather than the Fort Bliss of the book’s account, and the date of Walter Haut’s press release. On the Hawk missile the wrong answer sits beside the right one in a single breath: “The Nike was a radar-guided missile. And the Hawk was a heat-seeking missile that could be locked onto its target by tracking radar and then, when launched, would home in on the target’s heat exhaust” (p. 216); the MIM-23 Hawk homed on reflected radar, not heat, and Corso had commanded a Nike battalion. The book also calls the Apple II’s 6502 processor a Motorola part; it was designed and made by MOS Technology. Kevin D. Randle has written that he could find no documentary support for Corso’s National Security Council staff position, and has argued that the Langley confrontation with CIA officer Frank Wisner, whose name the book spells Wiesner, could not have happened as dated: the first employees did not move into the Langley headquarters until September 1961, with the covert-operations wing following in 1962, and Wisner had left the covert-operations directorship after a breakdown in 1958 and was station chief in London. The book goes on to have Wisner hang himself in a London hotel room; he died in October 1965, by shotgun, at his farm in Maryland. Karl T. Pflock argued that Corona’s first launches predated Corso’s Pentagon posting by two years, which bears on the book’s account of shaping that programme. Randle and Pflock wrote as researchers inside the long internal argument over Roswell, which a reader may weigh; the datable items, the laser’s birthplace and the 6502 among them, can be checked against standard references directly.

The astronaut and sighting anecdotes. The claims about Gordon Cooper’s films, Joe Walker’s X-15 flights, an alien base seen from Apollo 11 and a 1974 shootdown over Ramstein are offered at second and third hand, without citations, and the book presents them as pattern rather than proof.

The reception of the author. Beyond the Thurmond repudiation, a UK Ministry of Defence minute of 9 June 1997, written in response to a Sunday Times article about Corso and released with the National Archives UFO files in 2011, described him as having “a previous track record of unreliable testimony,” citing his earlier claims about American prisoners never repatriated from Korea. That is an assessment, not a finding, and it is part of the documented record around the book.

Twenty-nine years on

The book’s afterlife has outrun its reviews. Before 1997 the Roswell argument was mostly forensic, a dispute over what fell in the desert during one week of July 1947. Corso moved the question to the fifty years afterwards, to laboratories, contracts and patents, and that frame has dominated the subject since. When later whistleblowers and authors described alleged crash-retrieval and reverse-engineering programmes, most prominently in David Grusch’s testimony to Congress in July 2023, the claims arrived in a genre whose shape this book established: recovered material, compartmented custody, private contractors, and a paper trail said to be deliberately absent.

The individual placements have not fared as well as the frame. The dated histories of the transistor, the laser, night vision, Kevlar and fibre optics stand where they stood, in published records that predate or run independently of the book’s timeline, and no patent, contract or archive has surfaced in twenty-nine years that shows the on-ramp the book describes. By the book’s own mechanism, none would. That symmetry, a story built so that the same evidence state follows whether it is true or false, is the book’s most distinctive property, and it is visible on the page rather than something critics imposed on it.

What has aged best is the material closest to Corso’s documented competence. The account of how a small office inside a large institution could move resources through existing contracts with almost no paper trail, and of a compartmented secret outliving everyone authorised to manage it, “There’s nobody home, Phil” (p. 91), is the book’s most careful writing, and it needs no crashed disc to be worth reading. The Horizon appendix remains one of the more convenient places to read a genuinely remarkable document of pre-NASA military space planning. And the afterword’s Shamrock argument, that decades-long secrecy is institutionally possible, is put with a discipline the rest of the book does not attempt.

The book after the book

The Day After Roswell effectively founded the reverse-engineering genre, and its descendants run through material this site already covers. Ross Coulthart’s In Plain Sight carries the retrieval-and-reverse-engineering claim into the 2017 to 2021 news cycle. Paul LaViolette’s Secrets of Antigravity Propulsion makes the adjacent claim that electrogravitics went into classified aviation, with the B-2 as its exhibit. The vocabulary the book fixed, seeded artifacts, contractor custody, the patent as cover, is now the default grammar of the subject.

The site’s instruments touch the book’s ground at several points. The Project Mogul bench flies the balloon trains of the rival reading of the same July 1947 debris field and prices their drift against the Foster ranch site. The Kenneth Arnold bench reduces the sighting that named the flying saucer, two weeks before the Roswell press release, to one line of arithmetic. The Washington 1952 bench rebuilds the radar flap the book counts as real overflights, with the inversion reading on the same screen. The Stealth bench prices stealth as radar-cross-section engineering, the claim the book routes through the craft’s composite skin. The Electrogravitics bench runs the Biefeld and Townsend Brown experiments the book names among its precedents, and the Avrocar bench flies the one saucer-shaped craft the record shows the military actually built. The Special Report No. 14 bench reworks the Blue Book statistics from the same programme history the book retells.

Read the book. Decide for yourself.

The wiki entries below were published as a batch with this note: the Roswell strand, the programmes, the documents and the reverse-engineering frame, followed by the standing entries they connect to.

Source notes: In Plain Sight, Secrets of Antigravity Propulsion
Instruments: Project Mogul, Kenneth Arnold 1947, Washington 1952, Stealth Bench, Electrogravitics, Avrocar, Special Report No. 14

References and further reading

The Day After Roswell, Col. Philip J. Corso (Ret.) with William J. Birnes, Pocket Books, 1997; Gallery Books reissue, 2017
Project Horizon, Volume I: Summary and Supporting Considerations, United States Army, 9 June 1959, declassified; reproduced as the book’s Appendix A
Lt. Gen. Nathan F. Twining, memorandum “AMC Opinion Concerning ‘Flying Discs,’” to Brig. Gen. George Schulgen, 23 September 1947; reproduced as the book’s Appendix B
Air Force Regulation 200-2, “Unidentified Flying Objects Reporting,” August 1954; reproduced as the book’s Appendix C
United States Senate, Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities (Church Committee), final report, 1976, for Operation Shamrock
Philip J. Klass, Skeptics UFO Newsletter 49, January 1998, the critique that catalogued the book’s factual errors; number 47, September 1997, carries Senator Thurmond’s press release
Philip J. Corso’s Army service record (DA Form 66), released under the Freedom of Information Act in August 1997; transcribed and annotated by Jan Aldrich of Project 1947
UK Ministry of Defence, loose minute HB(A)/6/3 of 9 June 1997 on a Sunday Times article about Corso, in file DEFE 24/1986, UK National Archives, released 2011
Karl T. Pflock, Roswell: Inconvenient Facts and the Will to Believe, Prometheus Books, 2001, for the Corona chronology and the wider Roswell record
Computer History Museum, “The Silicon Engine” timeline, for the dated history of the transistor and the integrated circuit
HRL Laboratories and the IEEE Milestone record of Theodore Maiman’s first laser, Malibu, May 1960
Stephanie Kwolek’s DuPont work on liquid crystalline polymer solutions, 1965, per the Science History Institute and the National Inventors Hall of Fame
Charles K. Kao and George A. Hockham, “Dielectric-fibre surface waveguides for optical frequencies,” Proceedings of the IEE, 1966, for the fibre-optics chronology
Senator Strom Thurmond’s statement of early June 1997 repudiating his foreword, a month before publication, as reported by Government Executive and the New York Times

Philip CorsoRoswellReverse EngineeringForeign TechnologyArthur TrudeauNathan TwiningProject HorizonMajestic-12Cold WarStrategic Defense InitiativePentagonBook

What the book is§

Who wrote it§

How the book is built§

The chain of the argument§

The parts a reader can check§

Where the book’s own evidence sits§

Twenty-nine years on§

The book after the book§

Related wiki entries§

Related on this site§

References and further reading§