The mystery of missing aircraft on earth that appeared suddenly in the space also raised public attention and discussion. Nevertheless, the American officials declined to comment. Scientist from Sweden, Dr. Weierhaimu Gelaideboshi remarked that the earth missing aircrafts that were seen in the Mars are closely linked to the missing aircrafts in the moon observed by the Soviet Union. The missing aircraft is perfectly matched with the missing of “the devil triangle.” This is an incredible mystery that scientists doubt about it. It is hard to understand why Bermuda disappeared mysteriously.

To understand how these five aircrafts disappeared from the earth, one must back to the history 50 years ago. That was on December 5, 1945, with the 19th 5 doors bomber aircraft of the World War II Navy Aviation Battalion, flying from Florida to the Atlantic Sea.

It was reported that the weather was good that day. There was no abnormal weather observed above the waves of the Atlantic Ocean that might impact the flight. However, when the aircraft entered a Bermuda, the multi-Lebanon Valley and a triangle zone of Miami or also known as “Devil Triangle”, where countless ships and aircrafts had been reported disappearing mysteriously, some unusual things took place. Before missing, the aircraft did not issue any rescue signals to headquarter and even after the missing, no rescue signals had been sent out. The disconnect communication with the base occurred at 1700. The Mariners-Martin (PBM), a rescue team that was sent to rescue the victims was not back thereafter. After the aircrafts missing for nearly 2 hours at the time of 1904, Finder Carbondale Air Force Base received an incredible weak voice from the distant and a series of repeated rescue radio signals-“FT…..FT….”As the rescue aircraft had run out of fuel and the position of the victims could not be identified properly, and thus they had to burry their missions to search for the loss of victims in the five aircrafts. The time passed very fast, and this incident had left us for over 50 years and people no longer want to deal with it. However, after 50 years, these missing aircrafts appeared in the distance planet that remains a mystery to the scientists until now.

An astronomer, Dr. Kefende Lutin claimed that he accidentally came across the scene of aircrafts flying about the Mars after 50 years ago from now. He observed 4 out of 5 World War II missing bomber aircrafts flying a few kilometers away from the surface of the Mars with his telescope. The flying speed of the aircrafts could reach as high as 40,000km. The aircrafts were seen in a good condition and it appeared to be controlled by somebody. It could be clearly seen a sign of the United States on the body of the aircraft. There is no doubt about it- the aircrafts seen flying about the Mars was in accordance with the missing aircrafts in the area of “the devil Triangle.”

The Dr. later excitedly commented on this matter, “This is a big discovery since the Soviet Union spotted the missing United State bomber aircrafts near the moon.”

Soviet Union captured satellite photography of the U.S. bomber aircrafts parked by the edge of the meteorites on the back of the moon on March 1987. When the Soviet Union desired to capture another picture on those missing U.S. aircrafts on July 22, 1988, the aircrafts was found disappeared mysteriously. They concluded that the aircrafts parking area is not static and somebody must have manipulated the aircraft.

Dr. Lutin emphasized that the event of the earth missing aircrafts appeared in the Mars as a fact as he had captured some computer graphic photographs to be evidence. He added that this event is an accidentally discovery and some of the scientist community may tease him for creating false illustration. The Dr. confidently stated that, “I would expect criticism and suspicious on my discovery, but it didn't even boggle me. I believe what I'd seen is not an illusion. Nevertheless, I'm regret to say that I don't know how the aircraft can disappear suddenly from our earth and then enter into the space, and what're the activities being held by these missing aircrafts over the Mars. “

The statement by the Dr. makes us wondering how the aircraft from the earth can enter into the Mars. Followed by the missing 5 bomber aircraft in Bermuda, one of the magazines in the United States published this incident with wide coverage and perspective. The editorial of the magazine received lots of letters from the readers, some of them pointed out that, “There's a "mystery gate" in the Bermuda Triangle Area.”

An American aerospace physicist, Dr. Laite seriously said, “Several hundred kilometers from here, there's always a UFO ship stopping to do surveillance over the sea. Whenever human successfully completed a flight in a space, or when these "aliens" need to access any information, they'll send a small flying spaceship to take samples from the earth. It's a sure bet that numerous mysterious disappearance of the aircrafts might be taken away by them. They took away human together with the aircrafts and thus did not leave any signs that scientists can trace for the missing.”

When mentioning about the discovery of the missing of the United States bomber aircrafts by the Soviet Union in 1987, a former Soviet aircraft pilot, Peter Glenn had remarked his personal experience in contact with a rare situation occurred during the winter time of 1948. He said, “At that moment, I was having a flying training practice over the Siberian coast. Suddenly, a bright flash, cylindrical flying object appeared in the right side of my plane. Its length was about 500m and its body was made of a dazzling metal substance. As the object was too dazzling, I couldn't see it directly, but I could feel a powerful suction coming towards my direction. I lost control of the aircraft, and I'd seen the object opened its two huge cabin doors. When my aircraft was being sucked by this object, I could see some moving shadows staring at me. Just at that moment, the shadows in the cabin changed their minds and released me from this capture. The suction power was reduced towards my aircraft, the cabin doors were closed immediately and in a high speed the object was soaring high in the sky and flew off. I was lucky to escape from this incident.”

The personal experience of Glenn coincides with the discovery of UFO over the Bermuda area that may have accounted for a mysterious disappearance of the aircrafts in the area of “devil Triangle.” It may have the possibility that the aircraft was being hijacked by some strange aliens from the outer space.

We concocted wild stories about trading blue jeans and other goods we had brought with us from West Germany for several famous magnificent Russian lacquer boxes. We invented tales about a party with Soviet Army Officers, buying them champagne and vodka in exchange for their unique military watches. I inserted all the numerous silver proof-ruble coins I had purchased with black-market rubles into display folders to appear more like a collection because no one was allowed to remove Soviet currency from the communist country. Leaving from Saint Petersburg, our tour bus approached the Finnish border at Vyborg, and this was when Rilda and I had begun to perspire and breathe a little heavier.

Our driver, Heinz, pulled the bus up in front of the customhouse, turned off the engine, exited the bus, and helped unload all the suitcases. I had one of the two small coolers we had with us, long since devoid of food and snacks brought in from the West Germany, now filled with exposed film, and used tape cassettes. Illegal imports filled our suitcases, leaving no room for the film and cassettes.

While waiting in a long line, Rilda swallowed dryly and then asked meekly, “What do you think, Jules?”

“Don't like the looks of it,” I said nervously. “Look over there.” I motioned to a table where a customs official was opening suitcases with reckless abandon, searching for anything of value they could confiscate. An Air Force Officer was reluctantly handing over his pocketful of rubles to a customs officer who smiled broadly as he shoved them into his own jacket.

I clutched our entry papers from the border at Uzhgorod where we had declared items of interest and hard currency cash money we were bringing into the country, along with our exit declaration, already moist with perspiration. All too soon it was our turn. With extreme apprehension I approached the table, stacked our suitcases on it and set the little cooler atop the luggage. My hand trembled a bit when I handed the papers to the customs official. Wearing a black jacket and gray slacks, she was pleasant-appearing at first, but as she perused the documents her expression became harsh. Callous faced, she glared at us with piercing eyes, called over two male comrades, and the three of them scrutinized the declarations for what seemed like an eternity.

Then she scowled at me and uttered a diatribe of Russian sentences, none of which I understood. I said pleadingly in English, “I do not understand.”

One of the male officials snatched the papers from the woman, and rattling them in front of my face asked gruffly in English, “Where's the rest of your film and tapes?”

I pointed to the papers the official was holding as I explained, “This's what we came with, and that's what we're leaving with.” I looked up and we locked eyes. Then I murmured, “The rest we used.”

The official's brow furrowed as he bellowed, “You used?” He grimaced and said belligerently, “To sell in Moscow, I suppose?”

My eyebrows flew up, beginning to understand the problem, and a feeling of exultation swept over me. I held up both hands toward the trio and said exuberantly, “I can explain! Let me make it clear.” I touched the cooler with my index finger and said pleasantly, “Please. Open it.”

The grim-faced official shrugged and sighed. But upon opening the cooler his eyes widened to the size of saucers as he stared at all the unaccounted for exposed film and cassettes. I had suddenly realized that I had completed our exit declaration incorrectly. The used ones were missing from the exit declaration statement, creating a tremendous deficit the officials assumed had been sold in the USSR, a strictly forbidden practice

Because Rhoda and I had consumed so much time in the extremely long line, the frustrated and impatient official slammed the cooler closed, carelessly marked our unopened suitcases with a white chalk X, and waving his hand dismissively, impolitely gestured for us to leave.

I extracted three packs of Marlboro cigarettes from my pocket and placed them in plain view on the table, handed the cooler to Rilda, snatched up the luggage, and turned toward the exit. I did not wait to see the Marlboros magically disappear.

Heinz had barely crossed the heavily guarded border into Finland when he pulled the bus onto the shoulder of the road. Our guide, Ingrid, produced two bottles of the finest black-market Russian champagne that black-market rubles can buy, and a sleeve of paper cups. With seventeen cups filled to the brim, Ingrid raised hers in the air. “Here's to our "Great Russian Adventure." Nostrovia!”

The group responded in unison with the Russian expression for cheers, “Nostrovia!” Heinz returned to the road to drive into Helsinki. Except for a little confiscation, and relinquishment of a few black-market rubles, the group came through customs nearly unscathed. Even with a fantastic amount of Soviet smuggled goods hidden in our suitcases, Rilda and I passed through without a single scratch.

The bus rolled into Helsinki, rapidly passing through on its way to the ferry to Sweden. Ingrid reassured the group it was good not to remain in Helsinki long, because Finland's prices were in outer orbit. Besides, the group was still languishing in the afterglow of their Soviet bargains obtained during the “Great Russian Adventure.”

Rilda and I had brought one of our daughters, Pat, along on three-week journey that began in Budapest and ended in Helsinki.

Skirting Czechoslovakia to the south, the bus entered Hungary and drove past Gyor and Tatabanya to Budapest, Paris of Eastern Europe. The city consisted of the community of Buda on the elevated western bank of the Danube, and Pest spreading out on the eastern bank.

Rilda exclaimed jubilantly, “What a magnificent sight.”

Pat replied just as excitedly, “Never seen anything like it.”

We stood in the shadow of the Citadella, a fortress built by the Hapsburgs atop Buda overlooking the Danube River, able to see all of Pest.

“How about that Chain Bridge?” I asked. “One of the longest suspension bridges in Europe.”

“Don't forget about the fireworks planned for tonight,” Pat said. Then she said glibly, “And I think you're great, Dad, to arrange for us to be here on Hungary's Independence Day.”

I smiled smugly. “Think nothing of it, Pat. Anything for you.”

At Gundel's, waitresses in colorful gypsy dress served a typical Hungarian dinner, accompanied by lively Hungarian music supplied by strolling violinists. We stuffed ourselves with all the traditional paprika-laden dishes.

But the restaurant was on the eastern edge of Pest and we were late for the fireworks. I hailed a taxicab, explaining our problem to a young Hungarian, who replied, “Nooo problem,” in a Hungarian accent. With sreeching tires, the young Hungarian spurted to the west toward the Danube River and the Chain Bridge. I sat stiffly in the front passenger seat, squinting my eyes throughout the entire trip. Rilda and Pat huddled together in the rear seat and kept their eyes tightly closed. The young man drove 80 miles an hour through the streets of Pest, bumping up on sidewalks when at a stop light, and skirting cars with the horn blaring continuously. When I suggested we were not in that much of a hurry, the young man replied, “Nooo problem.”

With squealing brakes, the cab jolted to a stop at the edge of a crowd huddled before the Chain Bridge. I handed the driver a handful of Hungarian Forints and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. The man ignored the money and stared lovingly at the American cigarettes. He must have said, “Thank you,” at least ten times.

The magnificent display of fireworks over Buda, as seen from the Chain Bridge, was indescribably fantastic. The dazzling explosions of color against the night sky over the Danube River reminded me of those over the Charles River in Boston on July 4th when Arthur Fiedler once conducted the Boston Pops Orchestra in the 1812 Overture.

The nice young Hungarian man patiently awaited them for the return trip. I explained to him, “Please. Do not drive so fast. We're in no hurry. You understand?”

He replied with, “Nooo problem.”

The return was smoother and slower, so when they arrived at the Hotel Mercure Korona, we waved to the driver and in unison said, “Goodnight.”

He waved his second pack of Marlboro cigarettes high in the air as he drove away and again shouted, “Thanks.”

The next morning our tour bus crossed the Great Alford and the Carpathian Mountains on its way to Uzhgorod on the Ukrainian border. I thought we would spend all three weeks in Uzhgorod where it took hours for Soviet border guards to search the bus and its passengers, count money, and inventory jewelry, film, tapes and videocassettes.

We purchased a few Soviet rubles at the state bank $1.50 per ruble. We had agonized for weeks prior to the trip about buying black market Soviet rubles. I finally said, “Too risky. Can't take the chance of being caught. We'll have to make do with the inflated exchange rate.”

Finally, we made it into the USSR,the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the Soviet Union on our way across the Ukraine Mountains to Lvov. I was always perplexed when watching an international sports event, that a Soviet uniform was emblazoned with CCCP. I would ask myself, What the hell does it stand for? Why not USSR? During this trip to the USSR, I learned that in the Cyrillic alphabet, S=C and R=P. In Russian, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics translated to Soyuz Sovetskykh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublic SSSR. I nodded and sighed, SSSR equates to CCCP.

The following morning, Rilda asked guardedly, “Going to do it, Sweetheart?”

I shrugged and said dismissively, “Imagine the headline, "American Army Colonel arrested by the KGB in Lvov for purchasing black market rubles." I don't think so.”

“Gee, Dad,” Pat persisted, “our guide, Ingrid, says everyone does. If you won't, give me your money and I'll do it.”

Rilda, Pat and I descended the stairs and while I was still agonizing over making such a purchase, an extremely obese man with a cherub-like face and pink cheeks approached me in the lobby of the hotel. With an Eastern European accent, he whispered with a raspy voice in English. “Mister. Want to purchase rubles?”

Rilda and Pat were smiling angelically, so I shrugged, glanced at the ceiling for a moment as if in prayer, and then acquiesced by nodding to the fat man. The extremely well fed man crooked a finger at me to follow him to his tiny car, a Traubie. This hulk of a man was a Pole who smuggled rubles and western currency across the Polish border. Western currency bought Polish zloty in Poland¾90,000 zlotys to the U.S. dollar.

The giant flicked open the passenger door and motioned me into the wee car. Then he plodded carefully around the rear of the car, glancing about stealthily. I watched him suck in his huge gut and hold his breath while he wedged himself into the driver's seat.

When the Pole stretched across me to the glove compartment, I felt a wave of terror well up from my belly and beads of perspiration erupt on my forehead. Thoughts ran through my mind at a mile a minute. Does he pull out a gun to rob me, and then drive off? Or does he show me his KGB identification and drive me to the nearest police station? Next stop, a gulag in Siberia.

The glove compartment door sprung open with a click that sounded to me like a pistol shot. I recoiled, and then stared into a cubbyhole stuffed with paper rubles, crammed into every nook and corner, with no room left for even a single kopeck coin.

“How many?” The rather large man asked gruffly as he gestured with an open hand to the cubicle.

I hesitated while my heart rate returned to normal, and answered hesitantly, “Uh. Don't know.” The human version of King Kong grimaced, so I quickly said meekly, “How about ... uh ... twenty dollars?”

The Pole frowned deeply and said, “Well, my friend. A twenty-dollar bill gets you ten rubles to the dollar.” He reached into the glove compartment and grabbed a fistful of rubles.

I quickly calculated that from $1.50 per ruble at the official government rate to ten rubles for a dollar, I would have a fifteen-fold increase in purchasing power while in the USSR. I paused while thinking, Suppose they're counterfeit? Headlines. American Colonel arrested for passing counterfeit rubles.

The Pole said authoritatively, “Don't worry. They're real.” Then he smiled contemptuously at me as he waved the fistful of rubles in front of my face. “An American one hundred dollar bill will get you fifteen rubles for a dollar.”

Upon hearing that offer, I didn't need a calculator and did not hesitate to extract a $100 bill from the wad of bills in my pocket.

The Polish Godzilla licked his thumb and index finger and carefully counted out 1,500 rubles, not creating a gap in the fistful he had removed from the compartment that had not made an indentation in his monumental supply.

The Pole and I shook hands, both of us smiling broadly, nodded to each other and I stuffed his fistful of rubles into my pocket before scooting from the car. I swaggered back to the hotel where Rilda and Pat eagerly waited in the front door. When they saw my huge grin, their faces also illuminated. I looked up the staircase at them and announced proudly, “We've got enough rubles for a while.”

“Let's see,” Pat said, bouncing with excitement.

“Not here,” I said warily. I looked around furtively, and when I saw no one possibly resembling the KGB, I let out a long sigh of relief.