by Adam Benson
"Jesus Christ!" George said. The nerves were starting to show up in his expressions now. He had no reason to doubt anything that Mack was telling him, and Mack was telling him something that he simply couldn't believe. Yet here he was holding a piece of it in his hands, and there was no denying that it was unlike anything else he'd ever seen.
"Thing of it is, the other... little... space-man..." Mack started, then he trailed off staring down at the floor with a wrinkled brow.
"What about him?" George prompted.
Mack snapped out of it. "Well, he's all laid out... like somebody put him there on purpose. Not like the other'n."
"What do you mean?" George asked solemnly. "You think there's more of them? You think we got little Martians runnin' around somewhere out in the desert?"
"I ain't got the foggiest, George. All I know is that one of them is all laid out straight and purposeful like, and the other'ns kinda skewered on a piece of metal, or whatever it is." Mack said with some frustration in his voice.
George tossed the metal onto his wooden desk and rubbed his brow. When it hit the desk, it sounded like crystal glass being tapped repeatedly with a fork. "Jesus Christ." George said to himself. He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and put it to his lips. He handed the pack to Mack and bumped out a spare cigarette. Mack took it and George lit it up for him, before lighting his own. They both took long hard drags on their cigarettes and stared at each other for a few moments.
George sighed deeply. "Well, I recon I'd better call up the R Double A, F and tell them about it. They're probably gonna wanna have you go up there with 'em and show 'em where it's at." He told Mack. He slid open a desk drawer and pulled out a small directory. He flipped to a page that had the Roswell Army Air Field contact information and found the number. "Who knows. Army may wanna...."
RING! RING!!!
Both men jumped in their seats as the phone rang unexpectedly. Mack was getting nervous again. Whatever relief he had found in Sheriff Wilcox office and the cigarette, was gone suddenly at the sound of the ring. George picked up the receiver quickly. "Sherriff's Office, Sheriff Wilcox Speaking."
Mack could hear the voice on the other end of the line but couldn't make it out. "Hello Frank!" George said to the man on the phone. "Well, actually I might. Hang on a sec." He covered the receiver with his hand and leaned over to Mack. "Hey Mack. I got Frank Joyce on the line. He's a reporter down at KGFL radio. Calls in from time to time t' see if there's anythin' newsworthy going on in town. You wanna talk to him?"
Mack looked startled. No, he didn't want to talk to him. This whole thing set his nerves on end, the last thing he wanted to do was talk to some news man. He shook his head no and took a long drag on the cigarette.
"You sure? Think about it Mack. If you really did find one of them flyin' saucers on your land, then this is major news! The whole world is gonna wanna know 'bout it! Might as well have it from the horse's mouth."
Mack looked terribly unsure. He gave George a declining hand gesture and kept quiet.
"Mack, if you was really lookin' for some reward money for findin' this thing, this'll be how you get it. Military might not wanna pay you for any of this stuff."
Mack looked deep in thought. The idea of the $3,000 reward was very tempting. He wanted a new truck, and he sure wouldn't mind having the extra money. And perhaps the story was even worth more than that. Greed stepped up to the plate and gave George a nod. George smiled and went back to his phone call.
"So, Frank. I've got a friend of mine here at the office right now. Rancher up near Corona. Says he's found one of them flyin' saucers crashed up on his land." There was a pause as the unintelligible voice on the other end chattered something back at him. "Uh-huh."
The voice on the other end kept speaking.
"Well, yeah. Of course." George seemed to agree with him. "Thing of it is, Frank, he's actually brought in some proof. Picked up a little bit of the debris from out that way and brung it in here t' show me."
More chatter on the other end. "Yup, I'm serious," the voice went on. "Well, it ain't like anything that I've ever seen, and Frank... I have never seen anything like this thing."
Another pause as the voice continued.
"No, I think he's really found something."
Another brief pause. The wait was giving Mack more trepidation about getting on the phone.
"Yes, I think you're right. This could be big news. Well, look. The man's name is Mack Brazel. Yup, let me put him on for ya'."
George pulled the receiver from his own ear and handed it over to Mack. Mack looked at him hard and then reluctantly took the receiver from George. "This's Mack Brazel."
"Hello Mr. Brazel. Frank Joyce, KGFL in Roswell. How you doing today?" Came the voice from the other end.
"Well, 'spose I've been better." Mack replied. The phone shaking in his hand.
"Well, Goerge tells me that you've found something out on your ranch in Corona; something.... say.... highly unusual. Flying saucers, Martians, that sort of thing. Care to tell me about it?" Frank Joyce asked.
"It's actually about thirty miles outside ‘a Corona." Mack corrected him.
"I'm sorry?" Frank asked.
"M' ranch. It's about thirty miles outside ‘a Corona."
"I see, well, care to tell me more about what you found?"
"I recon so. I found a wreck of some kind out on m' land last night."
"And you don't think it's a plane, or perhaps something that the Army's been working on lately?" Joyce asked him.
"No, this wasn’t some Army gizmo, and it weren't no plane neither!" Mack said, quickly getting agitated. "I know what I saw out there, an' it wasn't from here!"
"What do you mean by 'from here'?"
"From Earth!" Mack said, his tension rising.
"I see. So, why don't you think it's from Earth?" Joyce went on.
"Because! I ain't never seen anything like this anywhere! It don't come from Earth!" Mack said.
“How do you know that it wasn't some newfangled Army machine? They're always coming up with things that no one's ever seen before. Look at the A-bomb, a few years ago no one even imagined such a thing, and now..."
"Look damnit!" Said Mack, with heat coming off of his words. "All I know is that something really strange crashed up there on my land, and it ain't from the Army, and it ain't like any metal or like anything else that come from Earth. This ain't any plane, or nothin' like that. It's a big ol' mess all over ma' land made up o' the strangest stuff I ever seen, and I want to know who's gonna clean all that stuff up? That's what I wanna know! I need someone out there to clean it up!"
"What are you talking about, stuff?" Joyce asked him.
"Don't know." Mack said somberly. "Don't know what it is. Bunch of debris. I think it's from one of them flyin' saucer things! It looks like some kinda saucer, but all broke up in to pieces 'n such."
"So, you really think you found a flying saucer? You know there's a growing number of folks makin' noises about these things, and a few of them that would pay a handsome sum for something tangible. George says you got proof o' what you found. You called the Air Base yet?" Frank asked.
"That's what we were about t' do before you called!" Mack said shortly. "Look, it's more than just a bunch o' wrecked garbage. There's somethin' else out there. That's also how I know it ain't from here." Mack paused as the images came flooding back to him. Thinking about it all began eating at him as he tried to figure out what he really needed to do about this whole mess. This interview was the last think he needed. He never interviewed very well, and now that he'd gone through something so traumatic it was becoming harder for him to know what to say. The only word that slipped his lips was “Horrible!”
"What is?" Frank Joyce asked him. "What's horrible? What are you talking about?"
"The stench! Just awful." Mack said. His words only came out as secondary descriptors for the images that were seared into his mind.
"Stench? From what? What are you talking
about?"
"Oh..." Mack started trailing off, thinking about the dead bodies. "The little... The... They're... They're dead."
"What?!" Frank said slightly startled. "Who's dead?"
"The... little people."
"So, you're telling me that you've got a flying saucer crashed on your land, and there's little dead... people.... layin' around it. Let me ask you this, couldn't this just be another military experiment? They're always firing rockets and experimenting with monkeys and things, so maybe...."
"Damnit!" Mack said. "They're not monkeys, and they're not human! I know what it is I saw! Them bodies layin' down there were something else. Something... not from Earth."
"Alright, alright. So, it's not from Earth, and you're sure it's a flying saucer. Tell me about the little green men." Frank said.
"They ain't green." Mack replied. "Kinda pale like. They got big heads." His voice trailed off. His expression was frozen in a face of horror. "...Awful smell...."
"Mr. ... er, Brazel, was it?" Frank said. "Listen, if what you're telling me is true, and you've really got a flying saucer layin' out there on yer land, then this could be one of the biggest stories of all time! There's lots of folks looking for some real proof of Martians. Any chance I could get you to come by the station? Get your photo, maybe tell us a little more about your little green men?"
"Damnit! I already done told you once! They ain't green! They're kinda pale, almost gray! I.... I... Damnit! I can't do this right now! I'll see about comin' out some other time, but... I can't do it now. We gotta call the Army base. Good bye now." Mack slammed the phone down and ended the call. He sat back in his seat and took a long, shaky drag on his cigarette. George was staring at him in surprise. Mack caught the glare after a few seconds. "Sorry George. He just...."
"Frank can be a little pushy." George told him. "Tell you what Mack. I know this has been a crazy weekend for ya'. Let me call the Army base, tell them what you found. That sound good?"
Mack nodded, exhaling his smoke. "Thanks George."
Jesse Marcel
"509th Intel, Major Marcel speaking,” Major Jesse Marcel said, answering the phone in his office at the Roswell Army Air Force Base. Two metal fans blew with all their might but proved to be little relief from the sweltering heat that engulfed the three men in the small military office there at the RAAF. Sweat poured from all their brows as they worked diligently on securing the skies above New Mexico. Paper maps were warped from years of use in the sweaty heat. Books no longer stayed completely closed on the shelves, and everything in the room seemed many years older than any of it was. Major Marcel stood tall above his desk as he spoke quickly with the civilian on the phone.
The Roswell Army Air Base was one of the only bases in the United States to be equipped with atomic weapons, and thus the job as intelligence officer made Jesse Marcel one of the go-to men for anything in the area that may have fallen from the skies. Most of his job revolved around the radar and V-2 rocket program that was headed out of Alamogordo. Roswell Army Air Field worked closely with the White Sands Proving Grounds near Alamogordo in their testing of America's atomic arsenal, and one of the chief players in this game was Major Jesse Marcel.
"I see." He said casually. "And do you have anything to base this on?" There was a long burst of chatter on the other end of the anonymous conversation. "Are you sure about that?" He asked candidly. The voice on the other end of the line continued. "Wait, wait, wait." Jesse stopped the caller. "Are you serious?" Both of his assistants looked up from their miserable paperwork to gaze with fascination at their boss. "I see. Is he reliable?" He asked. There was more chatter on the other end. "No, no. We'd definitely be interested in speaking with him. Can you keep him there?" There was a brief pause. Both of Jesse's assistants stared at him with great interest. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe half an hour. Would that be fine?" There was another beat. "Thank you, Sheriff. We'll be there as soon as possible. Alright. Good-bye." He hung up the phone and turned to his two assistants.
"What was that about, sir?" Captain Hammil asked quickly.
"I'm not sure yet. But we may have some information about the radar image we picked up yesterday." Major Marcel said to his associates. "Captain Cavitt, would you mind accompanying me into town?"
"Yes sir." Captain Sheridan Cavitt replied quickly. Standing up from his desk and grabbing his hat off the back of his chair.
"Captain Hammil, would you inform Colonel Blanchard that Captain Cavitt and I are going into Roswell to speak with a rancher about some activity he's reported on his land that may have something to do with the radar interference we picked up."
"Yes sir."
"And don't tell him anymore. I don't want to report anything until I have something to report."
"Easy enough sir, I'm not sure what's going on." Said Captain Hammil as he picked up the phone.
Major Marcel marched out of his office with Captain Cavitt close on his heels. They walked quickly down the hall and out to a parking lot where a line of trucks was parked alongside a beige building. They jumped into a Dodge-Jeep Carryall with Captain Cavitt at the wheel and drove off of the air base toward Roswell proper.
“This is incredible!” Captain Cavitt remarked while fiddling with the strange piece of material that Mack had brought to the Sheriff’s office.
“Can you tell me a bit more about the wreckage that you found? How big would you say it is?” Major Marcel asked Mack.
“Well, it’s pretty big,” Mack said. “Spread out ‘bout two hundred yards ‘r so. Goes out over a little hill,” he said making hand gestures to describe the terrain. “And then it’s all piled up down below, other side.”
Sheridan looked up from the piece as Mack described the size of the field.
“Piled up?” Jesse Marcel asked.
“Yeah, looks like somebody kinda piled it all up in a heap, like,” Mack said.
“You think someone piled it up purposefully?” Major Marcel asked.
“Hard t’ say,” Mack said. “I didn’t get too good a look at it. T’ be honest, I kinda took off pretty quick when I seen it. Left m’ rifle there at the hilltop. Everythin’ looks like it was drug there. Ground’s all scraped up and such. But it ain’t just Martian stuff, it’s trees and rocks ‘n such too. Even a few of m’fences are kinda dragged over toward it.”
Jesse and Sheridan both looked at each other, trying to hide the excitement building up in both of them. This was all too good to be true. Jesse turned back to Mack, “You said one of the aliens was laid out. Do you think there are more of them out there?”
“I don’t rightly know.” Mack took a long drag on another cigarette that Sheriff Wilcox had handed him. “Honestly, I seen them two layin’ down there and I just took off runnin’. I couldn’t tell you what else is hidin’ out down there. And frankly, I don’t much care. What I want to know is who’s gonna get this stuff off ‘a my land. I can’t have no Martians runnin’ around out there, doin’ gawdknowswut to my sheep!”
“Mr. Brazel, if what you’re telling me is accurate, then the Army will be more than happy to come and collect the debris and get it off of your land,” Jesse Marcel stated directly. Sheridan nodded wide eyed and excitedly in agreement with Major Marcel.
“Well, that’s good t’hear.” Mack leaned over and tapped his cigarette into the ash tray on Sheriff Wilcox’s desk. “Will there be some kinda reward for findin’ it? Neighbors said there might be a three-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who has proof of them flyin’ saucers.”
The two military men shot each other another quick glance before Jesse replied to Mack. “I’m sure suitable compensation can be arranged. Assuming that everything is as you said it was,” Jesse said.
Mack smiled the first smile in days. “Well, then. You boys wanna head on out that way? Gotta long drive ahead of us.”
It was the bright headlights of the Jeep Carryall suddenly coming on and flashing in Mack's rear-view mirror that snapped him awake. He had dozed off several times on the way h
ome, riddled with exhaustion from the last two days, and as the sun dropped behind the horizon a powerful urge to sleep was overtaking him. The bumpy road had become more like a gentle rocking, making his eye lids heavier with every mile that passed. He was so tired that he nearly missed his turn, swerving off the dirt road and up an embankment as he tried to make it at the last second. The dirt churned up in the maneuver glowed bright and confusing in the headlights as the two vehicles drove their last few miles to Mack's shack.
It was almost 11:00 when they got to the ranch. When the three men entered the ranch house it was pitch black. Mack felt his way cautiously over to the wood stove and recovered a box of matches. He lit a match and revealed the simple conditions of his home. He could see the same lantern that he'd used early that morning still sitting on the table in the dim light of the match. Before the match had burned out Mack had lit the lantern and brought a more livable light to the small room.
"Y'all make yer-selves comf'terble." Mack said to the two men. "I know it ain't much, but it'll have to do for now."
"Thank you, sir." Major Marcel said politely to Mack. "We will be just fine." Captain Cavitt carried a couple of small bags into the room and set them over by the wall. "How far is the crash site from here?" Major Marcel asked Mack.
"'Bout eight miles." Mack replied. "It's all dirt roads headin' out that way. Lot rougher 'n what we come in by. Ain't gonna be able t' see it t'night, if that's what yer hopin' for."
"No sir." Major Marcel replied with a disappointed smile. "About how long will it take to drive out in the morning?"
“Been takin’ me ‘bout half an hour to make it out that way" Mack said. His eyes were beginning to glaze over with the signs of sleep.
